tar ink
ready olives
oil slicks, carbon, nightlife
jazz, tunnels before light
ebony pitch
ravens
The city exhales steam like a tired beast,
its breath pooling in alleyways
where no one walks anymore.
Cold, wet cobblestones gleam
like the backs of forgotten coins,
each one holding a secret
you must step lightly not to disturb.
Streetlamps blink like they’re remembering
how to dream—
orange halos shivering on the slick asphalt,
casting shadows
with no one to belong to.
Shop windows sleep behind
grimy glass and rolled-down gates,
whispering to each other
in the hush of the sodium dark.
Rain slicks the world into a mirror
and I walk through it—
a ripple in the ghost of a market square,
where footsteps echo
as if they're unsure
whether they’re mine or someone else's
long gone.
Neon signs flicker with old jazz—
an inaudible tune,
all hush and blue
and the smell of wet iron
lingering like a lover's forgotten scarf.
I am alone, but the night is not empty.
It is full of watching things—
brick mouths and sewer grates,
broken clocks stuck at almost midnight,
windows that sigh when no one’s listening.
The city speaks its truest voice
only when no one asks.
"Unfortunately, it’s unrealistic to rescue all wildlife impacted during oil spills." - quote by NOAA on oil-spills
--------------------------------------------------
Even oil spills on ocean surface roars
Grieving the odd dead birds washed up on shores
A few gallons slicks, crude sink
Spillers and Skimmers off sync
Priceless space tools - a gamble on all fours
I’ve been sitting here so long,
My butts getting numb,
So I jump right up
And stick out my thumb.
He comes rolling down the street,
With the only smell of mention,
The noxious fumes; olfactory tension.
Now I’m not trying to make excuses.
But I Really needed to get to,
Lower Catoosas.
This dude with odiferous outlet
Was a goin’ my way.
If you think that was dumb,
Just listen to this:
It was a super-charged Edsel
With slicks on the rear,
It had the characteristic stench of,
Cheap, stinkin’ beer.
When I jumped in the car
He shot me the Bird,
And laid on me
These immortal words,
“Far in man…
Like what’s going off?”
I was stunned awhile
Had to catch my breath,
He looked at me with
A grin like death.
The smell was real,
The driver was not.
Like a bobble-head doll
On the dash installed.
I regained my feet,
Away from the freak,
“Thanks, but I’d rather walk”.
Morning
Slumbering in the shallow of sleep
where memories of movies are seen
The shift of the pebbles
nibbled by tiny crabs
senses of songs
“ What was is all about Alfie?”
Repeat itself
saddened by life's vagary
Dreams like oil slicks on the surface
of water-polluted thoughts
thrown into the tidal sand
Sinking into Hypnos's arms
wake, when birds sing
the blue hope
The surface of the water is filled with pollution, It's sad to see such a precious thing so ill used.
Plastic bags and bottles pollute what should be clean,
Turmoil for animals who live beneath this screen.
Fish are dying in droves, no more food can they find, And wildlife must suffer as we cause them this bane.
Oil slicks cover up their homes as if it were a game;
Our carelessness has caused them all much pain.
A tragedy that seems to go on without end;
Much destruction will come before we amend!
We need to act now or else our world won't mend –
A future of health depends on us my friend!
Those who live in the city
hightail it out to the country
to worship Nature with adoration
for them, a breathtaking vacation…
While those who dwell out in the sticks
drive in to see the city slicks
towering skyscrapers, endless shopping
keeps them hopping and be-bopping…
As for – yawn – me: Been there, done all that
Time to curl up with my fluffy housecat
Switch on the tube for the next moronic spat
‘tween MAGA-men and livid Democrats *
______________________________________
*'MAGA' stands for 'Make America Great Again,'
which was Donald Trump's campaign slogan.
Rumbles of boredom lead the mouth to eat
but then there are the unwashed,
the residue of the crumbling
and smeared. Greasy utensils
sneaking like sharks amongst the soaking dishes.
A need now to refresh this domestic pond
with chemical bubbles
yet hands are too dilatory
to be daubed by yesterday’s food.
One has to judge with perfect timing
whether to wash the plates or
leave them to poison the sink
for another hour or two.
The essential factors are smell
and guilt.
When the sludge of the once edible
blossoms rudely in an untidy kitchen
or the shredded rinds of a latent rigor mortis
coat themselves with the pimpled oils
of former slicks
only then is it time to reassess
just how peckish we are for leftovers.
Some poetic thoughts bubble
to the top of your deep waters.
There they congregate, bobbing up and down
forming slicks, oily smears that linger
only to accuse you later when you return to them.
There is a detergent for cleaning them up
it comes in a small spray can
labeled 'revise, edit, or delete.'
Fore heaven's sake
don't let them burst and spill
over the pristine innocence of a page.
Many whopping environmental disasters
begin with a wee smudge.
Dreary day, dreary day,
the gray hangs thick and deep;
why is it on dreary days
that I just want to sleep?
The rain’s coming steady,
rolls off of the roof steep,
fills the gutters high enough
that you could float a fleet,
drips off pine-green needles
so that the branches weep,
slicks the kitchen garden
and small herbs we shall reap,
annoys those out walking,
soaking shoes, socks, and feet,
driving most of them inside
for a dry place to meet,
but, alas, I work at home,
and though I’m feeling beat,
I get up and do the job…
There are contracts to keep.
Dreary day, dreary day,
the gray hangs thick and deep...
why is it these dreary days
just make me want to sleep?
The boy gave a pass after sip.
The connection lame - lost my grip.
The fountain of suds
around my sole floods.
The humor and fear as I slip.
On pause, as I wait for a towel.
Aloof, as I cry and I howl.
Surrounded, I'm stuck
in pond like a duck.
This murderous flip's not too foul.
The youth, he's ashamed and he hides.
and knowingly, I do not chide.
I find and I hug,
I smile and I shrug.
This Gram thus takes slicks all in stride.
8/18/2019
*All too true of a story! One sip, then an entire can of sprite
spills out of the can. A scary accident! Thankfully I'm fine
and the four year old was not hurt!
underwater mysteries lye dormant
underwater frequencies run ramped
flippy grey floppy over currents and waves
floating boats poach and boast the most
flippy floppy tides sway coast to coast
choppy white water,
tidal wave caps
harpooning for big benji and da bloonies
illegal ignorant people
turn pirate and evil,
they don't even know
lethal vibrations steer fear thru the nose
bottlenose flippers hear and swim near
flippy see dark slick come from engine rear
flippy Frisbee disc floppy,
fly thru the air
hunger for humans
show no pity
starving their wits
little did flippy know not to swim thru oil slicks
playing with nature
why not?? No risk?
gill filled with ick
black gold and ignorance
oils inflation,poached population
effects and causation
coffins for mammals soon not to exist
love earth and love water
at least love still insists
life will anew, recycle this mist
though will dolphins adapt to this new age environment bliss
I love flippy and floppy, I hope for the best
I end with a kiss
Weather looked upon not contemplating
Shores forgot, wisped away to beaches anew
This place that place, sea of blue
Set close not too far
voices in the wind here we are
Rods set tall and straight here it is
we will wait
Lines tightened, rods a bent
fresh bait with old scent
Slicks rolling in crests of waves
Just beyond a bubbling fish raves
Set the hook reel the line
Buddies of fish it's dinnertime
The fate of Man lies heavy on His soul,
exploiting the Earth; ego in control.
And as resources shrink, demand inflates,
indicating that disaster awaits.
A sullied sun traverses skies of blue
as rusty rays; color a poison brew.
And as virgin mountains get stripped of trees,
topsoil is blown away with every breeze.
Oil slicks spread out like a blanket of death;
while slowly stealing the sea otter's breath.
And fish are ravaged by commercial nets;
as their habitats are scraped by dragnets.
Trusted with Gaia's health, we've let Her down;
Her waters are rising; we may all drown.
For both the Earth's poles are melting away;
vast sheets of ice splitting off every day.
Plates shift, and Gaia's crust begins quaking,
long-dormant volcanoes, awakening.
And being raped by the seed of Her womb;
She weaves a new Earth on a magma loom.
Overcast the day
painted slate blue and gray
taps on the roof gently fall
as the ground slicks rains pall.
Cool the February calm
with icy rain the seasons balm
stealth and slow the cloud cover
waiting patient hold at hover.
Wintry mix of rain, ice and snow
sweeps light across the misty flow
easing in throughout the morning
marking time in solemn warning.
Start to a new week
Monday morning creeks
winter's promise foretold
a stormy day to unfold.
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