Prompt words for The Sunday Whirl are: spiral craft signal draft shallow rule dense send shell sham slapping laugh
Prompt words for The Sunday Whirl are: spiral craft signal draft shallow rule dense send shell sham slapping laugh
Bad Tenants
Those caravans of daily life proceed at what a cost?
The breath of forests stifled by the clouds of their exhaust.
As we trace our progress mile on mile spent behind the wheel,
the tracks we leave behind us leave scars that will not heal.
We have bundled up our legends and published them in books,
sealed safe between those covers where no one ever looks.
“Oh beautiful for spacious skies and amber waves of grain”
mere lyrics, that though touching, may be sung in vain.
We tend to think that nature is simply meant for viewing,
as we overlook all of those other things we should be doing
to save our fields and forests from pesticides and other
misdeeds brought about by man, lest at last we smother
that Earth that feeds and shelters us in spite of what we’ve done
to bring about our end on this third planet from the sun.
We worry about meteors that pelt us from the skies.
Meanwhile overlooking where the greater danger lies.
For The Sunday Whirl, the prompt words are: clouds caravan breath forests track trace wheel touch pelts tends legends bundles.
On my way down to the little market just at the bottom of the hill, I couldn’t help backing up to snap this shot!!!
For Cellpic Sunday
Image by Alireza Dolati
Divine Providence
The wings of destiny are stilled, waiting for our play.
Astonished at our slowness, confused at the delay.
Disappointment in mankind by now’s a usual thing.
What new human horror will the future bring?
We’ve poisoned oceans, sullied air and burdened earth with junk.
Enough to put Ma Nature in a perpetual funk.
She balks and sends out warriors to try to curb our lusts,
but still mankind continues to turn shouldn’ts into musts.
She now sees she was misguided in creating human fools,
with all of their excesses flaunting all her rules.
Soon she’ll find another way to try to clear her slate of them
as destiny stands waiting to see what is the fate of them.
For dVerse Poets, we were to choose a Spanish term to use for the subject of a poem. In Spanish, Divina Providencia means destiny with choices and spiritual interventions. My poem is about how mankind has unfortunately chosen to respond to that divine providence.
Thanks to Georgia for passing on this incredible video!!!
Life is a conundrum often unresolved.
Every day another sin to be absolved.
from transgression to transgression, mankind’s been known to scuttle,
searching for excuses to use in their rebuttal
of charges that we’ve ruined nature’s sweet confections,
destroying with what we have wrongly seen as our corrections.
With a flippant attitude, missing the wider view
of how we affect everything with each thing that we do.
Thus, impartial in her actions, nature then corrects,
working out solutions to ills that she detects.
How she must be wondering if mistakes in our past
might lead to the solution that mankind cannot last.
And so she’s started over by altering our genes,
thus aiding all mankind to evolve into machines!
Prompt words for the day are flippant, rebuttal, conundrum, impartial, correction .
The imminent future seems iffy at best.
The door to tomorrow reveals a dark test.
Have we rationed our resources, saved for tomorrow?
Will deviations from reason cause future sorrow?
Spatially crowded, our cities all choke
in the fumes of their progress—nature’s cruel joke.
We write words like ECOLOGY large, in italics,
hope it will protect like the arms of a calyx,
think it will create a healing reaction,
and yet it will not, ’til we put it in action.
Today’s prompt words from six different sites are imminent, door, spatial, ration, deviation and italics.
Scourge of the Universe
The blood of crushed magnolias stains the universe,
mankind ruining everything it chooses to traverse.
Leaving bloody footprints and the litter of our lives,
we exploit everything we see and kill all that survives.
Why can’t we learn to live in peace, preserving leafy bowers?
What single other species is as ornery as ours?
Death Knell
Living too near a factory
may cause distress olfactory,
thus magnifying baleful thoughts
in the minds of those “have nots”
of purdy sorts who need not smell
these odors from the fires of Hell.
Who cares what vapors invade air
in places where no rich are there?
The vile winds hum a savage tune.
Thus goes the world to pot and ruin
with mankind born, then gone too soon.
death knell
farewell
Prompt words today are purdy, magnifying, baleful and factory.
Purdy: disagreeably self-important (dialectal, England) or, alternate spelling of “purty,” or pretty.
Sick of this world,
I take a morning walk
up a nearby mountain trail I’ve long neglected.
As I trudge the uphill path,
I wave good-bye to those figments of reality
that are but squatters in my brain—
invasive memories
that by their constant presence
have proclaimed themselves to be
the intrinsic truths of our world.
I blame the internet
for choosing what we see
and those fools we meet there
whom otherwise
we’d never have occasion to listen to.
The path is rough
with dirt and grass,
rubbled by rough stones
like uncut gems.
Abandoned sneakers
crown a pile of
drying palm fronds,
as though they’ve been parted from their legs
much as the palm fronds have been
severed from their trees.
Banks of golden flowers
form walls on
either side,
then give way to
stalks of purple blooms
with saffron tongues
and multi-colored clover.
The white bands of butterflies
striped like zebras
announce their presence in the shade,
and even the litter
is fallen flowers.
In the path lies
the circular mounded artistry of ants
that signals that new and private world
they’ve cleared out for themselves below.
Too soon, and long before I would have turned
to renegotiate a path now sloped downwards,
a closed gate either forgotten
or new since I last passed this way
so many years before,
turns me homewards,
past the abandoned shoes
and fallen trees turning into soil,
past the orange blooms of a tabachine tree,
past stone walls
and cobblestones.
and more contained beauty.
The runoff from last night’s rain
shoots from the drain that pierces a high stone wall.
Mushrooms grow on a woodpile
beneath the bright yellow of a neighbor’s tabachine,
and a split-open pomegranate
from my own tree
forms a happy face, welcoming me home
as my across-the-street neighbor’s new small dog,
unaccustomed to me,
barks out her protest
of this interloper
who has been newly saved
by the reality
of the wild beauty
of our world
that was here
before we came,
has been here
all along,
and will
remain
after we leave.
This is the more constant truth of the world,
and I return home
to create a reminder of it.
To see photos of the walk, click Here and then click on each photo to enlarge it and advance to an enlarged view of the rest of the photos. (An abridged version of this poem is given as captions to explain the photos but omits some of the above stanzas.)
Prompt words today are wave, figment, blame, intrinsic and sick.