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The artichoke
of delicate heart
*****
in its battle-dress, builds
its minimal cupola;
keeps
stark
in its scallop of
scales.
Around it,
demoniac vegetables
bristle their thicknesses,
devise
tendrils and belfries,
the bulb's agitations;
while under the subsoil
the carrot
sleeps sound in its
rusty mustaches.
Runner and filaments
bleach in the vineyards,
whereon rise the vines.
The sedulous cabbage
arranges its petticoats;
oregano
sweetens a world;
and the artichoke
dulcetly there in a gardenplot,
armed for a skirmish,
goes proud
in its pomegranate
burnishes.
Till, on a day,
each by the other,
the artichoke moves
to its dream
of a market place
in the big willow
hoppers:
a battle formation.
Most warlike
of defilades-
with men
in the market stalls,
white shirts
in the soup-greens,
artichoke field marshals,
close-order conclaves,
commands, detonations,
and voices,
a crashing of crate staves.

And
Maria
come
down
with her hamper
to
make trial
of an artichoke:
she reflects, she examines,
she candles them up to the light like an egg,
never flinching;
she bargains,
she tumbles her prize
in a market bag
among shoes and a
cabbage head,
a bottle
of vinegar; is back
in her kitchen.
The artichoke drowns in a ***.

So you have it:
a vegetable, armed,
a profession
(call it an artichoke)
whose end
is millennial.
We taste of that
sweetness,
dismembering scale after scale.
We eat of a halcyon paste:
it is green at the artichoke heart.
Butch Decatoria Apr 2017
Overcrowded a hollow sound

In the circumference of birdsong

Rising with the Sun

As roosters crow morning

Wake-up calls

There in Cebu / House

Full of family

Pieces of my other me

Feeding many mouths

That overcrowded feeling / not again

A nest that homes

A clutch of poor

Cuckoos

Consuming, so many babies

Paradise islands

Third world poverty

Not so far away

White man and money

A supposed land of milk & honey

Beyond the tundra snow

Bleak / must speak English

The beautiful broken

The overgrowth of crowding

it's called city life

Unlike Manila

Although artifice and hollow

Full of the fragrances

Colored by Birdsong

Oh beautiful life / I am drowning

In the thicknesses of pollutant

Mouths speaking

ill

Humanity misbegotten / Understood

We connect with nuttin'

“nothing is the cure

When nothing was wrong

With you”

Birdsong in twilight

Xylophone-stars across the ocean blue

Teeth of night

The cold chime

Befallen

In the infinite / magic of you

Oh love I let me

Overcrowd

Still this loneliness

Feels so very loud...

Then I hear / halcyon Birdsong

The soft feelings of truth

Oh love!

Oh god!

Oh my!

*Goodness you.
Revised still work in progress
Now the other princes of the Achaeans slept soundly the whole
night through, but Agamemnon son of Atreus was troubled, so that he
could get no rest. As when fair Juno’s lord flashes his lightning in
token of great rain or hail or snow when the snow-flakes whiten the
ground, or again as a sign that he will open the wide jaws of hungry
war, even so did Agamemnon heave many a heavy sigh, for his soul
trembled within him. When he looked upon the plain of Troy he
marvelled at the many watchfires burning in front of Ilius, and at the
sound of pipes and flutes and of the hum of men, but when presently he
turned towards the ships and hosts of the Achaeans, he tore his hair
by handfuls before Jove on high, and groaned aloud for the very
disquietness of his soul. In the end he deemed it best to go at once
to Nestor son of Neleus, and see if between them they could find any
way of the Achaeans from destruction. He therefore rose, put on his
shirt, bound his sandals about his comely feet, flung the skin of a
huge tawny lion over his shoulders—a skin that reached his feet-
and took his spear in his hand.
  Neither could Menelaus sleep, for he, too, boded ill for the Argives
who for his sake had sailed from far over the seas to fight the
Trojans. He covered his broad back with the skin of a spotted panther,
put a casque of bronze upon his head, and took his spear in his brawny
hand. Then he went to rouse his brother, who was by far the most
powerful of the Achaeans, and was honoured by the people as though
he were a god. He found him by the stern of his ship already putting
his goodly array about his shoulders, and right glad was he that his
brother had come.
  Menelaus spoke first. “Why,” said he, “my dear brother, are you thus
arming? Are you going to send any of our comrades to exploit the
Trojans? I greatly fear that no one will do you this service, and
spy upon the enemy alone in the dead of night. It will be a deed of
great daring.”
  And King Agamemnon answered, “Menelaus, we both of us need shrewd
counsel to save the Argives and our ships, for Jove has changed his
mind, and inclines towards Hector’s sacrifices rather than ours. I
never saw nor heard tell of any man as having wrought such ruin in one
day as Hector has now wrought against the sons of the Achaeans—and
that too of his own unaided self, for he is son neither to god nor
goddess. The Argives will rue it long and deeply. Run, therefore, with
all speed by the line of the ships, and call Ajax and Idomeneus.
Meanwhile I will go to Nestor, and bid him rise and go about among the
companies of our sentinels to give them their instructions; they
will listen to him sooner than to any man, for his own son, and
Meriones brother in arms to Idomeneus, are captains over them. It
was to them more particularly that we gave this charge.”
  Menelaus replied, “How do I take your meaning? Am I to stay with
them and wait your coming, or shall I return here as soon as I have
given your orders?” “Wait,” answered King Agamemnon, “for there are so
many paths about the camp that we might miss one another. Call every
man on your way, and bid him be stirring; name him by his lineage
and by his father’s name, give each all titular observance, and
stand not too much upon your own dignity; we must take our full
share of toil, for at our birth Jove laid this heavy burden upon us.”
  With these instructions he sent his brother on his way, and went
on to Nestor shepherd of his people. He found him sleeping in his tent
hard by his own ship; his goodly armour lay beside him—his shield,
his two spears and his helmet; beside him also lay the gleaming girdle
with which the old man girded himself when he armed to lead his people
into battle—for his age stayed him not. He raised himself on his
elbow and looked up at Agamemnon. “Who is it,” said he, “that goes
thus about the host and the ships alone and in the dead of night, when
men are sleeping? Are you looking for one of your mules or for some
comrade? Do not stand there and say nothing, but speak. What is your
business?”
  And Agamemnon answered, “Nestor, son of Neleus, honour to the
Achaean name, it is I, Agamemnon son of Atreus, on whom Jove has
laid labour and sorrow so long as there is breath in my body and my
limbs carry me. I am thus abroad because sleep sits not upon my
eyelids, but my heart is big with war and with the jeopardy of the
Achaeans. I am in great fear for the Danaans. I am at sea, and without
sure counsel; my heart beats as though it would leap out of my body,
and my limbs fail me. If then you can do anything—for you too
cannot sleep—let us go the round of the watch, and see whether they
are drowsy with toil and sleeping to the neglect of their duty. The
enemy is encamped hard and we know not but he may attack us by night.”
  Nestor replied, “Most noble son of Atreus, king of men, Agamemnon,
Jove will not do all for Hector that Hector thinks he will; he will
have troubles yet in plenty if Achilles will lay aside his anger. I
will go with you, and we will rouse others, either the son of
Tydeus, or Ulysses, or fleet Ajax and the valiant son of Phyleus. Some
one had also better go and call Ajax and King Idomeneus, for their
ships are not near at hand but the farthest of all. I cannot however
refrain from blaming Menelaus, much as I love him and respect him—and
I will say so plainly, even at the risk of offending you—for sleeping
and leaving all this trouble to yourself. He ought to be going about
imploring aid from all the princes of the Achaeans, for we are in
extreme danger.”
  And Agamemnon answered, “Sir, you may sometimes blame him justly,
for he is often remiss and unwilling to exert himself—not indeed from
sloth, nor yet heedlessness, but because he looks to me and expects me
to take the lead. On this occasion, however, he was awake before I
was, and came to me of his own accord. I have already sent him to call
the very men whom you have named. And now let us be going. We shall
find them with the watch outside the gates, for it was there I said
that we would meet them.”
  “In that case,” answered Nestor, “the Argives will not blame him nor
disobey his orders when he urges them to fight or gives them
instructions.”
  With this he put on his shirt, and bound his sandals about his
comely feet. He buckled on his purple coat, of two thicknesses, large,
and of a rough shaggy texture, grasped his redoubtable bronze-shod
spear, and wended his way along the line of the Achaean ships. First
he called loudly to Ulysses peer of gods in counsel and woke him,
for he was soon roused by the sound of the battle-cry. He came outside
his tent and said, “Why do you go thus alone about the host, and along
the line of the ships in the stillness of the night? What is it that
you find so urgent?” And Nestor knight of Gerene answered, “Ulysses,
noble son of Laertes, take it not amiss, for the Achaeans are in great
straits. Come with me and let us wake some other, who may advise
well with us whether we shall fight or fly.”
  On this Ulysses went at once into his tent, put his shield about his
shoulders and came out with them. First they went to Diomed son of
Tydeus, and found him outside his tent clad in his armour with his
comrades sleeping round him and using their shields as pillows; as for
their spears, they stood upright on the spikes of their butts that
were driven into the ground, and the burnished bronze flashed afar
like the lightning of father Jove. The hero was sleeping upon the skin
of an ox, with a piece of fine carpet under his head; Nestor went up
to him and stirred him with his heel to rouse him, upbraiding him
and urging him to bestir himself. “Wake up,” he exclaimed, “son of
Tydeus. How can you sleep on in this way? Can you not see that the
Trojans are encamped on the brow of the plain hard by our ships,
with but a little space between us and them?”
  On these words Diomed leaped up instantly and said, “Old man, your
heart is of iron; you rest not one moment from your labours. Are there
no younger men among the Achaeans who could go about to rouse the
princes? There is no tiring you.”
  And Nestor knight of Gerene made answer, “My son, all that you
have said is true. I have good sons, and also much people who might
call the chieftains, but the Achaeans are in the gravest danger;
life and death are balanced as it were on the edge of a razor. Go
then, for you are younger than I, and of your courtesy rouse Ajax
and the fleet son of Phyleus.”
  Diomed threw the skin of a great tawny lion about his shoulders—a
skin that reached his feet—and grasped his spear. When he had
roused the heroes, he brought them back with him; they then went the
round of those who were on guard, and found the captains not
sleeping at their posts but wakeful and sitting with their arms
about them. As sheep dogs that watch their flocks when they are
yarded, and hear a wild beast coming through the mountain forest
towards them—forthwith there is a hue and cry of dogs and men, and
slumber is broken—even so was sleep chased from the eyes of the
Achaeans as they kept the watches of the wicked night, for they turned
constantly towards the plain whenever they heard any stir among the
Trojans. The old man was glad bade them be of good cheer. “Watch on,
my children,” said he, “and let not sleep get hold upon you, lest
our enemies triumph over us.”
  With this he passed the trench, and with him the other chiefs of the
Achaeans who had been called to the council. Meriones and the brave
son of Nestor went also, for the princes bade them. When they were
beyond the trench that was dug round the wall they held their
meeting on the open ground where there was a space clear of corpses,
for it was here that when night fell Hector had turned back from his
onslaught on the Argives. They sat down, therefore, and held debate
with one another.
  Nestor spoke first. “My friends,” said he, “is there any man bold
enough to venture the Trojans, and cut off some straggler, or us
news of what the enemy mean to do whether they will stay here by the
ships away from the city, or whether, now that they have worsted the
Achaeans, they will retire within their walls. If he could learn all
this and come back safely here, his fame would be high as heaven in
the mouths of all men, and he would be rewarded richly; for the chiefs
from all our ships would each of them give him a black ewe with her
lamb—which is a present of surpassing value—and he would be asked as
a guest to all feasts and clan-gatherings.”
  They all held their peace, but Diomed of the loud war-cry spoke
saying, “Nestor, gladly will I visit the host of the Trojans over
against us, but if another will go with me I shall do so in greater
confidence and comfort. When two men are together, one of them may see
some opportunity which the other has not caught sight of; if a man
is alone he is less full of resource, and his wit is weaker.”
  On this several offered to go with Diomed. The two Ajaxes,
servants of Mars, Meriones, and the son of Nestor all wanted to go, so
did Menelaus son of Atreus; Ulysses also wished to go among the host
of the Trojans, for he was ever full of daring, and thereon
Agamemnon king of men spoke thus: “Diomed,” said he, “son of Tydeus,
man after my own heart, choose your comrade for yourself—take the
best man of those that have offered, for many would now go with you.
Do not through delicacy reject the better man, and take the worst
out of respect for his lineage, because he is of more royal blood.”
  He said this because he feared for Menelaus. Diomed answered, “If
you bid me take the man of my own choice, how in that case can I
fail to think of Ulysses, than whom there is no man more eager to face
all kinds of danger—and Pallas Minerva loves him well? If he were
to go with me we should pass safely through fire itself, for he is
quick to see and understand.”
  “Son of Tydeus,” replied Ulysses, “say neither good nor ill about
me, for you are among Argives who know me well. Let us be going, for
the night wanes and dawn is at hand. The stars have gone forward,
two-thirds of the night are already spent, and the third is alone left
us.”
  They then put on their armour. Brave Thrasymedes provided the son of
Tydeus with a sword and a shield (for he had left his own at his ship)
and on his head he set a helmet of bull’s hide without either peak
or crest; it is called a skull-cap and is a common headgear.
Meriones found a bow and quiver for Ulysses, and on his head he set
a leathern helmet that was lined with a strong plaiting of leathern
thongs, while on the outside it was thickly studded with boar’s teeth,
well and skilfully set into it; next the head there was an inner
lining of felt. This helmet had been stolen by Autolycus out of
Eleon when he broke into the house of Amyntor son of Ormenus. He
gave it to Amphidamas of Cythera to take to Scandea, and Amphidamas
gave it as a guest-gift to Molus, who gave it to his son Meriones; and
now it was set upon the head of Ulysses.
  When the pair had armed, they set out, and left the other chieftains
behind them. Pallas Minerva sent them a heron by the wayside upon
their right hands; they could not see it for the darkness, but they
heard its cry. Ulysses was glad when he heard it and prayed to
Minerva: “Hear me,” he cried, “daughter of aegis-bearing Jove, you who
spy out all my ways and who are with me in all my hardships;
befriend me in this mine hour, and grant that we may return to the
ships covered with glory after having achieved some mighty exploit
that shall bring sorrow to the Trojans.”
  Then Diomed of the loud war-cry also prayed: “Hear me too,” said he,
“daughter of Jove, unweariable; be with me even as you were with my
noble father Tydeus when he went to Thebes as envoy sent by the
Achaeans. He left the Achaeans by the banks of the river Aesopus,
and went to the city bearing a message of peace to the Cadmeians; on
his return thence, with your help, goddess, he did great deeds of
daring, for you were his ready helper. Even so guide me and guard me
now, and in return I will offer you in sacrifice a broad-browed heifer
of a year old, unbroken, and never yet brought by man under the
yoke. I will gild her horns and will offer her up to you in
sacrifice.”
  Thus they prayed, and Pallas Minerva heard their prayer. When they
had done praying to the daughter of great Jove, they went their way
like two lions prowling by night amid the armour and blood-stained
bodies of them that had fallen.
  Neither again did Hector let the Trojans sleep; for he too called
the princes and councillors of the Trojans that he might set his
counsel before them. “Is there one,” said he, “who for a great
reward will do me the service of which I will tell you? He shall be
well paid if he will. I will give him a chariot and a couple of
horses, the fleetest that can be found at the ships of the Achaeans,
if he will dare this thing; and he will win infinite honour to boot;
he must go to the ships and find out whether they are still guarded as
heretofore, or whether now that we have beaten them the Achaeans
design to fly, and through sheer exhaustion are neglecting to keep
their watches.”
  They all held their peace; but there was among the Trojans a certain
man named Dolon, son of Eumedes, the famous herald—a man rich in gold
and bronze. He was ill-favoured, but a good runner, and was an only
son among five sisters. He it was that now addressed the Trojans.
“I, Hector,” said he, “Will to the ships and will exploit them. But
first hold up your sceptre and swear that you will give me the
chariot, bedight with bronze, and the horses that now carry the
noble son of Peleus. I will make you a good scout, and will not fail
you. I will go through the host from one end to the other till I
come to the ship of Agamemnon, where I take it the princes of the
Achaeans are now consulting whether they shall fight or fly.”
  When he had done speaking Hector held up his sceptre, and swore
him his oath saying, “May Jove the thundering husband of Juno bear
witness that no other Trojan but yourself shall mount
ottaross Aug 2014
Call me when you have gasped your throat to splintered wood
Reach for me when your fingers have calloused to fractured stone
From the depths of the stoney pit of echoing isolation
When your legs hold you weary as rusted tin-soldiers

If your heart is hardening like lava reaching the ocean
If your song is submerged in a rain-on-tin-roof din
If your hugging arms are pulled asunder by monsoon landslides
If your eyes have filled with the angry spray of November hurricanes

Remember a warm hand against cold skin
Remember closeness like a heavy felted great-coat
Remember a low voice breathing fireplace hot upon your neck

Remember two hearts
Just two rib-thicknesses apart;
Two taught drums,
Beating in time
Together
In song.
Amory Caricia Feb 2017
It was strange when it started. I thought I might be sick. I wasn't sure, though. I assumed that I either was, indeed, going to become dreadfully sick, or that with a clip of time, I would be fine and I wouldn't get sick at all--I wouldn't even remember ever feeling like getting sick, because I would be fine.

It's strange how when one is well, she feels so strong and forgets the feeling of being ill and assumes that it must have been a small thing last time she was truly ill; that she could easily handle it again. But then, with the smallest twinge of intestinal unsettlement, she remembers in full and would almost rather die than be ill again. Sometimes it's good to forget.
Bump!
"Hold it together, you're almost there", I told myself. "It's ok."
Sometimes it's good to lie to yourself. You become your own child, and tell yourself to cover your eyes and all the bad things won't be able to hurt you--the monsters won't be able to see you, because you can't see them.
Children are much better than us.

Bump...ba-bump!
Yuck. I needed something now. But, just as I was fully prepared to *****, it was fading...as quickly as it came. Yes, it was gone now, and nothing was going to keep me from feeling positively elated (except, perhaps, the descent, but forget that for now).
It was surely a wonder to sit on a seat, which was mounted in this small cabin, which was surrounded on all sided by absolutely nothing, and supported from below by the same--save some vague equations of space that permitted its reality.
"If this is a reality, I'd rather not dream. My dreaming could get quite out of hand after this."
Goodbye, city! Goodbye mountain faces, with the sharp jawline of a movie star! So long! What is that, now? I can't make it out. Never mind. Dust. Particles of dusty sky sweeping up around us into clouds. Cough. Cough. Like it hasn't been swept in years. Loomy fogs of two or three varying thicknesses. And then the light.

A light so strong it seemed like death, for sure. The look of all that light made me cringe. I thought I might melt like the wicked witch on The Wizard of Oz--the wicked witch I was. Ha-ha. The once dusty, sky was now a majestic and glowy quilt. It looked pearlized--like if you landed on it, you would just slide smoothly up and down the billowy bumps and around the polished curves. We could be over an ocean, for all I knew. Why was I so lazy to not investigate this before the trip? It would have been fantastic to know I was over some great sea, deep with crawlies and creepies with fins and tails and gills and hangies. Swishies and swooshies, faster than land types, that only could run or climb.

Yikes forget that. It would have been better to know that I was not over the ocean. Now, due to my uninformedness, I was merely left to ponder the terror of falling into the sea, in the event of a crash. These cushions on the seat before us, or so the little booklet told, could be used as flotation devices. I wondered how close we would have to be before we could jump out. I imagined exiting the aircraft into all this light, down, down, falling through the pearlized quilt, through the dusty billows, looking down at a vast sea a mile below, holding onto my cushion from the seat that had been in front of me, bracing myself. The sea would look uniform on the surface, but through the surface, one could make out divisions. Separate depths, maybe, or different mixtures of water. Shades of blue, blue-green, and green as the layers beneath the initial surface.

Back to reality. It was getting dark out. Night. Wait--no. No way. It couldn't possibly be night already. I talked to myself again, "are we supposed to travel into another time zone, or something? But it should be still morning and we've only been in flight about an hour..."
Were there storms above the clouds? I don't know. This...darkness...hmm..

But then I saw it. A shooting star. I only saw it for a flash of a millisecond--not only because it was travelling with such hideous speed and momentum, but also because in that instant, I was blinded. permanently.  I felt my way toward the cockpit. All the passengers besides me and one other man seemed to be sleeping. I stumbled on, using those reflective upraised strips that mark the hallway to guide my feet. I couldn't see a thing. This blindness prevented me from really accomplishing anything in this circumstance, but I had to get to the captain.

"Captain! Captain! Are you awake? What's going on? Where are we?"
It is now that I notice that the captain had been dead in the cockpit for some time. There was no co-pilot. I double-checked for a pulse. Nope. My assumption is that we had managed to fly into space, with nothing above or below. I felt for the breast of the captain's coat and shook him violently. Then, I began to weep.
I really should not be allowed on an airplane.
HRTsOnFyR Feb 2016
I step out into the pale February air
Of mid afternoon,
Beneath this dull and weeping sky.
The first thing I notice
In the courtyard
Is the concrete slab
Networked by rainwater stains,
Dark and arterial;
Like a web of veins
Searching for their way back home
Toward a warm and caring heart.

I tiptoe through a spattering of puddles
Watching my grey reflection,
Like a well defined shadow,
Peering up at me
So lost and alone.
The glittering steel backdrop
Of the cage above
Flickers with surreality
Across the surface of the water
As it is breaking beneath my feet.

Running my hand along the stone wall
Sounds a bit like wind
Rushing off the back of a jet plane,
Hollow and whistling from my palm
Across the smooth terrain;
My fingertips pausing
Only to linger on the pocked and marred and patched-up parts,
As if only to admire their stoic imperfections
And to kiss their milultitude of wounds and scars.

The walls here reach higher than any  of us could ever hope to climb alone.
The architecture is cold and sterile
And unforgiving in it's practicality.
Large beads of water gather in the corners of the fixtures
From sixty feet above
Only to come crashing down upon my cheekbones
With the heaviest and mist sickening of "splats".

I shake them off like an iris shedding the first round of morning dew,
Then I plant myself under the eaves
In the only square foot of dry ground in view.
Sitting quietly, with closed eyes,
I listen to the variable thicknesses of each falling raindrop,
Contemplating the many different tones
As some collide with the puddles
And others burst among the bricks.

Through the thin, spidery membrane of my eyelids
I sense a shift in the overhead lighting,
Just in time to spot a silver lining
As a rogue beam of light
Pushes through a soft spot in the clouds.
I inhale the earthy scent
Of dirt and freshly mopped sidewalks
While I marvel at just how precisely
His eyes, at times,
Can match the exact shade of this mid winter sky.

With a sigh and and an undetectable shudder,
A little smile crosses my lips,
And I long for nothing more than to be embraced by his arms of steel.
The love I feel with him seems much mightier than any prison fortress...
And I,
Held captive by it's institution,
Gracefully accept my position,
And find that it is one
I am all too willing too endure.
Amanda Aug 2016
She was brighter, happier in black & white.
Her pale skin glowed, reflecting the light from the sun she hadn't seen in months.
She kept to hiding under the bed, scared of the monsters tucked sweetly into her pillow cases.
Shooting stars shot across the sky while she was busy counting the sheep of the nightmares her mother did not know.
She took walks in the dark so maybe her fear would fade.
But there was no grey between the black sky and the white moon.
She felt in thicknesses, not in shades.
She was too deep in to change.
Her shadow rest in front of her awaiting a step she never took,
Until she turned back on all of bodies she had lost.
Marshal Gebbie Apr 2022
In the quandary the future holds for us now, that climatic extremes become exponentially more extreme, that deterioration of the natural order of things accelerates to the point where mankind can no longer comfortably exist, where rising coastlines inundate dramatically and inexorably, where food can no longer be grown on the Eastern side of the nation, where the western side of the nation is inundated with continuous rainfall, where land values plummet on one side of the nation and soar on the other, where the population is forced to flee unwillingly, screaming outrage, from one area to saturate another. That social disorder breeds the seeds of revolution in the face of the chaotic inequities being suffered at the hands of governments no longer capable of coping with it all.

The sage words of Sir David Attenborough echo down the corridor of sudden shuddering inevitability in that the scenario described above pertains to NOW not further down the track, not to some distant future….it pertains to our brittle, susceptible world of NOW!

Environmental analysts are screaming the message that deep ice sheet temperatures are rising dramatically, glacial thicknesses reducing forcing mass calving into warming oceans. Oceanic salinity is reducing and oceanic current velocities and directions of mass flow are radically changing with catastrophic effect on weather patterns globally.
Ionosphere particulates and mass atmospheric pollution is changing the nature of our skies, increasingly they metastasize to phenomenon’s of extreme which flail oceans and land mass with violence and unprecedented wrath.

In 1997 the Kyoto Conference conferred, (with a sense of great nobility), in that 90% of the nations of the world were represented and agreed, after exhaustive debate, on a programme of emission control and environmental conservation….they all congratulated themselves and each other on the intention of the monumental climatic task ahead…..and went back to their home shores and did precisely NOTHING!
After paying lip service to the great speeches made, after preening themselves with the glowing mantle of adopted environmental responsibility, they went back to their respective governments and conceded to immense political pressures and kick backs of Big Oil, Big Money and the Banks.
Political concessions had to be made for GROWTH, ideology was cast aside for the immediacy of Nationally urgent issues…. MONEY….the economic necessities of the moment…(In time we will get around to the Kyoto crap and that irritating child, Greta Thunberg)!
In Truth…..
The responsibility lies with the main polluters, China, India, USA, Russia, Europe, Japan and Brazil. All unwilling to acknowledge, all unwilling to submit to the pain of real emission control. All unwilling to realistically unite to combat the environmental Armageddon, now, at their doorstep.
Russia, for example, is more willing to start a war with neighboring Ukraine, killing thousands of fellow Slavs, brutally destroying infrastructure and priceless artifacts, sending millions to flee in terror to the West……instead of dealing with the monster in the room of thawing permafrost over the vast steppes of Siberia or combating the enormous sinkholes that are occurring with profusion in the East of that land. China will not communicate productively on environmental matters with the West despite rampant, continuous air pollution in Beijing and the problematic encroachment of desertification from the West. Brazil allows the systematic felling and burning of vast areas of its rain forest annually for the development of commercial palm oil plantations… thus destroying forever a significant amount of what represents the lungs of the planet, the Amazon rain forest.

The planet will force the issue, it is applying an in-ignorable  force now….EVERYWHERE…..ISN’T IT?

The two primary polluters must come together to show the way, The USA and China have to get into lockstep, forget their combative ideology’s, forget their nuclear standoff, Come together as survivalists…for that is what they are. Formulate an immediate plan to combat the atmospheric pollution, the runaway acidification of the expanding oceans, the steady implacable rise of the temperature of the air we breathe. Combine their technological and monetary wealth to develop new research into the immediate replacement of fossil fuels………If they achieve this, the rest of the planet must fall into place behind them, they have no choice. But the Big Guns must first, SHOW THE WAY!
TIME IS OF THE ESSENCE!
If this does not happen, the words of the wise, Sir David Attenborough will apply……THEN, WE, HUMANITY AS A CIVILIZATION, SHALL END!

M.
Foxglove@Taranaki, NZ
Maria Goodrick Nov 2015
I’m not claustrophobic,
But my fear makes me feel like I’m trapped in a box buried 490 feet under Your toes.
I don’t like to let people down,
But it’s hard trying to get things done while battling fear, even if I’m doing those things for You.
To be alive is a scary thing to be sometimes,
But I believe You when You say that You’ll help.
I know of one place where I can be safe, and that’s with You,
But it takes some work to get there.
I know You’re there, You’re practically standing right next to me,
But my head puts up walls, walls made out of fear.
Fear of responsibility, fear of change, fear of the future, of pain and disappointment, of failure and shame and decisions.
And those are just the walls I put up.
There are also the flaws of the world.
They add more walls, and these walls are made out of more than just fear,
But no matter how many walls there are, I can always see a little of You, because the walls are transparent.
They’re made of cracked glass, in different colors and thicknesses, some more damaged than others, and they’re easy enough to break down,
But sometimes I don’t want them down.
Sometimes the cracks in the glass make You look like someone I don’t want to get to,
But all I have to do is look past those cracks and get one clear glance at You,
And I’ll remember that You’re all I’m ever going to need.
When I first met You, I saw you through the cracks, and I swore to never let go,
But I lost sight of You and loosened my grip.
Years later when we met again, face to face, there were no walls. You had taken them down.
You told me You were proud of me regardless of what I’ve done to myself and others.
After seeing You so clearly, without fear or flaws, how could I ever forget You?
I think that was the only time I’ve ever been without fear.
This one is very close to my heart, it's about my faith in God and my religion. I wrote it for a poetry slam in my 11th grade English class.
Anne denada Feb 2020
Courtyard, corridors, temples and spirals.
Depicting the energies of our higher plane.
Steps for climbing and descending
Buddhas and Devis galore.

Exploring the shapes, curves, faces and limbs
Of human gods.
Pillars of support in hundreds, curved roof tops
Frescoes reach to the sky.
Inner sanctuaries, spaces floored with large cobbled stones  
Down trodden by human feet.

Everywhere the eye glances are changing energy patterns.
Weather worn frescoes of snow flakes,
Circular lotus and turtle backs.
Layers built upon different thicknesses,
Fine medium and thick just like
Mother Earth’s stratosphere and
Human layering of life’s existence.

Devoid of heavenly colours, blacks, greys
Muted whites, squares, circles, triangles, rectangles abound
Zig zag wings, spirals and doves challenge the outer eye
These energy patterns are  so familiar to our inner eye.

Surrounded above and close to heaven
Baby blue sky, billowy white clouds,
Heavy puffs floating above, thin streaks stretching below.

All is a kaleidoscope of space, movement and energy vibrations
Creating a heavenly rhythm for our musical nourishment
Unending all the way to eternity.

— The End —