The silence surrounds
Laying on the green grass
Staring at the setting sun, it's a reddish round
A Twite's trill treads all around

A benign breeze breaks,
helping the wafting wherry
The perpetual pier
gathered a gleeful gaggle

The lulling lake
a serene sight
beauty bound
A dream domicile

Pandemic
The word itself describes its art,
Lots of deaths, people leave with a scar,
Maybe you  think its effect is temporary ,
But don’t you worry, these pity days will haunt you
Till you are buried.
The life started so beautifully, cro-magnans and environment
Living symbiotically,
What happened after that, you all know, history of the earth changed,
When the man learnt to fight and take revenge.
You really think its all a particular regime’s  fault,
Well don’t worry! I guarantee you.
Mother nature was planning this since long halt,
And why not, after what damage has been done,
Maybe she just wants to remind us ,
That power is just a time’s rust.
So bury yourself in your glass palaces,
And promise to whatever you believe,
If there is even a slight chance that you aren’t preyed,
Then you will never  ever predate.

Watch along the horizon line
Past the trees and you will find

Through the skies being installed
Every high and every fall

Cloaked until again recalled
Nature once again redrawn

Clear for all who look to see
Our collective mother’s ECG

Public places
now empty spaces
free of all familiar faces

But there is an upside
a turn of the tide
away from environmental suicide

Shifting towards clean
Mother Earth more serene
thriving more than I’ve ever seen

In the North we had the cold war. Sirens screamed; we crouched under desks, thin arms covering thinner heads. We were post Pompeii petrifies waiting for a future dig. We never left an atomic shadow.
This  sums up all life-threatening fears of the Boomers, the Echoes, the A's through Z's. Of course, Boomers then were too young to worry.

We've never had planes or bombs fall from our skies (there was the Arrow disaster).
We've never had a crop blight, famine or drought.
Food has never been rationed.
Hurricanes, cyclones, typhoons or tornados don't happen here;
We get snowfalls we plow through till they melt.
We're non-tsunami. Flooding is seasonal, geographically isolated, and dealt with.
We've had no great fires or earthquakes like San Fran or London.
We've never been drafted, and only go to wars of our own choosing.
We have not been invaded or occupied;
P.E.I. has no extermination crematoriums.
We avoided Inquisitions, Salem witch hunts and Small Pox blankets.
We've had no Race Riots, but a few barricades have gone up and down.

Death comes to us as to all. Car accidents, dumb-*** accidents, and even ******. Though never expected, always anticipated. We grieve, some longer than others. It's not easy, but we manage the shock.

When the glaciers glide past the coast of Nova Scotia, on the way to New York, my generation (and probably yours) will have been replaced.

But now! We're asked to Social Distance and wash with soap and water. In Canada we have plenty of both. I'll occupy my three square feet of space for several weeks (knowing there are only 52 in a year). No complaints. No asinine TP runs. Just behaving myself, HUMANELY.

Seas of swaying green reduced to gray city skylines (the triumphant results of our modern enlightenment)
Slicked oil waters pulse from the refineries, defeated heads held down against the cold winds walk the streets.
Malaise grips the populace,
our attention at every turn deftly averted to the trivial.
Welcome one, welcome all, to the Anthropocene.

Smoke stacks bellowing, pockets full of printed greenbacks thickening,
the overwhelming scents of greed and gluttony bleed into everything.
Throw your trash to the streets, stomp the last embers and smear ash on the wall,
Look around and you will see humanities closing scenes.
Welcome one, welcome all, to the Anthropocene.

It seems in the end truth has left us,
hope has evacuated,
it’s speakers replaced with puppets
That dance and masquerade on taught strings.
Come in my friends, take your seats in the audience,
The show has already begun!
The lights are dimming and the pieces well set,
Welcome one, welcoming all, to the Anthropocene.

Continents ablaze, reduced to decayed black.
The streets of your home flooded,
Mother Nature holding on by a trembling thread,
And in all of our brightest intellect,
We do not reknit the thread.
Instead of reversing our own mistakes, instead of adjusting our sails to the changing winds,
we hold the scissors to that trembling string and begin to cut with a smile.
Manicured life,
Monocultured lawns perfectly maintained through the drought, appearances kept up through the drowning monsoon winds.

Welcome, my dearest friends, to the end of our days, whether you agree to them or not,
Welcome to the first conscious mass extinction, brought to you by the height of human innovation
Welcome, my brothers and sisters, to the Anthropocene.

"Sorry for your luck," wheezed Gaia,
"But I'm long overdue for a breather."