For a decade now self-appointed meterologists
have been screaming ‘climate change’ and ‘global warming’
Yesterday perusing a professional journal
I bookmarked a piece titled, “New Ice Age Forming”
Is it time for the world’s Greta Thunbergs, their shouts to change
from ‘Heat Wave’ to “Snow on the Range”
P.S....
Irony that a colony built by ebony is migrant adverse
Shared curse spared if you leave or in a hearse travel
Toast iconoclast Trump’s boast America will unravel
Coast to coast what he craves the most does rehearse
In his perverse parallel universe wearing ICE apparel
So for feck’s sake forsake fake Tech on the make & take
For Czech poet Havel or new “The Nerve” host Carole (Cadwalladr)
Fly the flag at half mast die is cast this is the Last Post or Carol
The end's coming fast says our Ghost of Christmas Future & Past!
The Little Ice Age
Cold
northern
winds sweep down
across Europe,
displacing warm air
and pushing it upwards,
engulfing the landscape in
the grip of the Little Ice Age
to inflict hardships on the people
who partake in winter activities.
***
Note:
The “Little Ice Age” was a period that lasted from 1300 to 1900 AD in which abnormally lower temperatures influenced living conditions in Europe.
snow
ice frost
icicle
January
teeth are chattering
February also
March has been called off this year
a new ice age in the Midwest
we will not be planting until June
A few seasons ago
My heart began to melt
Thawing from ages of isolation
Allowing me to unearth how I felt
Discovering depth
In the layers buried below
Emotions that were stored away
Now put on display to help me grow
Still chiseling away
As the journey will be long
But boldly forging a new frontier
With my heart unfrozen and strong
A white frosty morning
With a highly humid atmosphere
Fresh and clean breeze
Cascades down the mountain
Dews relax on surfaces
Fog arrests the beauty
Of the high and low lands
Furs bow in uniqueness
Stuffed cloak re-assigned
My days are now short
And temperature very low.
I am losing myself
When do I get to feel warmth ?
Do daytime always come with heat ?
I waited in anticipation
With high stake expectations
For my wish to come to pass
And then the silent cold environment
Whispered to me
"Chill out, it's winter"
Impossible mission to uncouple accountability,
(no matter minuscule - veritable drop within
figurative bucket when quantity contrasted/
compared alongside industrial waste courtesy
major corporations), yet helplessness prevails
survival (mine) inextricably bound trappings
twenty first century allow, enable, and provide
exploiting even dollop so called nonrenewable
resources, I could sacrifice corporeal entity -
body, mind and spirit within eyeblink exhales
last breath before becoming repurposed - inert
cremated ashes randomly scattered across all
points encompassing terrestrial world wide web.
Obituary -
Despite havoc primate species did wreak
from the afterlife I figuratively speak
and applaud millennials whose peak
performance accorded courtesy
your token "aged hippie,"
mild mannered and meek
and long haired pencil necked geek,
whose disembodied spirit
now volunteers as Halloween sideshow freak
incorporating gallows humor tongue in cheek.
She looked at me from
The sky, full of her eyes.
And set my Spring on a fire
Where my stars and moon started to burn.
And I couldn't find any place to run away.
I dug a hole to Hades to hide all the ashes.
Then the sound of thousand years of silent breaking,
Generated a crack,
Through which I came back to the ground again.
And I find
Ice age, solitude, and white back in my world.
Saša Milivojev - ICE AGE
An endless plate of ice
The camel carries me
Treading heavily
Icy tears from sobbing splutter
It stumbles
Over the tips of the pyramids
Weeping
The soul is wrenched
My firefly is not here
At nine
As it once was
Saša Milivojev
www.sasamilivojev.com
AUTUMN DINOSAURS FALL--
On a golden stream,
You whisk me
Bounded by my dreams
Awaken me, you wake me
As I walk in the jaws of the prehistoric pet
Of the bronze-aged old
Tyrannosaurus Rex
Walk on Dino walk
Your footprints are the Grand Canyon
Where you lay your body are the Great Lakes
Bounded by dreams
Dragon reality
Awaken me roar, roar
Ever so daunting
All died out couldn’t survive the cold
Autumn Dinosaurs Falls
2/7/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.2019©
Paleontologists have the very best pants, and the best careers to boot.
They get to travel, and dig, and so many tombs they get to loot!
They get to find fossils – body, trace, and footprints, teeth, and nests.
They get to look for dinosaur bones, and they have fun above the rest.
They get to pick up gray, and black delicate coprolites, and for those who want to know,
here’s the scoop.
Coprolites is another word for tiny little nuggets, hardened now, but
once a dinosaur’s poop.
Try to open your third eye
Sharp your sixth sense
You can clearly see
This earth is still passing through ice-age.
People would say
This summer was the hottest ever!
If you’d inquire, you must see
The sun is now heatless
Not able to melt the deposited ice
Of this helpless earth.
Who knows when these fossils would get back
Their lives, how ?
Who knows, after stepping up how many stairs
Life would take the shape of human ?
Who can predict the exact moment
When this civilization would reach
At the zenith position of the square
In the lightless sky
When would this indolent sun
Burn the impurities of million hearts ?
Oh! The belated winter is unbearable
Fear in my body
Impotence in my flesh
I’m collecting my bones
To set fire and burn my soul.
One day ashes of my body would be deposited
Under the igneous rock
To irrupt as a Volcano.
As the street artist draws on pavement tiles
Asking money but getting smiles
The street urchins would offer a hand
Not to greet but to earn a rand
And as the pedestrians would walk
They pass by these fields of withered stalk
And look away or look afar
Unwilling to look upon poverty’s scar
Yet if they looked they may just find
A human being of flesh and mind
A whale washed up on life’s cruel shore
Who is happy with less and ask no more
But when you look then you will see
A world grown cold, “it’s all about me”!
C O L D
D A Y S
S N O W
L A Y S
Strands of sugared spider web
hang from the heavy, sagging eaves;
brittle as bird bone, fragile as virgin love;
complex as the human soul.
Yet, with primal nerves I comprehend
it's purity, it's thoughtless artistry enhanced
by freeze.
So perfect the construction seems,
astonishing beauty, a magnified flake of snow;
preserved by frost, strands framed in time;
the maker long dead, unknowing.
Yet, the intent upon creation,
the motive, was to be a killing trap,
I know.
It made me come to realise,
this beauty born of a murder device,
the clever contempt I once believed
to be cooler than smoking cigarettes
beneath a fjord, has turned the tide on me;
freezing me out with coldest solitude in this age
of ice.
Fangs of water hanging down
as ruthlessly sharp as tempered steel;
teeth in the jaws of a loveless corpse, white above the door;
poised an impaling bite, well,
they might as well run me right the way through
and pin me to the snow-driven floor, for all the pain
I'd feel.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.