Tag Archives: environmentalism

Metronome

If thunder could only speak through a trumpet,
                  that is the sound.

It is everywhere,
                        abruptly,
                                          then slowly not- a passing flood.
    A confidence of noise that terrifies the insides,
sends them scattering in all directions,
      but bound to you.
              the fruitless effort makes them-

                                               resentful.

Desperately,
                  I wish I could capture that sound;
                              pin it to this page
                              and share it with you,
                  if only to prove to myself its existence.

When it rises again,
                                    I am still broken.
  A school bus made of rubber
                out of control
                        too fast to stop
                forcing itself through too small a gap;
            the agony of that sound.

All life inside me fades as it does
          replaced by uneasy stillness.

               I can see no reason for it but-

                                           something is wrong.

The scurrying of my insides
incites the space I find myself in to salivation.

           It could be-
                  the way it feels,
                          the stillness;
                I am already within the monster’s mouth.

There are no signs for or against this
                            just the absurd quiet between;
                  a caesura in the fear.

The hills outside could be rolling off
                              into a horizon unseen,
or the listless valleys of an ancient tongue overgrown;
                        the eater of worlds.

I feel it deeper now, its third report.
                    Like I should know its purpose
      and it is violently disappointed.

The birth of a maladie underdeveloped.
    Only trachea and lungs and noise,
no head or mouth to shape the air;
    fumbling out this inelegant discord.

                                           That’s the sound.

                                  I imagine the world is silent,
    lest whatever ill fate it portents take it too.

Dashed Against the Rocks

What prizes satin words afford!
our foreign ears made to boiling
with those that dine on finer things
describing our future delights
in fly by night campaign speeches.

Not David, but Goliaths chord
booms over the gathering throng
praising what god is left to us.
The world razed, we in its ashes,
they tell us that we are adored,

that they are umbilical cords
feeding us and making us strong.
The hollow message would echo
if the acoustics weren’t so wrong
resonating against the horde.

Insecurities long ignored
now awoken and brought along
to territories unexplored
carried away by sirens song
to rage and die on their own swords.

Stepping out of the Woods

Trees as thick as grass
bundled together hiding the sky
at night though
stars shine through

One could get lost in there
one could find something profound in there
in the morning
hidden passions
light the canopy like green fire

An untold history crackles beneath feet
crisp with the anxiety of breaking, unresolved
twilight is a pleasant mystery
whispers of color in silent darkness
the fauna changing shifts
timorous insects take flight.

A bright pink cross sanctifies the bark of each tree
some sign of an afterlife that none could imagine
The end is violent and sterile
the ground stripped bare
the canopy pulled back to blue skies
broken by contrails and wires
soon to be hidden in property
too expensive for anyone to live in
just dying slowly,
paycheck to paycheck.

Value

You are born to this earth worthless
               less than that
a negative value we are meant to fill
though you never see the bill
you just have to find a way to pay it.

But don’t worry
               someone will tell you
the ones who came before had a bill to pay too
and whatever they couldn’t they’ll bequeath to you.

Once you’ve tackled what they left behind
you can start adding value against your debt
but don’t be surprised when it’s time to collect
and there is a lifetime or more that is left
yet no time remains to pursue it.

Gift your unpaid debt to another
tell them all the things you wanted to do
to give your life value and prove your worth
and have them take on that pursuit
they can always deal with their own debt later.

Parliament

Twelve surrounded the table
where once this world was founded
but now was fated to fall
to a council long since sedated

The years dulled their edges
once sharp minds lulled
by dreams of static nostalgia;
nothing new could mute the old fantastic.

When the end stood before them
to be judged for all its ill and its good
they refused to name if for what it was
and searched amongst themselves for explanation

Thus, in deliberation, the world ended
not in the soft sobered silence of rumination
nor the enraged cacophony of rebellion
but with all the grace of a madman caged

knowing only himself with whom to confer

The Fox at the End of Time

He leaps
trusting his feet
trusting the earth beneath them.
Speed and grace
feed confidence like flames
sends it racing over hills
sharing in its color.

Darting through grass and trees
the pads of its paws feel like heavy rain
a resonance of force
always remains
bouncing through the bones
      a guitar well strung
               finely tuned
strumming a rhythm of motion
a crescendo reached
only now – with the rest of time behind us.

It is beautiful music
silenced by pavement
interrupted by the sounds of cars;

Some screeching to a halt
               others accelerating.

A Flag Flipped at Half Mast

Roughly hewn bold shoulders pierce clouds
hearing through the soft cotton of the sky
in an eternal attempt to deny
the cost which time at length enshrouds
a history of chaos caught in contortions
the passing days a gentle rain in the ocean

Where the transient will see might
the ageless will recall violent trauma
millions of years in tectonic drama
to break the skin with vicious spite
resigned to the cosmos. Never to move again
until at last these same forces push them to their end.

They quake with anticipation
an unbearable anxiety
that brings them within reach of piety
at the expense of damnation
the earth a parchment on which will be writ its dirge
should the progenitor finally emerge

By the time that day came to pass
the monster spoke with fire now set free,
“I give to the world what it took from me,”
buried it in molten and ash
then, at last, returned to the earth from which it came
never knowing it had itself to blame.

Elephants

The broad surface – a stretched canvas of years
sun beaten – weathered and worn
a map of dead dreams and old fears
scars like canyons and crags
unseen forces clawing at the past
with grotesque greedy spears
to take a future neither would ever know
exchange it for a few coins
blood soaked soil
and silent tears
a story told
but unfinished
an ending like heat waves on the horizon
the time since a prolonged epilogue
a corpse that just
endears

Hot Breath on the Neck

[Warning]
Settled into embrace
the soft night performing
like a moment of grace
while the world is storming.

[Caution]
The wind is a cool breeze
that finds tempers softened
sets errant minds at ease
and calms the heart often

[Beware]
Find slumber in slow thoughts
treat the days past with care
the battles you have fought
are no cause for despair

[Danger]
And once sleep settles in
blanketing your anger
you can begin again;
the whole world a stranger.

Gestation

The sense
               decensed
gnarled roots twisted lethargic
   grasping at the ground
digging deep for a heart planted
               beating against the darkness
the thrashing rhythm of a thing dying

What seeds can find in this discarded world
     will be made a tall and imposing thing
nurtured by the memory of a time
     when the need for them
was but the sound of wind blowing through playful leaves
               falling.