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Blessed are the poorly, for theirs is the kingdom of mudflats

The dispirited streak turgid waters
sinuously, through unsettled feelings
in the wake of boats shedding
filaments of fuel,
sheen on a turbid infusion
and the cordgrass nods a resilience
or an apathy as the silt settles
on their Piscean gleam

Blessed are the pure in heart for they shall see a salted heaven

Angelic Menhaden of the Atlantic,
are silvery stretches of scale,
dulled in death under a festering sun
and the retreating tide of dying waters
brined in ocean, freshwater spirited
to secret spaces, some dammed crevasse,
now  tumultuous  fate in a salted heaven

Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness for they shall be filled

At the Tabgha of this intertidal palette
Cattails whisper beatitudes
latched onto the tails of wind gusts
and the plovers descended
in a litany of  bird song
amassed like the manna
trailing  tidal waters
as the sea swallows herself.
Blessed are the herons, the mallards,
the geese. Time is measured
in the passage of fish that
cycle themselves through the innards of birds

Blessed are the meek for they shall inherit the rocks

The meek Menhaden, leaped
onto the rocks that hemmed the inlet,
escaping the hungry habits of herons.
They inherited Earth in agony    
pounding a rocky surface,
but the air I swim, had no water.
I prodded these  Menhaden of the Rock
to the fringe of retreating tides,
and they leaped to die once more
to breathe water that had no air

Blessed are those that mourn, for they shall be comforted

Blessed is the discomfiture
of my brackish tears
that streak marsh faces
as fish struggle out of dead water.
I take comfort I don't inhabit
tainted places or do I take comfort,
all places are the tint of poison,
the gleam of a genesis of sorrow
The fifth of June has been designated as World Environment Day by the United Nations. Today, in fact, will inaugurate the UN Decade on Ecosystem Restoration (2021-2030), a global mission to revive billions of hectares, from forests to farmlands, from the top of mountains to the depth of the sea [1]. Pakistan is the host country this year for the official celebrations. As we are aware, the protection of the environment and its restoration is of utmost importance given the damage to our environment. Today, helps highlight that our well being and economic development, are intricately and intimately connected to the health of the environment in that, World Environment Day, gives us an opportunity to learn more about our ecosystems, cultivate broad and enlightened opinions, encourages responsible conduct by people, their communities and their enterprises to help preserve and enhance our habitat [2].


I chose to write a poem on the Atlantic Menhaden, fish that are an important part of commercial fisher and in estuarine habitats . They are filter feeders, consume phytoplankton and zooplankton and constitute the largest landings, by volume, along the Atlantic Coast of the United States. They are found in coastal and estuarine waters like in the Hackensack Meadowlands [3]. They are harvested for use as fertilizers, animal feed, and bait for fisheries including blue crab and lobster, are food for striped bass and other fish, as well as for predatory birds, including osprey and eagles. Menhaden are silvery in color with a distinct black shoulder spot behind their gill opening [4]. It was late (November, December) last year that I spotted a lot of dead fish in the Hackensack river. It was reported then, that it may have been the lack of oxygen in the water [5] It was only in April this year that species of Vibrio bacteria were suspected as having caused multiple ***** failure in the Atlantic Menhaden [6]. In any case, high levels of contaminants in rivers, along with sediment make up for low levels of dissolved oxygen in the water in summer and along with the bacteria, are a threat to this variety of herring that are important to many other species that make the Hackensack their home.

Read more at
davinasolomon.org/2021/06/05/on-world-environment-day-beatitudes-for-the-dead-fish-that-inherited-the-mudflats/
What kind of animal
Ringing his death knell
Cuts 10 billion trees a year
Plants only the half
What kind of animal
Ringing his death knell
Sometimes, I wonder
What's kind about him
His fraternity mankind
Manbrute the dialectics
He uproots his greatest friends
Makes way for his enemies
What kind of animal
Ringing his death knell
Know thy friends' great qualities
O brute of mankind
One tree provides oxygen
For four of thy clan
For their survival on this planet
Breathes in carbon dioxide
Defending ozone layer's defence
Dust hesitates to rise
In air to suspend
Less by seventy percent
Near a row of trees
Noise reduces by fifty percent
Peace and peaceful is clime
A tree cools as if an  air conditioner in a big house
Stop ring thy death knell
O brute of mankind
Plant trees everywhere
Nourish as if thy child
Protect thy environment
If thou wish to survive
And lead a quality life
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]
Ahmad Attr May 2
No not yet
My angel of death
I am not ready to leave Earth
I don’t deserve to get out of this hurt

I have yet to see my beautiful planet
Ruined, rancid, rotten
These people are cruel
Of course I am one of them

We all burn the mother that nourishes us
We all are empty husks devoid of feelings
We all have scars and cuts
And thus we want to crush everything in our pain

But I don’t deserve to go first
From my dear Earth
Have you not considered these other fiends
They hurt so they can love
They destroy so they can preserve
They lie to thrive
While I lie to survive

I am kind
I am honest
I am pious
So ask me again, and I’ll say
No not yet
...and biggest of them all, i'm really good at lying
Norman Crane May 1
what if people had hearts,
and cared for one another deeply,
everyone doing his part
to improve his neighbour's condition completely,
without reward or remuneration,
only love for the entire human population?

what if cows had wings,
and buzzed above abattoirs like bees,
*******—as nectar—the skins
off the bodies of humans, fallen to their knees,
in repentance and commiseration
with the suffering of all living things?
Norman Crane Apr 28
listen to them wingmongers
circling round
squawking about how
there be tiny cities on the ground
moss barble asphalt
laid down
betwixt twig-mud megatowers
architecture of invisible sound
leaves decomposing, ants scurrying
spider weaving her web,
connecting flowers like power
lines buzzing beetles hurrying
all the way down the naturebound
highway,
off-ramps to the nine burrows
past the dead squirrel,
through the downpour
of fungal spores more
self-sustainable than any city of yours,
screech the wingmongers,
and from dirt level
i understand their song
these tiny cities will be
long past
when our civilization's long gone
I found myself in a cave
   That was not primal,
   That was not home.

The walls were all squared off,
The corners sharp and threatening.
A mechanical buzz emitted in the background,
Dull and incessant summer bugs suspended in still air.

I found peace in running from it -
Laced two cushioned shoes and hit the pavement,
Traversing the black tar path to the nearest cul-de-sac
Where the houses all look the same.

Behind the houses is the woods -
A narrow, jagged sidewalk with a few trees.
That's where you'll find me.
Laying on the concrete platform
For the sewer drain along the creek,
Face to the sky, eyes on a tree,
Happy as I can be in a world that's not for me.
rach Apr 3
it’s wonderful to have eyes,
to have a vision of the nature and skies,
to see how they suffer in humans’ hands,
to just witness everything but not doing what’s right

isn’t it time to give back
before the greens turn to black?
i doubt everyone is concerned
—after all, humans always act
like they’re blind
Small mind
Big mouth

Hate the
Hate

Hate the
House

Like
A bird
Flying  
South

I
Go
Where
There
Suits
MySelf

By: Bill MacEachern
03/13/21
This was therapy for me this morning,
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