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Sandra Lee Jun 2018
        Unsafe, Hazardous
          Polluting,  Contaminating, Fouling
        Waste,     Blight,     Damage,     Liability
        Spoiling,  Dirtying,  Poisoning
       Tainted, Unclean
This is a Diamante poem, shaped like a diamond. Thanks to APriCoT for her influence and encouragement. See her poem Global Warming for information on how to write one.
Orange Rose May 2018
I stumble in the blinding dark.
I cannot see a single mark,
Of light, of rock, of man or beast.
It seems the night will have its feast.
When suddenly a glowing light,
Emits from somewhere out of sight.

I stagger toward it, unaware,
Of a sudden thinness in the air.

A cave now seems to beckon me,
And as I enter, all I see,
Are crystals shining like the sun.
Like broken mirrors, dull are none.
My fear now seems to melt away,
And false safety is here to stay.

For suddenly I feel safe and sound,
Though I'm miles and miles below the ground.
Richard Grahn Oct 2017
You always said “I’ll love you always.”
But always didn’t last.
Your memories are a bulldozer
Just plowing through my past.

We stripped away the barren soil
And got down to the lode.
It wasn’t what we thought was there
There wasn’t any gold.

Now the ground lays cold and bare.
There’s nothing left of us to share.
We’ve divvied up what’s left of us
And left the ground to turn to dust.

We wanted gold
To free our souls and wash away the tears
But the gears of time kept grinding on
Churning up the years.

So I hold the gems we found back then
Closely to my beating chest
To recollect, to not forget.
**At least for you, I’ll do my best.
Made a significant change after posting this. The changed parts are in bold
Luke Jul 2017
I’d been standing underneath the sun for hours in the heat,
When I came upon a largish piece of quartz between my feet,
I sunk my pickaxe deep inside the rock which shone with all,
The pretty colours trapped within a gorgeous crystal ball,
The axe swung down a hundred times, the rock stayed the same shape,
And in my own frustration all that I could do was gape,
The colours of the magic quartz were hypnotizing me,
I’d noticed others resting underneath the nearby tree,
But determined, covered in cold sweat I continued my work,
To try to find the treasures which inside the rock may lurk,
When twenty days had passed I realized I had not eaten,
But by a piece of stone I was so sure I’d not be beaten,
I’d had no sleep, was miserable and fearful of the creatures,
Alone and in the dark now I could recognize their features,
But instead of marching home I bent and carried on my chore,
Beating away forever like the sea upon the shore,
A year had passed, I knew deep down I’d made no actual progress,
But I told myself the rock was smaller so as to defeat stress,
I looked around and noticed I’d been on my own some time,
The hammering of the pickaxe like some old forgotten rhyme,
And as I slaved on foolishly with rusty worn out tool,
I wondered why on earth I had been doing this at all?
The canary
with its
handsome brow
cloister monk
that quarry
with cow
that graze
coal an
edifice for
living in
climes north
in midst
a fire
burns out
into the
wind his
***** bowels.
The Trumpoet Apr 2017
In West Virginia they dig tunnels or a great big hole,
to extricate from Mother Earth the substance known as coal.
For centuries the coal was burned and smoke would fill the air,
but coal became outmoded and demand's no longer there.

So many miners were laid off as mines did stall or close,
and in Coal Country incomes dropped and unemployment rose.
But Donald Trump made promises to fix the miners' strife,
by saying he'd bring Old King Coal a-roaring back to life.

So Trump reduced the regulations that bring jail or fines
for harm to the environment from power plants or mines.
But all this is irrelevant - Trump has no magic spell
to make the world want coal again. To whom will these mines sell?

Trump may as well have promised to bring back the horse and cart;
for tinkers, whalers, schooner sailors, a rich and brand new start.
For Trump will promise anything and sell his very soul.
Next Christmas his reward should be... a big old lump of coal.
You can also see this and my other Trump poems at:
Link to video of this poem:
Written: April 1, 2017
Chloe Chapman Aug 2016
Roads stretch out, a lattice of scars etched into the land.
Asphalt and Tarmac rivers, crawling with lines of ***** machines.
Sectioning off nature.
I cannot hear the birds anymore.

A countryside blistered with towns, villages.
The sores of sprawling cities scattered across the earth,
Polluting the peace.
I cannot see the stars anymore.

Great factories spewing toxic smog,
Whilst mechanical beasts tear into the veins of the planet,
Ripping apart the landscape.
We are not blameless anymore.

We have ***** our world,
leaving in our wake:
War torn nations,
Plagued by starvation,
Human 'civilization'.
In progress. Any thoughts on improvement?
EMM Aug 2016
England lies below the ground
Chiselled out of diamond,
Blackened halls where men would dance
On floors of obsidian, twice removed from the stars.
Parlours made of coal.
Where man and beast alike would toil
Birth would grant them pigment
But birth’s decision was in vain,
When the sun began to fall, they would arise, of colour all the same.
Nowadays the men walk free;
Drink pints in the morning, offer empty yells,
To that guy who came here to escape the shells,
To the girl who arrived here with three degrees,
And now scrubs floors down on her knees,
To the guy who works for minimum wage,
He could be writing upon this very page.
Spirit crushed under coal when the mines closed down
Now England lies below the ground.
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