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Anais Vionet Oct 20
Our atmosphere is a bubble - like the fizz you find in Champagne.
Have you ever been to a dentist, and done it without any pain?
Have you ever enjoyed wireless or traveled the sky in a plane?
Then you’ve experienced science - the modern world's quoin.
Climate change has been proven - the result of our human reign.

Have you noticed the west coast's on fire - and seen the gulf hurricanes?
We're in the hottest decade ever and only half the country gets rain.

Did you ever use a computer - have you ever been on a train?
Did you ever see television - do I really have to explain?
Science deniers aren’t new - they once claimed cigarettes weren’t bad,
and thousands died from cancer - science deniers be ******.
Our civilization’s based on science - it’s the modern world's quoin.
Climate change has been proven - the results of polluting our domain.
We need to address climate change - EVERY country in the world agrees it's real - the science is undeniable (unless you're being paid to deny it).
She always wanted to cry
She was with her teary eye
Hoping it will get dry
And flashes a sweet smile

She was with her cold expression
That every people has it's bad impression
And being judged by their own reason
And being fooled by their own illusion.
Ces Sep 1
Oblate spheroidal
Mass of rock
A being that sprang
From the void, with others
A dull speck in the blackness
Of space.

A lone island of azure skies
Verdant plains and mountains
An atmosphere dominated
By nitrogen
A haven of self-organizing
Critters, bacteria
And its oceans: the primal womb.

So precious, yet so fragile
A mote suspended
In a starry backdrop
Rotating its way towards
Its predestined fate.

Such beauty is our home
A lonely traveler
Lost in the wastelands
Of space and time.
Cox Jul 19
I am a jet black summers sky at night
Harrison W Apr 16
Smoke it up cool cat
Lie back in the chair
Light a cig and breathe-
In the warm tobacco-
Taste flavors of tar, menthol-
And happiness
Feel nicotine travel
Through the branches-
Of veins
Watch the opaque smoke
Dwindle in front-
Dip head forward-
Get that scent in-
Eau de cig

Coffee finally arrives
Put out the cig
Ground plant into-
Burning ashes-
Pinch the cig-
Pour in cream-
Stir with cig-
Gettin’ the crusty-
Embers into the-
Golden nectar-
Of the gods-
Around around it goes
Drink it up
Is the rough gravel-
On your tongue-
Ground coffee or ash?
Pagan Paul Mar 18
A speck on the horizon grows,
dark grey, foreboding and cruel,
stunting the sun's warm rays,
eclipsing the sky's perfect jewel.

Roiling clouds gather their skirts,
spewing across the azure blue,
spreading threads of droplet rain,
morphing the light into different hue.

Static is just the anticipation,
the excitement before the wonder,
the throb as high overhead
peels a belly roll of thunder.

© Pagan Paul (17/03/20)
by Michael R. Burch

for Richard Moore

Shrill gull,
how like my thoughts
you, struggling, rise
to distant bliss—
the weightless blue of skies
that are not blue
in any atmosphere,
but closest here ...

You seek an air
so clear,
so rarified
the effort leaves you famished;
earthly tides
soon call you back—
one long, descending glide ...

Disgruntledly you ***** dirt shores for orts
you pull like mucous ropes
from shells’ bright forts ...

You eye the teeming world
with nervous darts—
this way and that ...

Contentious, shrewd, you scan—
the sky, in hope,
the earth, distrusting man.

Published by Triplopia. Able Muse and The HyperTexts

Keywords/Tags: Gull, sky, blue, atmosphere, air, sea, tides, waves, shores, shells, flight, glide, man, world, trust, distrust
Pagan Paul Jan 23
There is a presence here,
can't you feel it crackling
through the evening air?
Creeping into the mind
as an invasion by consent.

A candle flame flickers
as an errant string thrums,
a note of announcement
and precedent to an army
set to join the invasion.

There is a presence here,
can't you feel it cloying
at open waiting ears,
seeping over the babble
as an intrusion most welcome.

A chord breaks silence
as a voice slow gently hums
a prelude to old new songs,
an accompaniment to a jangle
as the errant string conforms.

There is a presence here,
can't you hear it calling
to the blood in your veins,
freezing the moments solid,
speaking at corpuscular levels.

An excitement of particles
agitate an expectant atmosphere,
curved air starts to resonate
an apocryphal truism that
there is a Presence … here.

© Pagan Paul (15/01/20)
A poem inspired by Presence open mic nite.
A place that gifts me 10 mins a week to
perform my poetry to an audience.
10 of my most appreciated minutes per week.
Jack Harrell Dec 2019
Spaceman come back,
you'd only just made it here.

What's it like out there?
I wonder if there's no atmosphere.

Crazy, it seems to me,
that you have come so far

and all you've done

is leave
typed with no intention other than avoiding cleaning up after a dog
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