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Äŧül Mar 2014
Dry deserts in parts & dripping water holes
As well the body sure is a varied ecosystem
Having its own hairy forests having blooms
A body is like that as it's both moist and dry
Dusky at places where light seldom reaches
My HP Poem #584
©Atul Kaushal
Dee  Oct 2013
Dee Oct 2013
To explain in which extent I love you we would first have to explain how the tears of the clouds can fulfill the thirst of a plant how can the loss of something be the completion of another you empty yourself upon me and I grow from within the confinements of an un nourished soul you tell me your stories and fill up the voids within me with the sadness you've endured nourishing with life the pieces of me that I thought with sadness had already died in turn I recycle your energy and turn it into thriving life that from the ground you helped pick up like a perfect Eco system in which we rain upon each other to help each other flourish to everyone that watches it doesn't make sense but every time a bud grows within me i finally find beauty  in a world full of weeds
Amitav Radiance Dec 2014
So many words are being spent everyday
Each of them, used to construct a bridge
Where communication can take place
And meet half-way, to greet each other
Wondering, if that what is to communicating
Only based on words and the verbose
Have we bothered to see the many layers
Which makes up the fragile ecosystem
Yet, so often we go on eroding the surface
Leaving it bare and exposed to threats
That communication will be wiped off
Not long, with the undermining of feelings
Communication will have borne the brunt
Of our callous attitude and lost forever
Not only waves of words that washes away
The beauty of meaningful communication
It's time, we also listen to each other's heart
And pay obeisance to the silence that speaks
Communication will have a fair chance to survive
Carrina Hendricks  Aug 2015
It can be slow and gentle
Let your waves crash in perfect harmony
Each ****** a breeze in the ecosystem of you
Simple moaning of melodic pleasure


It can be fast and rough
Hurricanes and waterfalls
Each ****** a windstorm in the ecosystem of you
Screaming, still melodic

I can do this often or seldom
This ecosystem can have many visitors or none
*** is mine to have
Whenever I please

You label me
But sweetie,
I'm too wet for your labels to stick
Ann Marcaida Jan 2013
I. Neptune’s Theater

A rock spins through the universal tumbler

and its warm blue pools calcify

as turquoise Neptune in his cloudy blue bath bath

builds a lace castle with his fingertips

Sculpts a submerged eden of crimson and emerald

where painted parrots chat up cardinals

butterfly and angel fry sway with wave pulse

and foliated coral fingers beckon from arched windows.

Neptune’s children are flat and bright, spined and notched

free yet entangled in lace mesh ecosystem

beneath an array of bioluminescent stars

as a gangly pretender watches and blows bubbles.

II. Sapien Siege

The hot acidic hand of death grasps

the mesh rends and tangles

the ecosystem shattered

reef’s loosed children scream beneath planet’s stars.

Butterflies impaled

cyanide-swooning damsels

mesh-tangled angels hauled heavenward

coral to potash, corpses to coal.

The pretender to the throne blinks

rubs blurry lenses,

kicks plastic fins

and moves on to the next show

Unseeing and unaware

of the luminous filament in his wake.

Self-appointed divinity,

deus ex machina.


Ann says: All of the animal and human characters in this poem (except Neptune and The Pretender) are named after coral reef fish. Coral reefs, one of the most diverse ecosystems, are expected to be largely extinct within one human generation. Deus ex machina is Latin for “God from the machine.”

Copyright 2013 by Ann Marcaida.
Copyright 2013 by Ann Marcaida.

All of the animal and human characters in this poem (excepting Neptune and the quadruped) are named after coral reef fish. Coral reefs, one of the most diverse ecosystems, are expected to be largely extinct within one human generation.

Special thanks to my poetry coach, without whom I never would have gotten this poem to publication quality.  Also to anonymous reviewer G.W. who helped to steer me in the right direction.
Stanley Zakyich May 2014
An ecosystem found upon
An outer crust of dust
Inside abode without a lawn
With tenant taming rust.

Sitting stagnant, songs of stellar
Sing sublime lines
Through minds that remain in cellar,
Never seeing the pines.

Many stagnant years have passed,
Detectives overdue,
The body brought them all aghast,
The stench, the dust, and view.

An ecosystem found upon
An outer crust of dust
Inside abode without a lawn
With tenant taming rust.
Themes of isolation and the inability to move forward in life.

A man gives up on his dreams and sits still, dreaming of better days and trying to make the best of his situation without taking any actions. This leads to his death, and with "detectives overdue", the apartment becomes caked in a thick layer of dust, sprouting insects, spiders, and other miscellaneous creatures that can thrive in that sort of environment.
Soul Scribe Jul 2018
She was beautiful as she sat there
I stared through foggy binoculars
Red rings around my eyes from staring
Too long.

A migrating bird encapsulating an entire
Ecosystem's aroma.
Each feather soft as seafoam spun from silkworms.
She gazes into nature's greatest gifts of nectar.
Sweet and rare.
She sits across the class from me.
Never to glance over to her humble
Bird Watcher.
This is not meant to seem stalkerish but in an effort to emotionalize how a shy kid feels when looking at a beautiful girl
Leigh May 2015
The tide collects it all by morning;
The drama and the ***** napalmed across the path.
The scenes at second warning for most had been swept away
Before they wiped the sand from their shoes.

Empty cans of Dutch and Tuborg slouched on the dunes
Are tight-lipped about the Velvet Strand's secret ecosystem;
An underground microcosm;
A peripheral cluster of seething emotions drowned.

Memories of those years - although some expired,
The vestiges take pride of place - hold a cosmic clump of smells,
Tastes, firsts, goosebumps, hangovers, and ends.
I never before understood what I was holding on to.

Winters down in the shelters nearly killed us but we
Huddled through the cold, lit cheap firelogs and
Found our oblivion. It didn't take much for me to develop  
A stagger - tolerance for a lot of things was learned later.

I narrowly recall my first taste of poor judgement and
Hazy-headed stargazing. Six cans of Stonehouse
Dry cider - most of which ended up on the hillside -
Was a ridiculous endeavour that will always be sublime.

At the heart of it, I did it to impress a girl;
The one every boy has or has had that sticks;
Who holds your firsts and your hands and makes
Things simple if only for her complexity;

The one that never fails to bring upon digression when
Pens are involved. Revisiting reminiscence on a jarring note,
I think of my Junior Cert exams and a cross-dressed man
Exposing himself to two uniformed boys behind the public toilets.

This one doesn't stir the joy of the others.
This one I wish would dissolve;
An ugly, awkward blotch on a childhood.

Luckily fondness trumps disgust when recalling that place
Because of sunrises and sunsets absorbed from the roof.
The Summers spent jumping the gap and drowning in the
Heat of the sun were everything.

The fugitive sand between our toes and under finger nails
Became an accepted nuisance, a part of the territory;
A lingering grain or two to drag you back.
I miss waking up with the smell of last night's faded fire.

Some weird and wonderful memories of my teenage years.

100 points if you catch the Derek Mahon reference.

Destroying the ecosystem,
we ravage the land.
We take what we want,
because we are man.

It starts with one tree,
one thing leads to another.
Then the whole ******* forest,
Mother Nature, we love her.

She makes us money,
so we continue to **** her.
We take the land, her body,
and turn it to paper.

And her blood, her rich blood,
we drill deep, to the core.
No matter how much we get,
we always go back for more.

We harvest her organs,
with our metal machines.
We take what we want,
not what we need.

We are the men,
destroying our ecosystem.

We are tyrants,
but we can't live without Mother Nature.

She is so beautiful,
full of life,
she has so much to give.
But we think that means to take,
until she's *****,
till she dies.
But although we bound her,
she will always be stronger,
then you and me.

We are the harvesters.
Copyright Barry Pietrantonio

— The End —