Earth Day Every Day All This Week, Combined with National Poetry Month

Tuesday, April 17th, 2018

NOTE: My classmate, Mary Lou Meyers, penned a lovely poem about birds that I am posting this week, because as caretakers of Mother Earth, we must take care of all animals, including birds, to make sure their habitats are safe and not bulldozed or poisoned. So this will post on my Home Page, under Poems, and also in Earth Day Every Day. She wrote it last Friday, when summer weather was upon us, if only for one day. I Googled birds of the Northeast and found some photos on the Internet. The peacock photo is not from my Google search (no website given). Source for other birds: wildbirds.com.

Thanx, Mary Lou!

 

Awakening Birds
The birds this morning defy description:
the trilling, the thrilling of Winter bones still chilling;
their haunting repertoire comes unannounced,
denounced by some late sleepers;
taking on the distinct disguise of the woods beyond,
not meant for Human eyes.
Junco
What virtue unbidden is hidden there,
defining their substantive embrace of Nature’s Interface
groomed feathers from the emerging leaves
a stroke of their good fortune
to make the most of a day bursting forth.
Blue jay
Tossing and turning in the sudden Summer heat,
the birds unleashed after Winter’s prolonged meditations,
taken by surprise from branches extended like sticks
to leafy flutterings with new enterprise.
Without an acknowledged tree
where would these indicators of frivolity be
or is it lament for a world not pre-arranged
for birds to be content with limbs extended
but with seeds made ready at every feeder
as the lady cardinal reminded mother
begging at her front steps until she recognized
a usurper-me, and left me discontent
without the armament of a survivor.
Mourning Dove
What if I was extolled by their beauty and finesse,
or appalled by the lack of it?
Does it really matter in the world of Nature,
when all we do is undermine not define gratitude.
Tufted Titmouse
A peacock sets itself apart from other birds,
it has neither heart nor triviality
to join in such conviviality,
but an eventual strategy to get the best
in a platform of accountability wherever it may be;
a reminder of how stark the human soul
is without the rare plumage to cover nakedness,
yet we try to make up for it by prolonged indications of songs
with only words to carry us along like a burden of proof.
Peacock
We had a peacock in our yard submerged once
in a deluge of rain, who finally found a shelter,
then with the sun arising, an appropriate spot
on top of our shed to hold forth looking like a talking statue,
looking down on the Survivors of the Human Race.
Plain and adulterated at times, shame-faced for our lack of grace.

Poem for Earth Day, Every Day by Mary Lou Meyers

Friday, April 11th, 2014

My classmate Mary Lou sent me this poem, so this posting doubles as an original posting as well as the special postings for
Earth Day, Every Day.

Thanx, Mary Lou



What Have They Done to Our Dream?
(Dedicated to those who fight the Good Fight!)
What have they done to our dream
forged on rocky shores of Plymouth Town?
Filled green spaces with toxic waste,
dredged the ocean floor,
smoke stacks spewing forth,
acid rain, we know who’s to blame,
shrouding the sky forever more!

What have they done
to John Muir’s glowing testament?
Left oil tracks in the trackless wilderness,
dammed blood red salmon, silver side up,
defiled pure flowing streams
with capital leavings,
Go West by God machines!


What have they done
to wave upon wave of amber grain?
Transplanted hard asphalt
poisoning the earth for all its worth.
A putrid stench drifts through the vast plains,
traced to factories of cattle, chickens, and hogs,
manure runs free down all the valleys
pouring nitrates into the dying reservoirs.

What have they done
to the lofty spires of ancient red wood trees,
cathedrals of pine lifting spirits and minds,
pumping aromatic blends in the breeze?
While quaking aspens whisper amen,
the wood swallow tolls “misere,”
when we give carte blanche to
a few triumphant loggers who
blaspheme our sacred heritage
ground down to bitter bleeding stumps.

What have they done
to uncharted stretches of forests and shore
deserts, swamps, and mountains filled with lore?
Blasted them into smithereens mining ore.
Instead of restoring sacred wetlands,
they destroy them flooding streams
with chemicals from fracturing,
pledging allegiance to blow hard schemes
with rampant developments
growing up in-between.
Who will they answer to
in a generation or two:
spoiled beaches, raped streams,
waters laced with mercury,
tortured mountains brought low,
fish-killing phfiesteria, wildlife hysteria,
with no place left to go?

They can purge their guts,
but it doesn’t mean very much,
who can trust the rainbows,
the sunset’s jagged edge,
a chemical upheaval of red.
Bituminous coal undermining,
luminous passageways reminding
no where left to go,
with Centralia’s* blazing inferno.
We pay for the crisscross of freeways
bathed in layers of smog,
power plants puffing away,
acid rain decay.
Underneath the ozone glaring sun,
blue sky’s been undone.
(Photo of Centralia)*

Without a killing frost,
seasons are lost.
We can talk about the reach of their greed,
destroying clean water and air as they please.
Pork barreling bridges to nowhere
instead of human sanctuaries.
No guy at the top telling them to stop,
In spite of ranting and railing,
special interests prevailing.
No, it doesn’t mean very much,
EPA, DEP, and such.

Harm to the nation doesn’t change
Agra’s predilection for factory farms.
Hormones galore stored in our meats,
guaranteed to make big Packers,
drug companies happy,
while the family farm begets,
nothing but misery and debts.
We are deceived into believing,
fairy tales which say everything’s A-Okay!

They even sing about freedom from care,
when it’s too late for just allegiance or prayers,
the facts are in, we’re all endangered too,
with despair floating on poisoned air,
children crying for playing room
in this dust-laden tomb called America.

No, it doesn’t mean much at all.
No song to carry us along,
no gospel to answer the last wild calls.
Listen closely and you can hear,
the gasp of the soft animal within us,
struggling to recall all we once held dear.
For a pocketful of gold,
they destroy the human soul,
we must gain control to make it whole again.
Funny thing, we are they, and they are we,
our needs become our grim reality.
Help the earth remember,
and take us back tenderly,

restore our dream forever more.

 

*Centralia- From Wikipedia (I drove through there a couple of times & it is like a ghost town, as Wikipedia notes, with many houses abandoned & boarded up, while others remain despite the danger of gas explosions. es)

Centralia is a borough and a near ghost town in Columbia County, Pennsylvania, United States. Its population has dwindled from over 1,000 residents in 1981 to 10 in 2010,[2] as a result of the Centralia mine fire burning beneath the borough since 1962. Centralia is the least-populated municipality in Pennsylvania.

Centralia is part of the Bloomsburg-Berwick micropolitan area. The borough is completely surrounded by Conyngham Township.

All properties in the borough were claimed under eminent domain by the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania in 1992 (and all buildings therein were condemned), and Centralia’s ZIP code was revoked by the Postal Service in 2002.[3] State and local officials reached an agreement with the seven remaining residents on October 29, 2013 allowing them to live out their lives there, after which the rights of their properties will be taken through eminent domain.[4]

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