My ancestors believed witches had magic
My ancestors worshiped a golden calf
I'm embarrassed, such folly is tragic
I shake my head and have to laugh.
Today between females and males there are no lines
We say we can surgically change either side
We can power our cities on wind turbines
And Israel's guilty of genocide.
We can always squeeze more from the rich
We know there's always money to burn
No hurdle, no obstacle, no hitch
40 trillion debt, no need for concern.
So we're so much smarter than those shepherds in the rocks
They worked for their money, thought nothing was free
Fought off invaders, and tended their flocks
Could they have been closer to reality?
We loved videogames, Paul, Sam and me
Came up with an idea, started a company
Sales were good, but success was a curse
It started when the law said we must be diverse.
So we hired Mary, Chantelle, and Helene
But social media was their preferred scene.
Mary spent work time applying lotions
Helene said she was passed over for promotions.
Helene walked away with lots of dough
We settled her lawsuit, but it was a blow
Then we had to pay the business tax
Sam gave half our staff the axe.
Then the hydro plant fell to a progressive plan.
so salmon could swim upstream without a dam.
They built lots of turbines where trees used to grow
So our servers were down when the wind wouldn't blow.
Then Paul said that marriage should be between Adam and Eve.
An online mob descended like you wouldn't believe.
I told him to grovel, but we felt the sting
So I sold our patents to a guy in Beijing.
If you wonder why you can't get a job
Or the one that you got makes you feel like a blob.
Ask the idealists who care about all except you.
They're sitting at the levers, that self-righteous crew.
Spacious arms stretch out
twirling massive weight in air
energy lifted
If the treasury won't cover it borrow again'
Teach the mandarins in office, and if it rains heavy.? Put covers on the drains, pick
Up a sound staff, and break it in two, then
You'll have more than enough, will you.? Yes get rid of the farms, and build houses
Galore' estates that look clean.' There must
Be more, and tax on the builders just
raise it beyond extreme.! They should suffer in their profession' treat them ever so mean, max tax the elderly, in fact? Also offer them death.' tell them its progressive
virtue, in the very same breath..Destroy any
Old power plants, get thise metal
wind-turbines in, that
are to be started by combustion,
well is really; so hard to spot the sins?
Retired, he is a book
fallen from the shelf
after returning
to his home town.
one drink
His ears ring as he
sits alone in clutter
of a broken house
inherited from his mother.
then another
The town once welcoming
has closed its arms
and scenes play in his mind
of when he was banned from bars.
his right, he says
He wants to live in style
wants to sing and dance
to live a prince’s life
with income of a pauper.
to be his own man
Blades of turbines
dance in the wind
and glitter in the sun
a quixotic dream.
nowhere to go
It's gonna be cold tonight
They predict one degree
The polar vortex has a bite
Unheard of here in NYC.
Global warming is the crime
It allows the cold to break thru here
So we must push for offshore turbines
While we sip on frozen beer.
Its gonna be cold out there
They say polar bear numbers will wane
But those bears are unaware
They're making cubs like clouds make rain.
In Antarctica it's negative sixty one
Coldest its been for 44 years
But ice shelves are melting in the sun
and nothing is as it appears.
Florida's freeze made dead bananas
Carolina towns can't cope
The reasons we must hammer
Renewables are our only hope.
In an American primitive painting:
she fetches a pail from a well,
the bucket on her hip is full of
broken eagles,
wind turbines churn in the distance.
Corn fields are bundled together.
Drones hum like doves in the evening.
The art of moon-spinning
is practiced on front porches.
People make do with
transitory Amazon wants.
Most get caught by the faceless winds,
those rattling sighs that spread
the dry seeds
of dying crops.
colour
shimmers
impressions melt
turbines&apartments
awake
all of a
tremble
the veiled
movement
of leaves
whispering
in the breeze
where
roads are alive
with commuter cars
abstract
illusions
flourish
with
silhouettes &
blurred
bridges teeming
with pedestrians
disintegrating
into
out
of
focus
shapes
where
corn flakes crackle
toast browns
eggs hard-boil
sunrise
prepares
a
fusions of reflections
with
pylons pulsating
their powers
in
obsessions
&detail
of a mundane day
full of toil
with bitter winds of sand and spray
and flecks of rain against my face
how different this land looks today
a drenched, vast, unforgiving place.
as turbines veiled in mist offshore
first fade then vanish out at sea
the sun, it seems, shines here no more
with frosted air surrounding me.
yet how could light forever shine
upon a beach, its sea and crowds
when storms have always over time
obscured the sun behind the clouds?
such weathered moments on the land
can help cast magic with cold seas
- one day this broken glass and sand
may form warm, precious memories.
Once, forests whispered tales untold,
A symphony of life, green and bold.
But silence reigns where giants stood,
Charred scars remain, misunderstood.
Oceans choked, a plastic shroud,
Where vibrant reefs once danced out loud.
No sparkling scales, no coral hues,
Only remnants of what we lose.
The air we breathe, a poisoned sigh,
A canvas choked by a smoky sky.
The Earth weeps, a fevered plea,
A future lost, for all to see.
But listen close, a flicker yet,
A seed of hope, we won't forget.
From the barren ground, a sapling strives,
A human hand, where nature thrives.
Solar whispers, painting light,
Wind turbines dance, embracing flight.
Ocean gardens, woven with care,
Restoring life, a future to share.
The fight remains, on every hand,
To heal the wounds, across the land.
For future generations' sake,
Let's mend the world, for goodness' sake.
Let actions speak, let voices rise,
For Earth's last stand, beneath the skies.
For every breath, for every seed,
We plant the hope, of a world in need.
Dear Electricity.
Could you please allow me to call you Electra?
I feel it gives you more respect with a little extra.
Electra, you have been most needful and useful in my life,
but honestly, you have always been a mystery to me.
I have never wanted to live a single day without you.
Although you are never to be heard, tasted, smelt, or seen,
I sense you by way of feeling if, God forbid, I touch you.
Electra, your electrifying powers turn turbines by the millions.
Your awesome energy lights up the world of billions of mortals.
Your character is amazingly warming, but never very touching;
Because your massive and energetic powers are inherently shocking.
Electra, you can be healing, but you also facilitate dates with death.
That is why when we were just kids, we learned to never touch you.
I have learned to commune with you without one voluntary touch.
Most sincerely,
Baruch
Clinging to the angry gnashing teeth of gods,
Cursing the thousand misfortunes there endured
Yet in mortal terror of letting go,
We suffer.
A dying multitude,
We listen to drizzling turbines
Muttering darkly in the earth,
Turning the seasons in mindless procession.
We listen for the word of affirmation,
Declaration of purpose.
The muttering continues.
Born to pain,
Raised on affliction,
Aged in despair,
We go...
Screaming kicking clawing
We make our way to the grave...
Afraid of the Reaper,
We deathgrip our agony,
Clutch it to our hearts
And pray
For one more day.
Forswearing mortality,
Some are driven to the sanctuary of a creator
While others vomit up bad poetry.
Inside an archaic framework
she fetches a pail from the fields,
the bucket on her hip is full of
broken eagles.
Wind turbines churn in the distance.
He takes the mangled birds
plucks them,
puts their heads on poles
loads them onto a flatbed.
His dour darling fixes fixings
with a rusting air-fryer;
plaits her hair with chicken wire.
Drones mourn like doves in the evening.
Rattling pods spread
their dry seeds over abandoned crops.
Bald feathers flap on
a black-booted scarecrow.
A morbid factotum arrives
deposits clods of earth
from out the back of
of a fly-specked hearse.
Horse heads turn
on a squeaking wind vane.
Inside a slow burning barn
Unstrung fiddles lay at rest
in their open coffins.
Thirteen ladies dancing
By Throckrington Moor’
Each movement stately
Each movement sure.
Stark against the sky
Each single girl,
Feet firmly planted,
Arms all a whirl,
Moves to the wind
In a slow rhythmic way,
Dancing consistently
Whether night or day.
Really only dancing ladies
In my minds inner eye,
Really just wind turbines
Outlined against the sky.
Spare and sparse in their design
To me things of simple beauty
Unceasingly performing
Their appointed duty.
Just by Throckrington Moor
Each one proves it’s worth
Providing clean power to
Help save our wounded Earth.
Each time I pass that moor
Those girls are standing there
Stark in their beauty
In that clear moors air
F=G m1. M2/d2
Molten saltine solution
Manmade magma
Pow'ring turbines
Larder lake
Ontario song
Sings brilliantly
through the night
Then shall
Those sweet tastes
Make mornings
Extra special
She steamed
Maine steamers
Manors some
Caul them
And sauced them in
Wine
Heavy cream
Olive oil
Chives
And garlic
An evening were
A xylophone called
To a band of
Percussion, horns
Ten string a flute
One basset guitar
And a tenor guitar
We danced
On a tounge and
Grooved floor
And fell exhausted
In love.
From Vespasian licinius'
Myth of Music
Sensual sounds
Cocuswood
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.