He uses the garden as an escape from reality.
The flowers dance with Him,
smiling even though they are drowning in a pool of despair.
While He thrives in nature,
reality cannot be escaped,
as nature chokes on humanity’s affair with destruction.

Out into the weather
out into the heat and the cold
the rain and the humility
the sleet and the unrelenting sun

Out into the weather
wondering when seasons will stop
running into one another with no respect
for long established patterns
and giving no latitude to longitude

Out into the weather
checking the signs
wondering what today will bring us
and so putting on our shades
and packing our umbrella

The Stop & Shop strike v. Game of Thrones.
In Game what’s not made plain
is the condition of the people
compared with warriors and queens.
There’s no mention of land-clearance, tree-felling,
pruning, chopping, digging, hoeing,
weeding, branding, gelding, slaughtering,
salting, tanning, brewing, boiling,
smelting, forging, milling, thatching,
fencing and hurdle-making, hedging, road-mending and haulage.

As for the strike, most of us
supported the cashiers and clerks—
cutting benefits and pensions
when CEOs make millions.
A few pennies more
for ice cream and tofu
a leg up for our neighbors
and comrades in labor.
But don’t get greedy, power-hungry—
we don’t want the supermarket to go out of business
or the Army of the Dead to extinguish us.

A red-tailed hawk observes what small mammals, birds are in the
     clearcut,
awaits the moment to strike.
Three *****, two strikes, full count. Aaron pitched carefully, slow
     strikes and the opposing team scored.
Transit strike. Part-time tutor,
food deliverer, illegal immigrant,
school bus driver, supermarket bagger.
Let labor flow like capital! Full tank of gas!
In your dreams, you kick ***.
In your daydream, you’re breaking bones, killing mean dogs with bare
     hands .
In my childhood dreams, I fought side by side with my best buddies
against the Army of the Dead.
I wake up to a lightning strike and my dream incinerates.

The strike is over, like a thunderstorm.
Still a half dozen or so episodes of Thrones
before it sinks into the past.
Will women save the world?
Anything’s possible.
Nothing changes in Williamstown, Willie, except the seasons.
The wee hours, the bored minutes, the second guesses,
the town sewer department, the collector of taxes.
Pitcher’s elbow, runner’s knee, reader’s eye,
you live until you die.
That’s no answer.
Without the Mexican and Canadian borders
the White Walkers would dissolve like an aspirin in seltzer water.

The sun is up, the strike is over
next episode of Game is Sunday
the White Walkers attack
some of our favorite characters croak
but humanity survives
though the weather is ominous.
The habitable zone around the sun
is moving outward as the orb expands
getting hotter as it grows older.
Earth a billion years ago
was smack in the middle of the turf
but we’re now half-in, half-out
exposed to the sun’s ardor, agony,
a dragon eating its babies, torching cities.
We’re gonna hafta outsmart it
hold Labor Day barbecues on Mars.

The world is getting smaller
It's getting quicker too
But it's not getting any younger
A service is overdue

Glaciers are melting away, as shadows in the darkest hour,
Nature’s enrage, has now turned into a war;
Even at a place so uphill,
There is no cold wind nor the chill.

The trees that we cut down fell,
And the green heaven turned to hell.
We pretend to be deaf of what we hear,
And stay blind of what that happens here.

Our voices never have raised,
Nor the fire inside us has blazed.
So, let us all stand straight and tall,
If not, we all shall fall.

What will we do
When the birds fall from the sky,
Their stomachs full of lids,
And beaks wrapped in bags?

What will we do
When the whales wash up,
Their bodies start to rot
And the bottles spill out?

Where will we be
When the wildfires burn,
Turning towns to ash
And the future to rubble?

Where will we be
When the trees are bare,
Turning forests to stumps
And no air to breathe?

Who will save us
When we go to war,
The bodies pile up
And the skies are stained yellow?

Who will save us
When we fall to disease,
We neglect our health
And we're naive to death?

When birds on nearby
Big olive trees
A mellifluous music make,
Cognizant time for daybreak
I often used to get awake.
They always chirp
To say
“ Get up what is your plan
For today?”

Tragically, after
People recklessly
Felled down trees
Concrete jungles
To advance
I have missed for
The alarming bell
A chance.

A vicious cycle of drought
Makes the harvest naught.
Food insecurity
Has become
Some countries’ identity.
Rivers,which used to gallop,
Ebbing out, that trend
Has stopped.

Unlike in the past,
Walking without umbrella
No sane person can
For h/she will be
Victimized by the sun.

Nature, which
We used to bully,
Has become
Unruly !

Alas , unless one puts on
A glass
The reflection from a nearby
Tower’s environment -
not-friendly window
Could cast on one’s iris
A shadow.

In the past
Summer was summer
While winter winter
But now has taken their places
Gray matter.

The air was salubrious
But now it has said” Adieus!”////