I look out on another fine day
aspen roughhousing with the breeze, flashes
her good morning
sun goddess smiles
Soon I will pull on my boots and gather up
the reddest and ripest, greenest
I will fill bowls with water
bring oats and pine bedding
give thanks for fresh eggs
Like a thousand other mornings,
and like the first
Here in the stillness, where snails slow dance
to orchestras playing a green symphony, I seek counsel
from those who have always been
who have always known—
How then, knowing this?
The wind whispers its wisdom
You have forgotten we are the same,
you are the seed, and carry all you need
inside of you
Seek the bright elemental light
in all things
Sing because you must
Give more than you take
Grow down and rooted,
reach up and outward
in equal measure
Remember you are made up of earth
and sun and ancestors—
not alone, not above
but part of
Not alone, not above
but part of
Befriend loss, for she is always
at your side
Soft-feathered necks arch
bold eyes fixed, the girls murmur
They remember the great
Read IPCC report here: https://www.ipcc.ch/sr15/
Exclusively with one's self
Is how life's led to calamity
It's uncommon to shout in a crisis
Who's left to clean up the messes?
The feeling of alone
Is so cold
The feeling of alone
Changed my soul
The feeling of alone
Can I go home?
I feel I have a hole
where something was meant to be
but it never was there
so it's just empty
now and then it makes me cry
but it's alright, alright
always alright, never a let down
a weakness it is
and God forbids
I'll let anyone see that
for this ****** life made me a rock
so here I'll stay, forever
my tears slowly turning me to sand
the right to a future,
i never thought
would be disputed
but trees are burning
ice is melting
species are being wiped out,
so who's to say
won't be next?
adults ****** it up and y'all refuse to see that so we're cleaning up your messes
As largest corporations get richer
They recruit preacher after preacher
Who articulate long heroic stories
That hypnotize nations with glories
God, King, Country and bunch of other stuff
So, seeing the naked truth becomes very tough
While the hoo-ha keeps you entertained
An army of bad people very well trained
Are insidiously getting busy with
Economy but not like Adam Smith
A sudden crash in housing sector or stock exchange
And wealth changes hands real quick. So strange!
Thank God! You have lots of TV channels to follow
Or high-tech, comfy, memory foam that we call pillow
Time for watching more TV or taking a good nap
Over further deepened income distribution gap
Although witnessed by you almost on a daily basis
You’re far from knowing the meaning of financial crisis
System’s designed in a way, you will feel strong
Yet still be the weakest link, accept and play along
In this equation, you are a worthy variable
As long as you shut your mouth and act biddable
You’re the victim here dude, that the big guy abuses
Labyrinth warned you alright. Please! No more excuses
You’d better start reading this from the very beginning
To comprehend the repeating nature of the **** thing
Pending copyright process
you want a poem about identity?
people who identify themselves by
what they eat, what they believe in,
what political party they like, what
depressants or stimulants they partake
or don’t partake in are the people who
emanate this keen sense of a “holier
than thou” off-putting. so if you see
a drunken straight-edge, a vegan carnivore,
a Christian atheist, a democratic republican
trotting through the mud of your streets,
be sure to dismount them off that high horse
and continue on as you were meant to do so.
I feel guilty when I go to church.
Not because of Saturday’s misadventures
or the bottles that scatter my bedroom floor.
I am not burdened by the cake I had for breakfast
or the bed in which I woke up that morning.
So why do I feel this guilty?
I’m a prisoner of my own device
though the four corners of the earth sit in the palm of my hand.
When the world starts to scream too loudly
I can turn the volume down.
I can put the world to sleep.
These days I lounge ever more than I work. I fret
the number of likes on my profile picture
as if I didn’t just roll my eyes when my Mum told me I was beautiful.
I scavenge for validation as if this screen will be my best friend forever
though for now I mope alone and eat fried chicken in bed.
When the pastor tells me I’ve been saved,
hurricanes conjure their fists.
The ashes of the Amazon grimace.
The oceans and their few remaining fish wish that they could drown themselves
while the clouds above the Sahara cry the few tears they have left to cry.
I feel guilty when I go to church
because the only world I’ve paid attention to doesn’t exist.
Species raise their arms to surrender after years of brawling with extinction.
Yet, I only lift my thumb to scroll.
Beyond my screen I see
grey skies perch upon grey buildings
which tip-toe on grey concrete.
I’m lost in a grey sea.
Its currents rip and scrounge at my feet with hands that are wrinkled and veiny
I dreamt about a crystal blue pool.
I felt stupid when I saw the ocean.
The storm doesn't
I weather the storm
The reason for lockdown is muddy
Bricks stacked in a hole make a room
The roof is the sky in blue 8bit
Infinity framed to taunt a finite life;
Two lives -
A heartbeat and a tree
He cannot imagine the view from above
With his neck craned angular all day
The only way out is up
He gives his water to the tree
Leaves only drops for his prickly tongue
And when it rains he blesses the imprismed sky and drinks his fill
Green flag leaves unfurl
Climbing to search the sun
But he is brown as the muddy floor
Which cracks as the sun rises up with
Mayday, he says, remembering the boat in the Aegian - the radio spitting static
Surrounded by black water
The desert stretches on
Each wave a fist descending
Always a feast of inpotables.
Progress of the tree is measured in squints, patting the trunk, whispering lines of poetry - whole passages forgotten
How will I escape this labyrinth of suffering
Kiss the bark with prayers.
Isolation breeds desperate dreams
Teeth knocking around his head, falling to the floor
He buries them in the roots
Have one piece more
Grow tall, let me climb
The wind answers his words in the leaves
This poem is a narrative about an immigrant scholar who leaves his home on a boat but is imprisoned in a hole when he reaches his destination. He shares his water rations with a tree in the corner of the cell hoping to climb its branches one day to escape.
i almost had a midlife crisis and dyed my hair a soft baby pink
it woulda been pretty
pair it with a tattoo under my eye
a broken heart on one side
a sparkling star on the other
but then i thought to myself, it’s not exactly a midlife crisis if i’m only 16
more of a quarter life crisis
not nearly as dramatic
so i settled for painting my nails pink instead
it’s been a wild summer. lots of emotions.