Long poem by
Jecon B. Nadela | Details | . You can read it on PoetrySoup.com' st_url='http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/when_natures_best_is_not_at_all_that_good_468507' st_title='When Nature's Best Is Not At All That Good'>
The ecosystem’s perfect design
A providence of the Great Divine.
A holistic balance that should not fail
If well-taken-cared of by those that dwell.
The atmosphere was just enough
To sustain the living and its habitat.
Green vegetations were all around
And so the spring from underground.
The fish; the birds; and the beasts that creep
Are created good and none is least.
Among the creations that co-exist
There’s a complex being, he’s nature’s best.
The best of all is the soul called man
The exact resemblance of the Supreme One.
He was far superior intellectually
Than any on land or those at sea.
That he was groomed for stewardship
To decide what’s good for all the rest.
There was no contest – ‘twas a done-deal
Because the nature’s best could have done it well.
He holds the task all through his life
With a female aide he call her wife.
And to bear offspring to fill the earth
And pass the task right at each birth.
Then intellect has grown so deep
As the sons of men explored the earth.
They sought to change what God had made;
They no longer sheltered on trees and caves.
Then he built a shelter to house his home;
He decides the size and so the form.
Proud of his strength, he broke his back;
To down a tree or slice a rock.
The task he has he soon abused;
What he ought to keep he has destroyed.
The breach and misuse of privilege
Has complicated the life he lived.
The sticks and straws to build a fire
Are no longer fitted to man’s lifestyle
He has devised a modern tool
He has learned to mine and the use of coal.
With just a click he can have light
Or get some warmth on a winter’s night.
His innovation did not end up there;
He made the bomb and drew a scare.
Primeval woodlands that roofed the slopes
Have nothing left but rotten roots.
To the torrent rain the ground exposed;
would slide so soon, it cannot hold.
Man is unmindful to what will happen;
Of the ill-effects of his own doing.
Erosion comes and floodgates opened
Through quarrying and constant logging.
He invented plastic to wrap his stuff;
As food container or drinking cup.
Then threw away in haphazard;
It blocks the creeks and causes flood.
He’s become too lazy to walk a mile;
From his vibrant youth ‘til he retires.
Before a horse had took him there
But now a car that fumes the air.
Man’s toxic waste takes deadly toll;
It warmed the sky and bore a hole.
It melts the ocean’s ancient frost;
Augmenting tides in every coast.
There is no way man can sustain
From the catastrophe of climate change.
The pestilence it brought about
Crops are destroyed by flood or drought.
But man’s too dumb to understand
The come-uppance of what he’s done.
When the life he lives becomes a hell,
He blames on God of his ordeal.
All that has happened is a result;
Man lost his shelter and source of food.
And the grimmest wrath will soon unfold
When the nature’s best is not at all that good.
Date & Time of Writing:
10:17 a.m - 11:32 p.m.
Long poem by
keith baucum | Details |
"First off Malik you could have picked some place other than
a strip club for us to met". "Well Jade I figured this was the best
spot. People well be focused on the strippers and not us". "Speaking
of strippers ours just walked in" Jade said cutting off Malik. Sin,
Club Envy's most known stripper entered the room. Wearing a
thin see through red veil and a long flowing red see through garment
trimmed in black. The color red against her ebony skin looked erotic
and tasteful. "Go ahead Jade and tell me the purpose of this meeting".
"Well Malik I've been thinking about our organizations" just as Jade was
talking the song Chocolate Bunnies started to play low in the background.
"I like how you and the Black Crime Syndicate members conduct yourselves.
I've been thinking that our organizations should merge and become one. In
order to make this merger work you and I should merge". Sin began
to move her hips in a seductive motion. Slowly removing the red see through
garment. "Jade you are a very powerful woman. I love how your
organization handle business. How about we just form an alliance ". Sin's
garments dropped to the floor revealing a dark red thong. "Malik I
really like you we should merge" turning toward Malik Jade put her hand on
his leg. "Malik we could run Green Haven". Turning her back to the two of
them Sin began to make her ass clap. She moved her ass in a
circular motion. "Malik if our people see us in a relationship they will come
together". "Jade you are a beautiful woman but I don't date outside my
ethnic group. I just started dating someone". "Who is she? Is she a member
of the Black Crime Syndicate?" "No she isn't a criminal like us". Bending
over Sin began to shake her ass from side to side. "Malik that relationship
will never work". "The Black Crime Syndicate is in a war Jade. I don't know
if you want to hang with us". "A war, with who?" "It's this organization called
the Green Nation". "Look like we have a common enemy. Now it's even
more important that we merge". Standing back up and facing Malik and
Jade. Sin removes the thin red veil covering her face. "They killed
one of our members and left a note. It said the Jade Dragons should stop
bringing heroin in Green Haven. That Green Haven is their city".
Written by Keith Edward Baucum aka The Brown Philosopher aka
The Green Poet aka Red Seven
Long poem by
madhavi suyog pagare | Details |
Long miles of tedious journey,
Missing my darling honey.
Travelling impatiently, spend thousands of
Hope god will bless me with ma lucky soul
at this season.
Equatorial island exploring its amazed
beauty, glittering with immersed grasses.
Wrapped by queens necklaced small lake
aside, at the outskirts of dalhousie.
My heart dwelled into its god gifted
When the night lime lighted,
Millions of stars scattered around
As if its was a wondering boon.
Lucky enough for landing with my next
Eagerly waiting for my heart chaser,
Girl passed near by, few seconds later.
Flaming beauty mould my soul.
Topped with innocence, ready for my
Her chic appearance,
Her innocent appeal.
Strucking heart raised with high beats..
Awaited for our romantic date in ma
Frequency of our nature matched.
Stolen Eyes of each other were catched.
Strings of our heart whistled
Everything had happened miraclelously.
I rebelled the three precious words of
Accepting my red rose, She blushed.
At event of recreation, campfire were
Nobody around us, private moments
between we two spotlighted.
Playing guitar, she sinked with every beat,
That's the coincidence our eyes again
Hand in hand danced with the soothing
Sparkling smile on her face beamed.
Getting closer to her, because of her
Expecting the light around us to be dim.
The romantic moment again came,
Flaps of my soul opened for the grand
She looked too pretty in her gold lame
My heart awarded her an order of chivalry.
Don't know who are you, but baby you are
the one, I am in love.
You live in me, You are my love
I feel you in my heart,
You are my world, I just cant stay apart!
Please don't hesitate, please don't lie,
Whatever you feel, my heart can buy!
Angel of life, Its just you.
Completeness in life can't be without you.
Wanna Carry journey happily together.
Tickling nose, Queenly beauty of my white
Hold my senses, its caught by you.
Don't let be just memories, wanna feel
ecstasy of love towards you forever.
Promising to hold your hand throughout
life in this lovely weather.
Will be your shadow, because your pain
will be mine.
Its destiny that our heart clicked a
snapshot of each other's soul.
Stopping by my question, Will you marry
me, my Kindred Soul?
Long poem by
Christopher Reilley | Details |
ON THE PLANTING OF TREES
The Chinese say to keep a green tree in your heart
and perhaps a singing bird will come.
Stretching fingertips to the starry skies above,
trees are perhaps silent, but they are far from dumb.
Reaching, praying, whispering in glorious exchange
with their mobile short-sighted human kin,
Trees sweeten our air by taking in what we exhale,
rewarding us with their breath, which we breathe in.
The storms of life make trees take deeper roots,
they have answers for any question a man seeks
they are witness to every change that occurs around them,
And so are the best possible kind of antiques.
To see trees dancing with the moon, framing bursts of stars,
we are gifted with their tender, rugged celebration,
a rooted chorus line holding the power of the universe,
every human beings chance to participate in creation.
Trees are beautiful in their peace; they are wise in their silence.
They will stand here long after we are all gone on to dust.
Beauty will have been added to this corner of the world
that to our children and grandchildren we will entrust.
There is much we can learn from the trees in our lives,
they are as grounded as it is possible to be,
yet they continuously strive to to touch the heavens above,
and without effort they remain uninhibited and free.
Trees are our most intimate contact with nature,
without artifice, never guarded, never coy.
A society grows great when old men plant trees
whose shade they know they shall never enjoy.
Blistering acts of making new life are often held in reserve
for gods in heavens above, or lowly poets in their hovel,
But today we can all partake in the creation of life
With little more than light, love, and a shovel.
So we travel through time when we plant a tree,
Regardless of the why, the where and the how.
The best time to plant a tree was 20 years ago.
And yet the next best time is right now.
Long poem by
TIMOTHY MUYA | Details |
In the famine ravaged lands
The atmosphere is pregnant with uncertainty
Of what tomorrow brings forth
A herdsman leads his malnourished goats
Into their pens with their fable cries barely
Audible as hunger pangs strike ferociously
Carcasses of starved animals carpet the roadside
As the aura of starvation fills the air
Leaving a trail of destruction and hopelessness
The scotching sun hits the already dried up
River beds as a sand storm prepares to hit
Disolence is that is left in this once promising land
The old men sit in groups under
A partially dried acacia tree
Murmuring in low tones
The hot humid wind hits their faces
As their wrinkle filled faces
Betray their empty stomachs and the
Ambiguity of the future
As dusk settles in the women
Stream back with empty pots
After miles under the merciless sun
They have nothing to show off their
Hard day’s work but empty containers and
As night falls no children can be heard
Playing out but they scramble for
One en’goi to quench thirst in their
Sour throats oblivious of the danger they are under
But the level of desperation knows no bounds
As hunger pangs tear through their scrawny pot bellies
The babies suck their mother’s empty breasts
Their hunger cries pierce through the silent night
From the corner of the mothers eye
A tear drops as the intensity of baby’s cry elevates
But the determination and the will to live super cedes
The pangs in her acid filled stomach and with
A weak barely audible voice she says
It shall be well my child
As streams of tears roll down their conspicuous cheekbones
Long poem by
M. L. Kiser | Details |
Swelling waters rage across the land;
two foot, three, four…water-tantrum’s take their toll;
capturing houses and cars.
The collection grows with every storm.
Tempests wage their war on unsuspecting trees and crops;
limbs whirl about the airways. frantically.
Four legged’s seek the higher ground for, safety’s sake;
hurricane is a non-discriminatory beats;
attacking everyone and everything in its path.
Whirling, swirling wind-tops, cut through land, neighborhoods, cities and forests;
flinging debris like a child throwing a temper-tantrum.
A spoiled brat in a rage.
Land will renew with time, cities will be re-built and birds will populate woods,
forests and parks once again; provided that,
hurricane tantrum does not repeat itself, too soon.
Nature’s children can be fussy and destructive to,
people who upset the natural balance of things.
Everything that exists has a purpose;
from the cockroach to the human.
When each does it’s part, a balance is achieved.
Kill the rats off and the pests that feed off of them;
infect dogs, cats, livestock and even homes.
Frack-crack the earth’s crust-to-the-core and
tectonic plates slide too far;
carcinogens flood water and wetlands;
killing off billions of lives.
Man, mammal, bird and fish…all gone.
Obliterate the trees and you obliterate oxygen;
obliterate oxygen and you…extinguish all life.
The human beast has, an uncanny ability to do as,
they please; never considering the consequences of,
It’s so easy to blame nature’s other children for,
human carelessness and mistakes;
Preaching about responsibility while avoiding it.
Long poem by
William J. Jr. Atfield | Details |
An ancient, elegant – once jolly – old Lady,
deserving of so, very much more then
the rape and pillage, the destruction and pollution,
the chemical alterations – poisons,
the theft of, the abuse of
all her innocent, naked, natural beauty.
This old Lady, who has been – who will again –
as self-destructive as any of her daughters –
of man kind – and without the help of man kind’s
selfish, inconsiderate, thoughtless greed.
Will She, ?, will we ?, survive the turbulent throes
of an uncertain, an unpredictable, veiled future -
even if we ( as capable human inhabitants ),
even if she ( the energy, mother of us all ), -
are able ?, to curb our insatiable appetites,
are able ?, to thwart what may be inevitable -
change and a world, - her life time of changes.
Is her ?, is our ?, relationship to this universe
a foretold tale of unavoidable doom.
Is our evolution ?, life ?, destiny ?, our development ?,
upon the breasts of Mother Earth,
to come to an end in a daze, a haze of gloom ?,
as we all ( Mother Earth, Life, human kind )
are destined to become ( once again ) cosmic dust
blowing in the winds of memories hoard, of time –
passing into - becoming spirituality adrift on cosmic winds
– ghostly souls, spirits - once again sailing, searching,
seeking solidity, - once again - of visible form
to walk upon the surface of a much better plane,
better then what has become of what we are now !
Next time around, will thoughtfulness ?, be the tought !
It has been thought of more that opened the door,
that – if we do not, soon change - will be closed –
B. J. “A” 2
May 23rd 2008
Long poem by
Isa Jennings | Details |
A mighty soul squeezes into a body.
For the first time or the 10,000st – no matter –
It’s humbling, so h u m a n.
Learning to use this magnificent vessel, we know nothing.
What is this thing: “Language”?
We crap our pants.
We forgot almost everything and keep forgetting the rest.
Everything NEW seems REAL.
It will take much work or the Grace of God to perceive the truth again,
Amidst all this fascinating stuff.
Feelings – a packaged deal with the body.
(Much like the Monsanto protection clause in the bill to save the country from bankruptcy)
We are addicted to them (the feelings and Monsanto)
Yet too scared to allow the full range of what is labeled “good” to “bad”.
We spend most of our lives frantically avoiding anything that feels uncomfortable.
Don’t you see: it gives that particular feeling more reality than it deserves!
On the way home listening to the drum and a deeply melodic, sensuous voice,
The old woman in a willowy, wrinkly, white body (www.com) rocks out.
The music is intoxicating.
The older she gets, the more human she becomes.
Youth’s nature is to be perfect.
But after almost 60 years of living, she begins to own and honor the imperfection.
Everything is there. Love, compassion and kindness,
As well as judgment, self-centeredness and even cruelty.
The Earth is completing another turn around itself,
Whirling around a star as they are being hurled farther “into” or “out of” the Universe?
The color is fading out of the landscape.
Sucked into the sky as blues, purples, reds and gold.
Only to be reborn tomorrow in the luminescent light of the dawn.
Long poem by
Sumeet Mathur | Details |
To change something forever,
It always starts with the Man in The Mirror.
On this Earth, long we have all been,
both aged and teen,
And I believe of all our goals,
The most important should be to ennoble our souls.
For without guilt, we use our world as a fence,
And show it our assumption of reverence,
But what makes the difference,
Is our rigid preference.
Now to save the world from the end of its tether,
The masses of millions must come together.
Because even though we claim it as the Mother of all,
We, each, look to erase it from History’s scroll.
For while we cut trees and burn fuel here,
The Earth blinds back tear after tear.
To respect this fact:
To give our evils a strong border,
I believe an endeavour to heal the world, is in order.
And to give the healing process a direction,
I suggest a bit of introspection,
This way, every man, woman and child,
Would, on “Mother” Earth, stop being so wild.
Long enough has been postponed a juncture,
Where we think about the future.
For why should the Earth, on us, show pity,
When, to save it, are ready, neither foolish nor witty?
So let us leave a little behind for our kith and kin,
And deprive ego of its biggest win.
For only those are believed human,
Who live and let live. :) :)
Long poem by
Dah Lusion | Details |
This poem was first published in ‘Stone Voices Magazine’
—a publication that truly emphasizes spiritual realization.
It appeared in the Fall 2013 issue.
My hands are the hands
of a gardener,
fresh with soil, sunlight, and rain,
with the breath of flowers
and kisses of moisture.
I sprinkle seeds over the earth,
like a holy man sprinkles sacred water.
The soil: grateful for my blessing.
The birds: grateful for this small fare.
I chant incantations and listen
for the growth of roots,
for the rustling of sprouts,
pastel green and tender, spiritual
I rain dance and praise the sky,
hold my hands to the air,
forming a small bowl
for the rain to fill,
to be the stimulus, the birthmother,
the liquid that makes
the garden whole.
I ask the sun for waves
of light, the breeze
for strength and circulation,
the fertilizer for sparkling minerals
that infuse the roots, stems, and fruit
On my knees I dig
with bare hands into the soil:
my hands, like intimate dancers,
lead the busy prolific weeds
to another existence, to their rebirth.
My hands are the hands
of a gardener,
fresh with soil, sunlight, and rain.
From my fourth full-length collection of poems
©dah / dahlusion 2013
all rights reserved
My gratitude goes to publisher, Christine Cote
for bringing my work into her spiritual realm,
and for sharing with her readers one of my poems.