This picture is taken from my upstairs terrace. The dome you see covers the ceiling of my bedroom.
Our children follow in our footsteps
Creating their legacy
Every tactless comment, every lurid lie
pollutes the world around us—the water and the sky.
Rude winds disturb the quiet with cacophonous shrieking.
From floods and fires and hurricanes, safe shelter we are seeking.
They expect our gratitude for charity provided.
Instead they should be shamed for it. Charged and then indicted.
They cause disaster every day. The world grows daily worse
as they turn the ship of state into a floating hearse.
Rivers flowing poisons—clouds of toxic gas—
unheeded in the legislation that they pass.
They make a crypt out of our world. They seal their children’s doom,
converting our whole lovely world into a giant tomb.
Children love to play in it, while miners spend their day in it. We grow our food and build each home in our planet’s dark rich loam. If we are wise, we choose to mentor it, lest too soon we’re called to enter it.
The prompt word for the dVerse Poets Quadrille challenge was “earth.” The only rule for a quadrille is that it must be exactly 44 words long, not counting the title.
Dark Against Light
The universe’s fine maquette is light on dark and dry on wet— her quietness and stillness set against the thrum of castanet. It is a sort of etiquette: opposite versus opposite. Victory gauged against regret. Sunrise followed by sunset. Every lottery and bet boundless riches as well as debt. It does no good to fuss and fret. This irony is all we get— nature one pure brightness set as backdrop to our silhouette.
Want more views of this sunset? Go HERE.
The prompt today is one of the prettiest words in the English language: silhouette.
(Click on first photo to enlarge all) There is a poem after the photos. Someone just suggested I note that here because he didn’t notice it the first time he looked at this post.
and out the door.
Peek through your viewfinder.
Circle of sunlight, orb of the moon. Each of their passages over too soon. What we may find as the day or the night gives over to nature in its swift flight is only the present. It isn’t forever. No matter how talented, selfless or clever we’ve fashioned ourselves, we’ll all come around to serve our real purpose, to nurture the ground.
Time chisels away with its constant cruel rasp. The hold of a lover loses its grasp. Circles of friends are too quickly diminished. Everything started soon seems to be finished. Each rolling stone must encounter a wall. The dough of the universe rolled in a ball still lives by the edict that rules us all. Whatever has risen is certain to fall.
The very stuff of the bodies we live in are atomic circlings that we’ve been given to use for awhile before giving them back to continue their course on whatever the track is the larger extension of what we’ve been given— the next destination to which we’ll be driven. This circle we live from year’s start to December is simply the circle that we can remember, most of us hoping we’ll be up to par for inclusion in nature’s recycling bazaar.
Before it had been pillaged–scraped and torn and rent,
nature had a dignity everywhere you went.
A hill remained a hillside and a stream remained a stream.
This was before the elements began their silent scream—
long before the advent of smog and acid rain—
before our exploitation of the earth became inane
with our damming and our digging, our culling and our raping—
before we had created a world that needs escaping.
Now we thrust out into space to find another place to plunder
to repeat inane histories. To ruin and tear asunder.
Any new place that we find, thinking it a haven,
will soon be altered as before with acts as crudely craven.
We do not learn our lessons. We never quite atone
for messing into matters we should have left alone.
Like children picking at a scab, then worrying the sore,
we’ll frack the universe apart and crack it at its core.