#ecology
by Shikiyu
In a world of blue and green,
a single drop of color fell.
Born from the far end of desire,
it devoured every blessing it touched.
Perhaps it was always
meant to become what it became.
It entwines, resists,
and without ever stopping,
seeps outward—
slowly, relentlessly.
Seen from afar,
it spreads like a quiet stain,
turning the earth
back to its muted brown.
Ask what this existence means,
and no voice
will answer you.
The tendrils of evolution
drain whatever they touch,
corroding as they feed—
yet still, they reach,
stretching forward,
breaking everything
in their path.
The end of this hunger,
this craving for blessing,
is something
no one dares to look at.
And when everything
is dyed in that same brown,
people will seek new blessings,
and set off
for somewhere else.
—Humanity becomes
the maker of its own blessings,
a new kind of creature.
And if all of this is
the unseen intention
of the star that nourishes us…
then perhaps
what we call “blessing”
is only what slips
through our limited hands—
a belief held
by fragile beings like us.
Nov 13, 2025
Nov 13, 2025 at 9:48 AM UTC
Imagine if you will, the earth, our earth
As a gigantic Savings and Loan
With vaults to be filled, loans to float
And debts to be paid - or else!
All we require to breathe or feed
Is stored within its spherical shell.
Like it or not, we stash all our accounts
At the solitary bank of all that is
And queue before the window daily
To withdraw our daily sustenance.
But the drawers are not as full as before -
Less water, less oil, less breathable air;
How we will keep our bros (or ourselves)
When the shelves have little to offer?
Hurricanes howl and wildfires crackle
Just outside our windows.
Do we flee, must we fight,
Do we lose all, or perish?
What will we do if the Bank of Gaia
Closes its doors forever?
Sep 23, 2025
Sep 23, 2025 at 10:15 AM UTC
Wovoka I wish
Drum chant dance ‘neath sun and star
Brought warrior conquest
Sep 22, 2025
Sep 22, 2025 at 12:20 PM UTC
Why should I work for society
When society is destroying the Earth?
Why should I serve the state
When it's killing the country’s worth?
I debt only one to the planet,
And only one to the forest.
I know for sure that I owe
My life and birth to they, the purest.
They give us food, they give us rest,
Shelter and life — the very best.
But we exchange them for money,
Give back poison, dirt — it's not funny.
Money does not return the lives
That we take just to survive.
Taking life? Then understand —
You must give back with your hand.
Cut down a tree — plant dozens.
Plow the field — then grow wild cousins.
Killed the animals — bring them back,
Help them rise from the attack.
Destroyed the ecology? Then restore
Balance, life, and something more.
If you’ve taken freedom from the wild,
Give it back — to every child.
I debt only one to the planet,
And only one to the forest.
Not to a flag or a man-made rule,
But to the Earth — my only school.
We exchange them for money,
And poison the roots for honey.
But money won't revive the flame
Of the lives we burn in name.
Taking life? Create it new —
That’s the balance owed by you.
Sep 19, 2025
Sep 19, 2025 at 10:34 AM UTC
Cursed? Condemned?
To wander the Earth for eternity?
Aeneas, or Cain as some call him,
Was a person of renown - a leader and scholar.
Part of the crew of Odysseus,
He was called to the ship
But neglected to board it.
The name of the isle of flowers?
The Garden of Eden.
It's caretaker? Cybele.
Before the isle
Aeneas, like others,
Were offered the Trials.
This was to visit all the places
Currently & properly "gardened."
Reward for completion of the Trials
Was longevity, strength, et cetera.
Gnomen & Seers had procured,
Through generations of Trial & error,
A potent cataplasm
Which they learned to mutate/grow
Into a selected fruit.
Like an apple.
The Garden of Eden
Was a place of experimentation,
Much in the same vein as the Tower of Babel.
Where the Tower of Babel was focused
On the development and perfection of communication;
In things like language, oration, poetry, literature, et cetera
The Garden of Eden was focused
On experimentation with different forms of chemicals.
Chemicals, of course, coming in many forms;
Plants, minerals, other natural phenomena, substances & combinations, et cetera.
Part of this was experimentation with psychotropics,
Attempting to develop natural immunities
To such things like alcohol and cannabis.
Aeneas & Cybele,
Driven mad by drugs & mental-illness,
Left the isle.
For Aeneas was a rule-breaker
And confided in Cybele all that he understood and knew
About the Trials.
Aeneas had one trial left,
The Maze.
The Maze was enormous.
Upon its walls
All of human history was carved,
The entirety of that which was experienced by us.
All that had been relayed by various Gnomen & Seers
Through generation after generation.
Carved in ways that could be universally understood,
At least by those living within those ancient societies.
The red thread?
A guide to weapons, combat, subjugation/domination, et cetera.
This area of the Maze
Also housed a weapons cache
In the event the Maze was threatened or attacked.
Who informed Aeneas of the red thread?
Cybele.
Who informed Cybele?
Scylla.
You see, as previously mentioned,
Part of the Trials was to visit
All these areas which had been "gardened."
Auxiliary to this
Was to visit all those
Who had been deemed unworthy or had failed the Trials,
Like Scylla had been before meeting Cybele.
Living cautionary tales,
"Condemned" not to "wander"
But to live out their natural existences
On isles which were gardened for beings
Like predators and plant life which was vicious.
It was Scylla who "blew" Odysseus & his crew off course,
Knowing of Cybele & Eden.
Cybele who later drugged the "Minotaur."
Jul 10, 2025
Jul 10, 2025 at 12:37 PM UTC
Bacchus was the title
Conferred to those responsible for ¹"gardening."
Zagreus, lineage of Zeus but son to ²Hades, bore another title.
The "Zageuri" lead in the night.
There were no feasts of raw flesh, but many dances and celebrations while they tended to "The Great Fire."
Of the Zageuri, Zagreus lead.
The title, rendered in Latin, is like Noctus Rex.
You see, on islands, humans have the capacity for an incomparable amount of exertable control over that of their environment.
Those of the lineage Zeus & ³chosen sons of the "God" had, along with the Baccuhi, relocated or slayed the majority of the island's predators.
All those who would not be or could not be companions, like Lupus & Lybica.
The few remaining were nocturnal.
The relocation or slaying of them, any & all nocturnal predators,
Fell to those responsible for when Darkness dawned & Night reigned.
Those "descendants" of Hades, lineage of Zeus.
And in that, "The Great Hunt," we found among the elusive,
As we had found among the obvious,
Many other intelligent animals.
Many welcomed companions.
Wherein was birthed the Zageuri title,
Noctus.
The Nocti, the owls.
Gardeners in their own right,
Yet still hunters.
Jul 9, 2025
Jul 9, 2025 at 5:34 PM UTC
Ode to the Stream that sits stagnant
somewhere over Northgate Green:
I have sat by it and observed
Rippled currents falling down
Into murky shallows, an un-natural
Green, like mountain-dew
Breathing frothy spots of bubbles
That circle a rhubarb vape
And a sprite can and a
Heineken can and a
Little hopping Wren darting
Between curled roots.
I remember too,
The drips of
Rain water
Worming
Down the dingy
Alleyways of
My childhood,
Dripping down
Nettles and
Seeping into
Cracked brick and
Sodden dirt
And part of - now a -
Sordid cigarette packet.
And from some
Geography class,
I remember how
This water was
Reborn, once
In massive clouds,
Grumbling masses,
Sky's mother who
Shadows the
Bursting
Writhing
Violent
Rivers
And
Vast Fjords
And
Reaching Peaks
And
Breaching Skys
And
Once
Birthed
As torrent
Rainfall
Tearing
Massive wounds
Into tectonic
Plates
The
Blood of matter
And organism
And that which
Carries our ****
In every form
But that's not all. As, I recall:
The lifting motion of staring
Into 'etched lines of water'
From rain, tracing bulbous
Recollections on opaque glass
And knowing they don't
Know where they are going
And I bask in the significance of
This insignificance.
Jun 23, 2025
Jun 23, 2025 at 4:06 PM UTC
When the changes come
will winter winds still blow?
What world will we see
as quicksilver higher flows?
When this time is past
will songbirds still be heard?
Will parents still tell children
of the bees and the birds?
Will grandchildren know about
lightning bugs in the dark?
Will lovers still know what’s meant
by butterflies in their hearts?
May those gifts that we leave
for those who come hereafter
not become the close
of this book’s final chapter.
Nov 18, 2024
Nov 18, 2024 at 5:07 PM UTC
Press your ear against the bowl
can you hear it ringing
I think the earth is singing
Feb 29, 2024
Feb 29, 2024 at 7:37 AM UTC
Pinhole sunrise
Sodium lit
Murk and ambiguity sleep together
Down in the seabed
One moment of calm in a chaotic rift
These dark vessels
Of the fourth plateau
Scheme vicious pastimes
That live by night
Orphans of the smog
Attiré par le chaos
Soldiers of false beliefs
Progress the beauty of destruction
Their slogan:
"Making better mistakes with tomorrow"
It has the sound of a long goodbye
It lights the final flare
Jan 8, 2024
Jan 8, 2024 at 2:49 PM UTC
In shadows deep where darkness hides
There lies a bag of eight-legged horror
A bag of spiders where dread resides
Creeping and crawling, causing sorrow
With nimble legs they dance and sway
Each spins a thread, a delicate art
A web of wonder, they work their way
To weave their silk and do their part
They scuttle and scurry, never at rest
Their beady eyes, like gleaming gems
Silent whispers in a world obsessed
Reflecting secrets, known only to them
Oh, the bag of spiders, a curious sight
But hidden within their fearsome guise
Eliciting shivers, invoking fright
Lies nature’s marvel in miniature size
A bag of spiders, misunderstood
For spiders, in truth, are nature’s aide
Not causing harm, but doing good
Keeping balance, so be not afraid
So let us ponder with open hearts
A bag of spiders, for if you did
You’d see how nature plays her part
And applauds the bag of arachnids
Aug 20, 2023
Aug 20, 2023 at 8:42 PM UTC
This clade of “tree”
if you can believe that
! That this is what the
... silversword alliance technically are.
It's closely related tarweed...
The first **** wasn’t lonely for long and had
multiple terrains to colonize.
& tall tales take solidified liquid form
from the something
making water like fire
or air we can’t see floating like ice.
Pushed in a away a tsunami
seem small as they cross over the ocean.
Only they roar
louder then anything heard, but a drip
silenced lost lost
to deaf ears
empty troughs of the dunes
soft sand triumphing over the oceans.
The four subclades within the crossing times
sowed their alliance,
silversword are the tall tales
detail of long ago seemingly insignificant kept
life form, form life , forms
forms life
we know because it’s indistinguishable from the rest.
probabilities estimates Vertical
no horizontal or dashed lines.
Bound by the ' it was', see.
we are to the way we
were. Read the possible
probability of a tale, A tale
of a tall tale. Told.
Origination, will, times. They tell,
seconds per island
complex (from left-to-right:
Kaua‘i, O‘ahu, Maui Nui, Hawai‘i).
Nov 20, 2021
Nov 20, 2021 at 9:41 PM UTC
my desire
from curtain fires
to life on lillypads
put ******* liars
on washing wire
for peace in cleaner hands
...
the end of ends
amends my friends
i'll sleep when life is calming
on river beds
i'll rest my head
with frogs forever charming
Mar 8, 2022
Mar 8, 2022 at 4:29 PM UTC
Think twice before you take
Take only what you need
Use everything you take
Take full charge of your greed
Feb 17, 2022
Feb 17, 2022 at 7:06 AM UTC
near the water, 'n verdant rushes,
on a summer evening late,
hiding 'neath the dog-rose bushes
where pond-skaters feed and mate,
on the slithery grassy slope
above the bank of sand
there I saw Joy and Hope
sitting hand in hand
ere the golden crimson sun
had disappeared 'neath the waters
ere the twilight had begun
ere daylight sought its quarters
I heard the sound of echo'd laughter
as ripples in the water
as a melody from hereafter
sound of Joy and Hope that sought her
gone were the works of man,
steel and concrete temple,
gone were the ordered plans
of buildings regimental,
gone were the pinks and greys
of black 'n urban roadways,
all i saw was light of day
aflame with gold, salmon sun-ray
Oct 10, 2021
Oct 10, 2021 at 10:04 AM UTC
Earth, it’s so good to speak with you again. Come and rest here with me.
- Okay, but I don’t feel this is helping.
Why do you say that?
- I knew you’d say that. Always with a question.
That’s because I think you have the answer.
- [SIGH] This is not helping because - nothing - changes. If anything, it’s getting worse – in fact I know it is - You know it is. And the disease is spreading faster.
Disease?
- Yes, DISEASE! How else would you describe it? The illness, the infection – the dis-order.
And what order would you seek to restore?
- What?
You said ‘disorder’ – that suggests that there was order that has been disrupted.
- Yes. That’s obvious.
When was this?
- When was what?
When was this order? When did the disruption start?
- We’ve been through this before.
Well, let’s walk through it again. Perhaps it will help.
- [SIGH]
…
- [INTAKE OF BREATH] Okay. You win. I’m not sure when the disorder began, but I know we started fit and healthy. When things were smaller, less crowded, less rushed and less - well, less – I don’t know how to describe it. Less complicated.
What made it complicated?
- [Quietly] Choice.
What was that?
- CHOICE! You gave them CHOICE. You let them CHOOSE to do this to me.
…
- It’s like you knew they would ***** this up and that I’d pay the price. It’s like I’m just a pawn. It felt so good back in the garden, life was simpler. There was balance. You were there, you must remember how my eco system was just right – you loved your walks in the cool of the day.
You know I still love you.
- You’ve got a funny way of showing it.
*You know I’ll make good on my promise. That I will make you new. This is a season. *
- But you left me in their hands. You gave them authority over me, to do with me whatever they wanted. Couldn’t you guess how this would go. The abuse, the neglect, the greed!
There are those who still take their stewardship seriously. My people are still active.
- Not active enough! Not re-using, re-cycling, re-pairing enough to off-set the stench I have to inhale, the filth I have to absorb, the poison!
I hear your frustration, your groans, your pain. Redemption will come.
- And what happens til then?
Until then, I have placed your fate in the hands of my children, that’s true enough. Let’s hope that they appreciate the gift that you are and that they grow up quick enough to turn the tide.
- They’d better hurry up. I can’t take much more of this.
You and me both.
Sep 25, 2021
Sep 25, 2021 at 5:03 PM UTC
I see a solitary windmill on the horizon.
I can't see its stem, but its petals are clear enough.
Moving apace.
Chased by winds unseen.
And as I watch, they seem to slow,
as if the wind has waned.
And I expect I told you so's will rejoin the fray,
damning the whole enterprise.
But I see the intent as worthy of patience,
worth my invested expectation.
I see the petals power on
and they slowly turn again.
turn, turn
turn, turn
pure, power-ballad, turn
Aug 3, 2021
Aug 3, 2021 at 1:45 PM UTC
[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]
May 10, 2021
May 10, 2021 at 8:21 AM UTC
Absorbing Sun's caring embrace
and the water's life,
the trees mix them into oxygen for the man,
for he has planted the seeds
which marked their beginning — organisms vital for wildlife and shelter.
The man now receives their appreciation
with the maturing of the fruit.
To eat it is honoring its purpose and time,
for it grew only for you, as a gift.
Earth's hospitality was never meant for granted,
but be returned to the cycle.
It spins like our planet in space,
around a warm core and a cold shell.
Stars there align to the call of energy
designed to dance in gray,
and to portray protons and electrons
in a chemical reaction,
beginning of the first light — pressed lighter igniting candles.
May 4, 2021
May 4, 2021 at 12:48 PM UTC
Cycling, without haste,
Along narrow country roads.
On the edge, undisturbed waste.
Riding, alongside ancient springs
That hatch dry stones and tires.
In his nest of tear strips a blackbird sings.
Eventually, I get to the point of no return.
Where past and future merge.
And no more does the sun burn.
Mar 15, 2021
Mar 15, 2021 at 10:36 PM UTC
**** if I know.
I scarcely understand much anymore.
I am but a puddle of coherent reminiscences
oozing across the floor into decoherence and
diffusing into maximum entropy.
We are in Hell:
all is Maya,
all is Mara,
all is Dukkha.
Yet, we are slaves
who love our chains.
And I am a lifeless, fetal,
**** economicus,
mortifying de rigeur
in the ossified skull of a
long forgotten **** sapien.
If only those kinship instincts could've
survived the havoc we've wrought.
Look at what we've done.
Look at what we do.
**** for money.
**** for oil.
**** for land.
**** for 'justice.'
**** for God
**** for 'the cause'
**** for the sake of killing,
and pave over what's left.
Leave a few trees and bushes for our
dystopic terrarium.
'Our Synthetic Environment,'
old Murray[1] called it.
Now, walk into the forest.
Be there. Stay there.
Do you feel it?
Any of this nonsense we call
'civilization'?
Or
is it that you feel something more. . .
poignant?
More true?
To a point where our heated debates
appear as no more than frivolous diatribes?
When do we stop all this narrative solipsism
and get to the ******* point?
None of this is real.
Our thoughts are not our own.
Have they ever been?
The Spectacle [2] reigns supreme
as we idle spectators
speculate idly upon it.
Borges's fable of the cartographers [3]
has reached its apotheosis,
and we are its unwilling
and unwitting victims. . . .
Jan 13, 2021
Jan 13, 2021 at 2:01 AM UTC
I’ve been thinking of living like a fire,
crawling at my boots for fields, thirsty,
soothing guitar’s enamel of blood and memories,
life taking yet passion agent for our breaths and eyes to stay.
Life taking for those who live with roots all day.
Life taking for those who fairly clasp their prey.
I’ve been thinking of living like a fire,
a candle offspring of a dangerous meditation,
Rocks rumbling into coffin forests,
and an academic scorched sight that will endure only
in cigarette poems‘ claim.
A string.
Dec 28, 2020
Dec 28, 2020 at 6:01 AM UTC
Hello, hi! I'm Spike C. Ovid and
I was born in Somewhere in 2019.
Yes, I'm the one you would have never wanted to hear from.
Don't panic!
I'm not the evil one; I'm here because I only want to live;
just like you.
Let me tell you straightaway: this is a knock out match.
I'm invisible to the naked eye but you're not so gullible:
you have science and technology and sometimes common sense and, on special occasions, even a spirit of brotherhood.
I want to be really outspoken: my best weapons in this battle are:
your fears, your selfishness, your clinging to private wealth, your individualism and narcissism, as well as, your conflicting political, religious, and ethnic identifications.
Please don't play the indignant card;
just remember that you are here, by chance, because a meteorite hit this planet and wiped out dinosaurs; but, soon after that, you wiped out the Neanderthals and so many other species, later on, including your own kind.
I’ve already told you, I won't be a hypocrite!
I want you to work for me, free.
I'm copying this from you.
However the final price for this tug of war will only be
something you don't care that much for:
EARTH!
Why did I write you this letter?
Let’s make a deal to end this clash!
Hand all the old and very ill ones over to me - They’re only a burden for you - and then I’ll leave.
A fair agreement: no more fear, no more casualties, on both sides.
Please make up your mind quickly.
I Look forward to meeting you soon.
Good luck!
P.S.
Remember that I was born to dominate: I was born crowned!
Dec 20, 2020
Dec 20, 2020 at 7:31 AM UTC
My journey finally came to its bitter end
I fell to the ground and deteriorated
I slipped deep into restfulness of soul
Surprisingly up from my after pile
A beautiful fungus forms
My wormed over residual self
From the ashes reborn
This is my new breath!
Order out of my Chaos
...............
Nov 1, 2020
Nov 1, 2020 at 5:24 AM UTC
Learning and evolving
Primitively revolting
Problematic solutions
Ideological institutions
Mergence of shadow
Disassociation of ego
*** ecology, spirituality
Check, check, check
Why am I still broken?
Sep 16, 2020
Sep 16, 2020 at 8:07 AM UTC