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Rick Warr Jan 2020
there is an ominous sense of portent
in the air
in the orange glow of the sun
in the dry heat
in the smoke in the air

for others it was far worse
in hellish bush fire infernos
seeing their homes and all familiarity
converted to ash
alone with nothing but tears

a natural disaster
born of
unnatural plundering of earth resources
the consequence of consumerism without restraint
and a soothsaying denying bogan Shrek of a PM
pretending to care just to save his political neck
go back to kirribilli ya ****
there’s no votes for you here

suddenly the consequences of she'll be right
we'll vote for relatable people who will take care of jobs
are outed as people who have no long term idea
but the're own short term political survival
and are culpable for the hell around us now

suddenly the offence we have inflicted on nature
is showing us the kick back
and the arrogance of thinking we were in control
is being torched by an angry mother
who doesn't love us for what we've done
we were deluded to think we had any control
now surrounded by bush fires that are out of control

portending a time for humility
and acceptance that we are not needed
Australian bush fires more intense than ever.  The warnings were there, but leaders did not lead.  We are angry.
Sydney V Jan 2020
Mom.  
            Mom,  

My skin,  
is alight.  
My fur, singed
like the surrounding brush
of my home
and your home (and their home)
alike.  
Each breath
and step  
that I take  
secures a winded grip  
from within my chest
as the crackled
orange embers, spread  
their scorching grasp
across the rest,  
of my feeble body.  
–For a moment–  
I, am picked up
in a heated embrace,  
then dropped
like a child  
gets disinterested  
with one toy
before pillaging
to the next.  

Mom.  
            Mom?

This isn’t a warm hug-   

We’re burning.
Their climate crisis, is our climate crisis too.
Nat Lipstadt Jan 2020
O.K. God, time to chat: my friends in Australia
asking for rain, and the conflagration has proved
sufficient to press us with your awesome skill set,
your methodology, driving the knife point into us
to point to us
the errors of our owned ways

this has altered the terms of our truce, so get it pouring,
open them skies and let it rain, bringing betterdays

the Day of Atonement (our MUTUAL Judgement tabulation)
is 9 months away, your plus/minus yellow list on lined legal pad
of what have I done this year is badly in the red,
bordering on flaming ******* orange,
I ain’t in the mood for all your
purposeful accidents,
mocking our human ratiocinations

your angels whisper me private like,
you’ve got free will,
the devilishly blessed curse bestowed upon some of the creatures,
but this beef between us could be resolved with a little rain

you want me to pray in January?
something I never do so early in the year,
as my sin chiefest is procrastination, the dire need is greater
than just our private war, so here comes my blended knees,
anger and a begging

begging with a pinch of insouciance of one who knows
your dating profile lies and exaggerations



<!>
The Hebrew Prayer for Rain

Af Bri is the title of the prince of rain,
Who gathers the clouds and makes them drain,
Water to adorn with verdure each dale,
Be it not held back by debts left stale,
O’ shield the faithful who pray for rain...
May He send rain from the heavenly towers,
To soften the earth with its crystal showers,
You have named water the symbol of Your might,
All that breathe life in its drops to delight,
O' revive those who praise Your powers of rain…

Our G‑d and G‑d of our fathers,
Remember our father Abraham who was drawn after You like water,
Whom You did bless like a tree planted near streams of water,
You did shield him, You did save him from fire and water,
You did try him when he sowed by all streams of water,
For his sake, do not refuse water.
Remember Isaac whose birth was foretold over a little water,
You did tell his father to offer his blood like water,
He too was heedful in pouring out his heart like water,
Digging in the ground he discovered wells of water.
For his righteousness' sake, grant abundant water.
Remember Jacob who, staff in hand, crossed the Jordan's water,
His heart attuned to You, be rolled the stone off the well of water,
When he wrestled with the angel of fire and water,
You did promise to be with him through fire and water.
For his sake, do not refuse water.
Remember Moses in an ark of reeds drawn out of the water,
They said: He drew water and provided the flock with water,
And when Thy chosen people thirsted for water,
He struck the rock and there gushed out water,
For his righteousness' sake, grant abundant water.
Remember the High Priest who bathed five times in water,
He bent and washed his hands with sanctified water,
He read from the Scriptures and sprinkled Purifying water,
He kept a distance from a people turbulent as water,
For his sake, do not refuse water.
Remember the twelve tribes You did bring across the water,
You did sweeten for them the bitterness of water,
For Your sake their descendants spilt their blood like water
Turn to us, for our life is encircled by foes like water.
For their righteousness' sake, grant abundant water.
For You are G‑d, who causes the wind to blow and the rain to fall.
For a blessing, and not for a curse -Amen!
For life, and not for death -Amen!
For plenty, and not for scarcity —Amen!


<!>
p.s. allow extra time this September next, when you make your confession, your most irreverent fan
Asonna Dec 2019
I love a sunburnt country,
but now the land's ablaze.
the oxygen we breathe has turned to dust
yet our request for help is denied.
I love a sunburnt country,
but there's not much left to last.

Firefighters aren't getting paid,
Neither are their bills.
yet our leader claims we're all fine
but he can afford to jet away.

The wildlife is damaged.
Koalas are losing homes.
much like the population
as the fires rip through their walls.

I love my sunburnt country,
but this has gone on too long.
while it's nice you're in hawaii Mr. Morrison,
everyone else is left to stand alone..
Carla Dec 2019
Christmas is near,
Summer is here,
Mozzies we fear,
Presents appear.

Bring out the thongs,
And barbecue tongs,
Where Santa belongs,
With our Chrissy songs.

Bondi is packed,
Beer bottles cracked,
Pressies are now packed,
Those, Santa has sacked.

But Australia is burning,
Our stomachs are churning,
A lot we aren't learning,
From how this year's turning.

This is our New Year,
We may shed a tear,
As we live in fear,
As Christmas comes near.
Rick Warr Dec 2019
mauve and red on azure hue
jacarandas, flame trees and summer blue
that time again of heat
and inappropriate rituals

we grew here
and santa clause flew here!
who does he think he is?

roast dinners while paul kelly
asks who will make the gravy

bush fire victims needy of funding
while millions are spent on fireworks
as though there wasn’t enough smoke
or air pollution

families who avoid each other
through the year
gather with cheap coloured paper hats
and pull the ritual bonbon
and tell bad puns
to fill the gaps in conversation
and the cicadas sing out
the banality, the ennui

while cashed up families
tow caravans up and down the coast
to camping area suburbias
and celebrate their right
to overeat and drink beer
their god given entitlement
to be strayan
and talk about queue jumpers

that’s why i make my own ritual
based on the good things
of that time ...

respite from daily routine
time for quiet reflection
on the worth
of who you are
and who you’ve helped
the things about xmas in australia that i don’t like
Nat Lipstadt Nov 2019
~for betterdays, and all Aussies~


the fires massifs all around, the smokes surrounds,
the house invaded with closed-out-of-college students,
mother and father who are similarly workless, a fire bounty,
all this a treat to an nine year old (no school) boy and his dog

newly self-appointed ringleader, the little boy,
in his fire heaven, with a gang to command, to entertain,
some adults, silly college students, who don’t know “no,”
when he says this is the game we are playing next

this vignette, is not a Manhattan variety^
but an insight story heard, unwitnessed, but of
those who tell the tale, unwittingly, of finding small joys
amidst sky-full clouds, all grayed bunting of burning stink

few wiser than my old, tired and smokey clouded eyes,
though, one yet detects those who are truly not lost,
those who are found, and those who will find them all,
and lead them to the safest places inside themselves

and my heart and brain, at last in unison,
forgives the restless adults who with grownup worries,
yet can! just barely detect those mini joy-rivulets among the whiffs
of destruction and bravery, losses and new hands extended

So I ask, Mum, what game shall we play next?

Perhaps, Noah’s Ark?
https://www.washingtonpost.com/weather/2019/11/21/massive-bush-fires-horrendous-heat-worsening-drought-plague-australia-summer-nears/

^ search Manhattan Vignettes in the HP Search Box
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