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Marietta Ginete Mar 2020
Chess? Monopoly? Uno?
What kind of game am I to you?
The instructions, you do not know.
Yet you enjoy doing what you do.
how are you all dealing with quarantine? i’m still here getting played.
Nick Stiltner Mar 2020
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.
Bhill Mar 2020
the hands of time selfishly shuffle the deck
who knows what card will be dealt
crisis creates opportunities to rise up
overcome situations that are not favorable
what is familiar, is no longer
the hands of time forever play out

Brian Hill - 2020 # 74
Marietta Ginete Mar 2020
Words are fun,
like playing in the sun.
They run and burn out,
as if there was never a doubt.
the way we relentlessly let our words go.
That Guy Feb 2020
A
speck fell
on the ground.
can't make a sound.
though it sure does try.
"God said let there be light"
"God is dead, and we killed him"
there is no way to clean it up.
there is no too much nor an enough.
for that small speck that fell there on the ground.
they say it was ol' Prometheus
that lent the speck a torch to tame
grown bright's the light of that flame
but black water stays cold
and never needs fuel
it see's it's fall
tries to call
and hits
ground
a small fall on small dirt
Dylan McFadden Feb 2020
We waited – waited – waited…
For that which
We knew
Not

Just killed the time till killing time…
With small and
Pointless
Talk

We seemed to ride upon a dream…
That faded with
Slow with
Time

And in the end, the curtains closed…
Without a
Reasoned
Rhyme

.
Łëïçkî Feb 2020
There we were at Lake Tiorati feeling the sun scorch our skin.
Sweat dripped from our bodies at Lake Tiorati and we were parched for a swim.
It was 80 degrees to hot even to breathe,
and still the lake jeered at our pain.
Tiorati lapped at the shore acting a tease,
seductively calling us in.
And then with a snap and a "**** it I'm done",
came the shirt off my back,
and all followed, one by one.
In Lake Tiorati on an 80 degree day, with wet sweaty bodies,
we broke the rules to play.
Jesus it was ******* HOT
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