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Carlo C Gomez May 10
[begin transmission]

Little mean marble,
the grasshopper lies heavy,
riding storms
and trailing winds,
eating dystopia
right out of the box

suns and daughters
of the cataclysm
sit about a space
cadet's campfire,
hints of alien sand
in their voices

it so oddly resembles
vast outland libretto,
that breathe of menace,
inside sojourners
holding tickets to ride
tramlines on shuttle days

swarming with
Walter Mitty groupies
and econowives,
transporting ****, rapture,
and/or reproduction to worlds
of public domain

one day we'll settle here
one day, with bowed heads,
we'll kiss the splendor
of its red ruination

[end transmission]
Svetoslav May 4
Absorbing Sun's caring embrace
and the water's life,
the trees mix them into oxygen for the man,
for he has planted the seeds
which marked their beginning — organisms vital for wildlife and shelter.

The man now receives their appreciation
with the maturing of the fruit.
To eat it is honoring its purpose and time,
for it grew only for you, as a gift.
Earth's hospitality was never meant for granted,
but be returned to the cycle.

It spins like our planet in space,
around a warm core and a cold shell.
Stars there align to the call of energy
designed to dance in gray,
and to portray protons and electrons
in a chemical reaction,
beginning of the first light — pressed lighter igniting candles.
sergiodib Mar 16
Cycling, without haste,
Along narrow country roads.
On the edge, undisturbed waste.

Riding, alongside ancient springs
That hatch dry stones and tires.
In his nest of tear strips a blackbird sings.

Eventually, I get to the point of no return.
Where past and future merge.
And no more does the sun burn.
Homunculus Jan 13
**** if I know.
I scarcely understand much anymore.
I am but a puddle of coherent reminiscences
oozing across the floor into decoherence and
diffusing into maximum entropy.

We are in Hell:
all is Maya,
all is Mara,
all is Dukkha.
Yet, we are slaves
who love our chains.

And I am a lifeless, fetal,
**** economicus,
mortifying de rigeur
in the ossified skull of a
long forgotten **** sapien.

If only those kinship instincts could've
survived the havoc we've wrought.
Look at what we've done.
Look at what we do.

**** for money.
**** for oil.
**** for land.
**** for 'justice.'
**** for God
**** for 'the cause'
**** for the sake of killing,
and pave over what's left.

Leave a few trees and bushes for our
dystopic terrarium.
'Our Synthetic Environment,'
old Murray[1] called it.

Now, walk into the forest.
Be there. Stay there.
Do you feel it?
Any of this nonsense we call

is it that you feel something more. . .  
More true?
To a point where our heated debates
appear as no more than frivolous diatribes?

When do we stop all this narrative solipsism
and get to the ******* point?
None of this is real.
Our thoughts are not our own.
Have they ever been?

The Spectacle [2] reigns supreme
as we idle spectators
speculate idly upon it.

Borges's fable of the cartographers [3]
has reached its apotheosis,
and we are its unwilling
and unwitting victims. . . .
A bit too much wine is the culprit here, I suspect.

1: Murray Bookchin, radical social theorist and major figure in the ecology movement.
2: "In societies where modern conditions of production prevail, all of life presents itself as an immense accumulation of spectacles. Everything that was directly lived has moved away into a representation." - Guy Debord, Society of the Spectacle, 1967
3: The Borges story, credited fictionally as a quotation from "Suárez Miranda, Viajes de varones prudentes, Libro IV, Cap. XLV, Lérida, 1658", imagines an empire where the science of cartography becomes so exact that only a map on the same scale as the empire itself will suffice. [source: Wikipedia]
Dante Rocío Dec 2020
I’ve been thinking of living like a fire,
crawling at my boots for fields, thirsty,
soothing guitar’s enamel of blood and memories,
life taking yet passion agent for our breaths and eyes to stay.
Life taking for those who live with roots all day.
Life taking for those who fairly clasp their prey.

I’ve been thinking of living like a fire,
a candle offspring of a dangerous meditation,
Rocks rumbling into coffin forests,
and an academic scorched sight that will endure only
in cigarette poems‘ claim.

A string.
On ecological worldwide poetry prompts to add my own voice conjoined with own whistlings of caramel wood painted maroon and red from fingers bleeding from strings, from poems kissing you possessively in the back of your head even in the shadow of a family bonfire and the harsh force a spark might carry
sergiodib Dec 2020
Hello, hi! I'm Spike C. Ovid and
I was born in Somewhere in 2019.
Yes, I'm the one you would have never wanted to hear from.

Don't panic!

I'm not the evil one; I'm here because I only want to live;
just like you.

Let me tell you straightaway: this is a knock out match.
I'm invisible to the naked eye but you're not so gullible:
you have science and technology and sometimes common sense and, on special occasions, even a spirit of brotherhood.
I want to be really outspoken: my best weapons in this battle are:
your fears, your selfishness, your clinging to private wealth, your individualism and narcissism, as  well as, your conflicting political, religious, and ethnic identifications.

Please don't play the indignant card;

just remember that you are here, by chance, because a meteorite hit this planet and wiped out dinosaurs; but, soon after that, you wiped out the Neanderthals and so many other species, later on, including your own kind.

I’ve already told you, I won't be a hypocrite!
I want you to work for me, free.
I'm copying this from you.
However the final price for this tug of war will only be
something you don't care that much for:


Why did I write you this letter?
Let’s make a deal to end this clash!
Hand all the old and very ill ones over to me - They’re only a burden for you - and then I’ll leave.
A fair agreement: no more fear, no more casualties, on both sides.

Please make up your mind quickly.
I Look forward to meeting you soon.
Good luck!


Remember that I was born to dominate: I was born crowned!
Traveler Nov 2020
My journey finally came to its bitter end
I fell to the ground and deteriorated
I slipped deep into restfulness of soul
Surprisingly up from my after pile
A beautiful fungus forms
My wormed over residual self
From the ashes reborn
This is my new breath!
Order out of my Chaos
Traveler Tim
Traveler Sep 2020
Learning and evolving
Primitively revolting
Problematic solutions
Ideological institutions

Mergence of shadow
Disassociation of ego
***, ecology, spirituality
Check, check, check

Why am I still broken?
Traveler Tim
Akshita Aug 2020
We only have one Earth,
So why don't we live and act like it?
Why do we go on
Wasting non-renewable resources?
Why do we keep on
Hunting and haunting wildlife?
Why do we continue
Chopping down the trees?
Why do we pretend
That there's another planet B?
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