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Woody Dec 2019
******* in the pond/
Fat toad on a skinny rock -
I wish he would croak.
This is seriously ******-up on so many levels:

“ So ridiculous. Greta must work on her Anger Management problem, then go to a good old fashioned movie with a friend! Chill Greta, Chill!
— Donald J. Trump (@realDonaldTrump)
December12, 2019“
r Oct 2019
Her words will light a fire
underneath deniers, eye-to-
eye, take on the liars, I, too
have too long uttered silence
while our children quietly
despised us, we, even me
who knew, choked it down
the unclean smoke unspoken
yes, how dare we leave this life
behind for generations to bare
our crimes, and yet they rise
above to breathe fresh air
the clean O2 of burning desire
searing, shouting utter truth
to wake the world, to sing
and single out, to recognize
a lie when it is a lie, FIERCE
like fire, beautifully reactionary
aflame, to inflame, now is here
your time, rebel, my rebel child
fight for your very life, your future
children, species, for all mankind.
FIERCE, like Greta.
Juhlhaus Oct 2019
Stiff necks turn your ears
To the approaching thunder
In the sanctuary walls,
A tremor in the civic flagstones,
Four million poster-board sentiments,
And twice as many young lungs.
They will be marching still,
When you can no longer
Answer those piercing eyes
Looking to your legacy,
Nor stand before the tender feet
Shaking the earth you leave them.
For Greta and the planet.
Mary Velarde Sep 2019
What is of a child's worth,
they say,
if not to save the Earth?

But hundreds of miles away
a twelve year old girl
sits in a classroom
and learns about the world
as it passes by.

How's it come to this--
having to defend the world to be able to live in it?
How's it come to this--
to be born
rid of birthright?
Must a child's life burn
as fast as a candle's wick,
or a forest in a slow, painful disappearing trick?
And instead of a crowd roar of applause,
there's only silence;
and then nothing.
Isabel May 2019
She sits
Atop a myrtle bush
She cannot fly
But sends out her desire
Her future dreams
Through the unsuspecting air
Her belief
In distant generations
Borne upon the breeze
Hope of the unseen
Messaged across the barren lands
And am I powerless?
This is inspired by a moth we came across in the Scottish Highlands whilst working with Trees for Life (look them up!). The female is wingless but sends out pheromones to bring the winged males to her to breed. It was also inspired by the Extinction Rebellion/ climate change protests which were happening at the same time, so dedicated to the marvellous Greta Thunberg.
Terry Collett Feb 2016
He loved Greta Garbo.
He’d seen all her movies
At the old cinema
Or on late night TV.

He’d read all the written
Books he could find on her.
Had photographs of her
All over his small house,

Some framed, hanging on walls,
Some on the mantelpiece,
On cupboards, on book shelves,
On his bedside table;

Her beauty looking out
At him all day and night
Especially while he
Slept in bed with his wife.

He even dreamed of her,
Dreamt he had made a film
With her, which no one saw.
Dreamt he had walked with her,

Talked with her; held her hand.
Dreamt he had slept with her
(Sleeping being the one
Operative word of all.)

Just to be close to her,
To smell her, feel her near,
Touch her tingling skin.
But not commit the sin

In his dreams or real life,
That little men like him
Never copulated
With gorgeous goddesses

Like Monroe or Garbo,
But made love with their wives.

— The End —