"hectares" poems
superimposition of celestial ampersand:
a continuity of all things
stars hanging loose in the pupil
of this deadbeat word.
typhoons in a swirl of tempestuous ballet,
dogs shivering in the blue cold,
biting their canine integument the way
scarabs would, sinking in a temporal flotsam-way within tectonic display
of text
hectares of blank stares bringing
to life lysergic field of black birds.
and then some
equal number of evocativeness:
continuing on into the ground
are the bones warm in their compost.
the sudden fragrance of rat ****
appeals to the masses.
too much laughter in flooded thoroughfares pockmarked by
the vehement jam of staccato jackhammer.
choking us is today's headline
in supreme obbligato - its stench
reeks of libidinal perfume etched
in the flesh of the rigmarole.
one filthy day in Manila.
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 12:53 AM UTC
Evacuation Alert: Tranquille Valley.
Get out. Bring everything you love.
Ash is falling from the sky,
and the smoke is too much to bare.
The fire's rampage has charred
More than 200,000 hectares,
in 133 days.
It's not safe.
Evacuate immediately.
Evacuate me.
Get out. You are everything I love.
Incinerating everything in your path,
You tranquillize the atmosphere
with your absence.
You smoked me to the filter
You left me to burn.
63 days, and 21 letters.
You're not my safety anymore.
Evacuate immediately.
Aug 14, 2017
Aug 14, 2017 at 2:51 PM UTC
A farmer from Farmington sowed
His hectares with freckle of toad.
When asked what would sprout
He hadn’t a doubt
Of harvesting doughnuts à la mode.
Apr 22, 2024
Apr 22, 2024 at 2:06 PM UTC
the countryside is covered
in a blanket of smoke
bush fires are burning
around the Guy Fawk's spoke
some thirty thousand hectares
of land has been fried
farms and parts of the national park
burnt from side to side
fire authorities are working
day and night
to encircle the flames and embers
which so searingly bite
slowly they are winning
the protracted war against the flares
their fire fighting equipment
quelling the inferno's chilling nightmare
within the next few days
the fire shall be extinguished and put out
then the countryside wont be covered
in the smokes choking tout
the air will be as clear as a bell
and less smokiness will stand
all the ashes in the bushland
shall bear testament to the fire's brand
Apr 12, 2013
Apr 12, 2013 at 6:23 AM UTC
On the first day of maliciousness my true love gave to me
Nuclear waste in the Pacific Sea
On the second day of maliciousness my true love gave to me
Two ballistic missiles and nuclear waste in the Pacific Sea
On the third day of maliciousness my true love gave to me
Three million toddlers' deaths, two ballistic missiles and nuclear waste in the Pacific Sea
On the fourth day of maliciousness my true love gave to me
Four massive oil leaks, three million toddlers' deaths, two ballistic missiles and nuclear waste in the Pacific Sea
On the fifth day of maliciousness my true love gave to me
Five pandemic viruses, four massive oil leaks, three million toddlers' deaths, two ballistic missiles and nuclear waste in the Pacific Sea
On the sixth day of maliciousness my true love gave to me
Six countries' electronic waste, five pandemic viruses, four massive oil leaks, three million toddlers' deaths, two ballistic missiles and nuclear waste in the Pacific Sea
On the seventh day of maliciousness my true love gave to me
Seven world-powers downplaying, six countries' electronic waste, five pandemic viruses, four massive oil leaks, three million toddlers' deaths, two ballistic missiles and nuclear waste in the Pacific Sea
On the eighth day of maliciousness my true love gave to me
Eight pointless wars, seven world-powers downplaying, six countries' electronic waste, five pandemic viruses, four massive oil leaks, three million toddlers' deaths, two ballistic missiles and nuclear waste in the Pacific Sea
On the ninth day of maliciousness my true love gave to me
Nine last elephants Asian, eight pointless wars, seven world-powers downplaying, six countries' electronic waste, five pandemic viruses, four massive oil leaks, three million toddlers' deaths, two ballistic missiles and nuclear waste in the Pacific Sea
On the tenth day of maliciousness my true love gave to me
Ten million famishing, nine last elephants Asian, eight pointless wars, seven world-powers downplaying, six countries' electronic waste, five pandemic viruses, four massive oil leaks, three million toddlers' deaths, two ballistic missiles and nuclear waste in the Pacific Sea
On the eleventh day of maliciousness my true love gave to me
Eleven million hectares deforesting, ten million famishing, nine last elephants Asian, eight pointless wars, seven world-powers downplaying, six countries' electronic waste, five pandemic viruses, four massive oil leaks, three million toddlers' deaths, two ballistic missiles and nuclear waste in the Pacific Sea
On the twelfth day of maliciousness my true love gave to me
Twelve million tonnes plastic waste, eleven million hectares deforesting, ten million famishing, nine last elephants Asian, eight pointless wars, seven world-powers downplaying, six countries' electronic waste, five pandemic viruses, four massive oil leaks, three million toddlers' deaths, two ballistic missiles and nuclear waste in the Pacific Sea
Apr 13, 2021
Apr 13, 2021 at 7:01 AM UTC
Sensational curiosities of quarter-sized universes of human love and human flesh.
Gentle insane thoughtless violence cured in time's long sluice of betrayal,
Rancor, then betrayal, and then the frost. Never did I hear the twigget of the synthesizer max its flare.
Every mouth was a warship, the plumes coming up over the top of the spigot, sampler of the Neverspoke. Worships them, in the Hectares through the dross, the incumbent conflagration
Envelops life from venom thru a stra. Into the hutch the creeper shakes, like the
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 6:43 PM UTC
the countryside is covered
in a blanket of smoke
bush fires are burning
in and around the Rhynie spoke
some thirty thousand hectares
of land have been fried
farms and parts of the National Park
burnt from side to side
the fire authorities are working
by day and by night
to encircle the flames and embers
which so searingly bite
slowly they are winning
the protracted war against the flares
their fire fighting equipment
quelling the inferno's nigthmare
within the next few days the fire
shall be extinguished and put out
then the countryside wont be covered
in the smoke's thick tout
the air will be as clear as a bell
and less haziness shall stand
the ashes in the bushland
shall bear testament to the fire's brand
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 8:50 PM UTC
His name was John
The boy living next to your door
The boy whom you've shared your toys with before
You were his only companion
For he was shy to show himself to others
You were the only one who knew him
From the rest of the children, Ella and Tim
Every time you tell stories about John
They only shook their heads, for they've never seen one
You wonder why he hides from others
Why he doesn't want to be recognized
For he said maybe you'll be apart
And it would break his heart
In the middle of the cold nights
While everybody soundly slept, you played
At the old fountain, at the park or the stained swing
While telling you many things
Of his Mama and Papa, their great mansion
Their hacienda of a hundred hectares
Of this farmer who took his Mama away
And left his Papa crying in vain
But there was something about John you cannot explain
Why does he have a wounded head and a suit full of blood stains?
He will just nod and wink an eye
Now, I bet you know the reason why.
Oct 21, 2018
Oct 21, 2018 at 12:25 AM UTC
A salute to the heroes
who battle the blaze
of raging infernos
with billowing haze
they drop into combat
in smouldering heat
a ****** forest
holds little retreat
brothers* in arms
who forge the attack
scaling the landscape
with 60 lb packs
down in the valleys
and up through the hills
hectares burning
as time stands still
bombers and copters
descend from the air
as dozers dig trenches
with no time to spare
the enemy rages
and embers rush
the firestorm flames
consume the brush
an evening ignited
in blood orange sky
candling trees
with tinder dry
may we always remember
the fighters of flames
who battle the burn
without any fame
saving families, and cities
wildlife and ward
a charred streaked face
their quiet reward
Jul 19, 2021
Jul 19, 2021 at 3:15 PM UTC
Forests burn in ashen skies
Atmosphere of putrid lies,
Fat Cats write their cheques of gold
Another thousand hectares sold.
Forest fall for short term gain
**** tomorrow's children's pain.
**** the leaden poisoned air
Here and now is all they care,
High grade autos, classy chicks
Snort white powder, cash for kicks.....
Use it all at headlong speed
**** tomorrow...Let it bleed!
Off the Serpent's head I say
Abruptly end the Fat Cheques day.
End the **** of forest green
End the poisoned air obscene.
We owe it to tomorrow's sky,
We fix the problem...or we die.
M.
6 APRIL 2014
And.........
You know the tragedy at hand?
It's that no one here will make a stand;
We'll shake our heads and turn away
And pray that sanity will play.
The Dogs will ride roughshod and bold
Until established stranglehold
To throttle those who dare to caw,
Intimidate with threat and claw.
I've seen it all, I'm sick to say,
The Bulldozers shall have their way.
The Powerful, who write the cheque,
Stack all the cards and rig the deck!
M.
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 8:39 PM UTC
They told us, save your water
keep the lakes and streams running blue
conserve all that you can
water the lawn only once a week, not two
You'll save our city's tourism
don't wash your car, or shower everyday
be happy to contribute
save and protect, our waterways
We did as we were told
we saved gallons, hectares, tonnes
our tourism was saved for all
each, and everyone
The letter in the mail
congratulations, now in order
you used so little of this liquid resource
we raised your bill, this quarter
Jul 7, 2017
Jul 7, 2017 at 12:00 PM UTC
the countryside is covered
in a blanket if smoke
bush fires are burning
in and around the Rhynie spoke
some thirty thousand hectares
of land have been fried
farms and parts of the National Park
burnt from side to side
the fire authorities are working
by day and by night
to encircle the flames
which so searingly bite
slowly they are winning
the protracted war against the flares
their fire fighting equipment
stifling the inferno's nightmare
in a few days the fire
shall be extinguished and put out
then the countryside wont be covered
in the smoke's thick tout
the air will be as clear as a bell
and less haziness will stand
as the ashes of the bush fire
shall bear testament to the fire's brand
Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 7:45 PM UTC
I was born in Africa
A sweet but bitter home
Crafted out in beauty and splendor.
A place by nature
Dash in wealth and bliss
Yet, it's ruined by monumental penury.
A place that has fallen into the rut of laziness,
Having fertile acres and hectares
Yet, starvation knows its name -
billowing: "Africa, Africa"
Oh, what a pity!
Africa is where
I was born
A continent that has its glorious hope
Held by the uncertain hand of fate
Authoring for it a very sad story.
A continent full of heads
That are conquered by the West
Heads that are void of positive thoughts for their continent.
Africa, Africa, Africa
Oh, it is a landmass that's venerable
Virtually every border in it
Is opened to deadly sicknesses
like ears unclosed to good news.
Africa is tagged
"POVERTY-STRICKEN CONTINENT"
But this is the place I was born.
Here, we hail thieves
Here, impunity thrives
Here, we celebrate deceivers
Here, the complexion of our skins reflects the color of our minds.
Black, black, black
Here, we don't think positively
Here, ignorance befriends our minds
And so, our minds are used against us
As the greatest weapons of our oppressors.
Ah, but this is the place
I was born: Africa!
Oct 9, 2018
Oct 9, 2018 at 10:17 AM UTC
She is the opposite of harmony—the queen of destruction.
She is the bullet that hits every core.
She is the scream in the most destructive and deadly pain.
She is the hymn in every songs burning to be sung.
She is the hurricane in the most peaceful places.
She is the dragon that screams delicate architecture, she is the ******* that runs the world.
Everyone talks about her.
Everyone doesn't know how she manages to control everyone's demons.
All they know, she always lies.
All they know, she runs hectares of scars.
No one knows she doesn't recognize everyone.
No one knows she always hug pillows.
Anyone tells her good bye.
Anyone demolishes her crystal walls.
But...
Someone loved her deadly marks.
Someone understood she is an art.
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 5:21 PM UTC
For many years I waded through waist-high grass
Balancing this wide, empty pail on my head
waiting patiently throughout
for the sparse clouds - at last!
Sprinkling their swollen dread
through my many arms, stretched out
They gathered and buffooned above me
To irrigate the ancient prairie.
Thousands of unturned acres
drank up my tendency to the land
from the reservoirs residing
within me like open hands.
I remember six annual cycles
of lonesome, diligent drought
when the heat of god's light
dried even my memories out.
This August arrived inconspicuously
as a thicket of stormy pillows
roared deeply into the scene
From just the apex of the peeling cliffs
Signaling that they could see.
And they rolled towards me.
The closer they got,
The smaller we seemed
as the fields gazed together
at what felt like a dream
Then, far too late,
I realized with dismay
That I could not hold so much
Not in this form; not all in one day
I'd have to dig wells into the earth
Just to taste for acidity
And without any support
I'd need to track our own fecundity
Because some grounds would be
Too thick with clay:
The gift would be pointless
If I just let it drain away.
So as the storm roared onto us,
I recited the prayer of healing
And coughed out that blissful laugh
As my body lost all its feeling,
boring into the ground,
spreading a hundred hectares
the widest I could manage
while my pace was hastened:
A young crater for new life.
Your great wasted basin.
Oct 9, 2019
Oct 9, 2019 at 2:52 AM UTC