Author: poetryfest

I walk with an ease
looking all around me
feeling at home
the trees dance
all about
the brush rubbing up
against my
exposed skin
everything playing
a beautiful harmony
yet this feeling
gnaws at me
what will become of you
lovey forest?
will the greed
and hate of the world consume you?
will you live to see our children play?
your tears will be not of life
but the sad and somber times
of remembering this walk
that happened well before

There’s a man that I see everyday,
who indeed casts shadows upon the ground.
He carefully chooses the words to say,
unless his friends are around.

He projects the best through his image,
although thoroughly tainted inside.
First glance would see privilege,
unless you see what he hides.

The scars of old, healed not with time,
although now covered with makeup.
Caused by gaping wounds before his prime,
each one a battle lost, forcing him to wakeup.

Regardless of all, he has loved to the fullest,
with a truly selfless heart.
Although he has survived the cruelest,
he would never play that part.

That’s the man that I see everyday,
my vision has never been clearer.
Suddenly, my mouth speaks words I could never convey,
when my gaze meets his, in the mirror.

In city streets, where history resides,
Stand splendid buildings as monuments of pride,
Each built from stone by skilled hands of before,
Tales in the details and carvings to adore.

Lurking in the skies, not seen nor forgiving,
Hovers menacing acid rain, slowly killing.
Through dissolution and alteration, creeps,
Eating stone as the city stands and weeps.

Roughened surfaces, substance stripped away,
Carved details fading with crumbling decay.
The past’s heritage is under attack,
From a silent killer, who won’t turn back.

No discrimination, no mercy shown,
On ancient palaces and structures well known:
From grand cathedrals to humble abodes,
Acid rain spares none, as it corrodes.

Within the clouds, where the sky meets the earth,
Lies the hidden danger of toxic birth.
Nitrogen oxides and sulfur dioxide,
They dance as one, in the air they collide.

Released from the burning flames far below,
They mix into a wet dangerous show.
The gas tangles with droplets of water,
Creating a fatal mix to slaughter.

Sulfur, a result of fossil fuel’s demise,
From coal to oil, it poisons the world’s skies.
Nitrogen oxides, from our cars’ exhaust –
A deadly concoction which leaves us lost.

In 1872, Robert Angus Smith
Warned of the danger of acid rain with
Damage to buildings and to statues fine,
The calcite dissolves – a tragic design.

Through the centuries, the effects do grow,
Displayed on monuments is a clear show
Of the power of industry’s great might –
To corrode and erode, causing a blight.

On the walk today, I spotted a tiny piece of bright orange
Barely visible under a big brown oak leaf.
Smaller than an acorn,
with an outer ring
Like pith on an orange peel
I bent down, brushed the leaf aside
There. A round tiny orange, white rimmed
Miniature piece of woodland.

I took a picture with my phone and saw the name.
“Orange Peel Fungus” Yes!
Leaves lazying down, covered this orange peel.
I pushed them aside.
There. A tiny world

A range of sizes from dime to micro tiny
Shock of startling color
Honored that I can see and celebrate their
Miniscule beauty.

There in the woody, pebbly, sandy ground
Groupings of tiny orange peel fungi stood out.
I sat, curious, and watched.

I saw no arguing, no battering, no hate.
Tiny circles of orange peel
Friends
Neighbors
Communities

One alone here, two together near-by
A large family over there.
A village, maybe several …

Perhaps, a Kingdom.

Who looks down on us, minuscule creatures that we are
Bruising with aggression and dishonor?

May we discover what the fungus shows –
Community and simplicity – living together

The bed of flowers
I was accustomed to
Treated by the gentle aroma
I always felt good

Then it all withered away
I didn’t know how to react
I picked some up
And they smelt bad

I stepped out to see,
What was wrong?
Beneath my flower bed
Lay a tunnel,
That spewed toxic waste all-round

The flowers and fauna
Had fallen ill
Thanks to the brazen human inkling.

a raccoon has taken
up residence in
the blue house
on the hill
it lounges in
the sideboard in
the front room
Clarence tries to
shoot it with
a small shotgun
which misfires
it is loaded with
an expended cartridge
he reloads it
and tries again
it misfires again
Martha shouts
not to hurt it

its golden jaws
unhinge like
a serpent’s
devours every leaf
swallows trees
crunches trunks
between its teeth
like candy

animals sprint for
the river
an orange tongue
envelops wild-eyed stags
drags them down
its throat
they plunge into
a flaming belly

insatiable
consuming fields
in seconds
flaring flowers
fleeing foxes
earth suffocates
beneath black skies

it takes what
it wants
it stops when
it starves

and it’s body is splitting in half
because it is sick, sick, sick
blue eyed and sick
green eyed and sick
unbrave in bed and sick
not rotting
because rotting became a trend now
maggots are in fashion
so it just exists in bed sick
misunderstanding itself
ribs crack sometimes
but do not break
skin cracks sometimes
but does not break
because everything breaks these days
and rots, rots
rotting is just not original anymore
so it is, simply, with no style
no hanging tree outside
no maggots
no rats under its bed

I am as many worlds away from the
war stage as one can get:

The muddy banks of a
slow to drain river
playing catch with
the water dogs

Shells shift and squelch
into silt with every one
of Earth’s hitched breaths.

Even here, where the nearest
darkness is the lazy wing of
a crow draped from its nest,
it seems the world is still crying.

The vertigo of shame invades
my vision more often these days,
as I feel her mountain shoulders
heave and shiver.

I write an ode to running away
then let it melt in the brown current.

I am going somewhere—
regardless of this quicksand growing on my spirit
and my steps will either ease or upset
this fragile planet.

I must place them gently,
with care.

I must step out of the river,
eventually.

I must run back from away

and let loose the opacity of
naïveté, wring the wet neck
of ropes dry to the thread.

I am the Earth’s last-ditch effort
to save itself.

The ice is gone, the seas are high,
But hey, at least your stocks won’t die.
The forests burn, the rivers choke,
And billionaires? They buy more coke.
They told us, “Recycle! Do your part!”
While drilling Earth down to its heart.

The oil spills? Just close your eyes,
And trust the suits in their disguise.
They sign a pledge, they shed a tear,
Then burn a billion trees next year.
“Just business, pal—supply, demand!”
As islands sink beneath the sand.

Wildfires rage, the air turns thick,
“Ah well, just buy a face mask quick!”
Fish are choking, reefs are dead,
Yet stock prices are seeing red.
The CEOs say, “Don’t despair!
We’ll sell you bottled mountain air!”

“Buy electric, save the trees!”
Then frack the ground beneath our knees.
The oceans boil, the fish decay,
But the powerful are doing great!
The headlines flash: “We’re Going Green!”
As they pump more oil behind the scenes.

The rich will flee to Mars or more,
While we all rot on Earth’s back door.
And if you beg, “Please help us out!”
They’ll build new walls and shut you out.
“Survival’s just for those who pay—
The rest of you? Ehh… Go away.”

No oxygen? No food supply?
At least they’ll watch us slowly die.
And if you scream, “This isn’t fair!”
They’ll sell you bottled air.
So, dig your graves, prepare to fry,
This planet’s cooked—it’s time to cry.

And when we beg, “Please turn this back!”
They’ll say, “Sorry, should’ve paid the tax.