Author: poetryfest

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.

The environment is a fight between good and bad, somedays we have fires that cause pollution and other days we have a new recycling solution.

The environment is crumbling beneath us as I write this, the ice walls are melting and the earth is being covered in trash, all of it affects our evolution.

The earth has more and more storms that are spreading like rapid fire in California and South Carolina, the flooding has risen in southern states, it seems the environment can be unfriendly.

However, there is always good with the bad and there are always beautiful things within this planet like the flowers we see in fields, the big willow trees and all the neat things make me feel differently.

Nature is happening before us each day whether it’s a sunny baseball game, a rainy day while cuddled up watching a movie, or it’s a snow day throwing snow balls at the kids.

The events in the environment depend on the person, we can be grateful and see it for what it is or we can hide from the mother nature going on around us, not recognizing how important it is.

The windy days when you fly a kite in the sky with your children smiling, the days when your dog tracks mud back in the house from running around with the zoomies, and the ice cream truck music you wait to hear on a nice day makes me think of what’s around us,

Everyone likes to talk about how our environment is horrible and we need reformation because there is so much wrong with our air, food, water, and waste.

I am going to spin a positive perspective you may have not chased,

In summer, the chalk on the sidewalks, the bubbles in the air, the popsicles I can taste, The kids running around, going to the city pool or beach, on a floatie in the water feeling misplaced.

In Spring, we hide our easter eggs in the green grass, we have rainy showers and comfortable
days,

We see the pink sunset, go fishing for the first of the season, and see new baby animals at first graze.

In Winter, the snow falls and ice creates icicles on the gutters that kids find and eat to themselves,

The snow ball fights, snow angels, and winter brings joy when we have to hide the elf on the shelves.

The fall brings leaves falling as we walk, the leave piles created for us all to jump in.

My kids playing football, soccer, and basketball, fall brings fun and sports to win.

See, the environment is all these seasons and how they all come each year to us.

If you are not understanding yet as we have talked, then we have nothing further to discuss.

It’s the salt that’s familiar
And the deep-down-drowning-green
A cold that cleanses and cleans
the triangle, vaginal wound,
like umbilical fluid
And there’s a craving for sleep
before the waking
Humanity:
mermaids,
Sirens
and
the wayward son returning home
Through genesis
a deluge rising
and birthing humanity
like
The expulsion of the placenta
but not the infant.

how often something occurs determines its value

adaptation requires consistent inquiry

what stoma think of exhaust plums
birds to marinate on power lines

what gills sigh in diesel
parched carcinogens
to lick the carbon dioxide

I snagged my first catch when I was six
pole strained
slight expectation
fell to the bottom in
lull of agency

We screamed
gills riggling

what left a body ridged

with blood oozing
out the eye

Written by a young person at Clark Children & Family Justice Center, 10/30/2024

My Heart
Your smile, your chocolate skin, your brown eyes are so hard to forget
Whenever I’m around you, nothing’s wrong,
I miss the way you hold me and the way your hands gently caressed mine
I miss our lips touching and us being eye to eye
You make me feel like I’m not a waste of your time
So promise me you’ll always be mine
That night you rested on my thigh I knew you were all mine

2:36 am.

“I want,” she wrote in her laptop journal,
her fingers pecking at the keyboard like
a bird seeking seeds. “I want sunshine.
I want robins, daffodils, parades with balloons,
a glass of red wine over a candlelit dinner.
I want to hold someone’s hand,” as ice
droplets froze on her bedroom window.

She picked up her handheld from the nightstand
to read his text, again. “This isn’t working, Jen.”
Four words after their eight months together. In the
second month, she said, “I think you’re the one, Jim.”
He smiled and nodded. At the fourth month, she said,
“I love you, Jim.” He smiled and nodded. At month seven,
she asked, “What can I do, Jim?” He shrugged and looked away.

She wondered why she wasn’t enough. She wondered how else
she could have made him happy, as she tugged at the bandage
covering her left forearm, her nails bitten and bloodied around
red cuticles. She pried one edge of the gauze up and pulled it from
the scabs of her newly inked arm, decorated with a heart and two initials,
J & J. Jen read his four-word text, again, then she turned off the
handheld and shut her laptop, the light extinguishing like a flower closing.

The ice on her window started to melt in rivulets like exclamation points.

2:47 am.