Poems in no order
Variable Environmentalist Poems
Untitled, 1/18/2022
The gray haze again infests the sky
plain for all to see
too clear to hide from any eye
adult or infancy
nor lung, or throat, can long ignore
the nagging itch made from the tore (sore?)
the tear of black across the sky
too pitch to hide from any eye
belting from the ground below
car and chimney, smokestacks rise
can we not see the source of woe
or is sight of truth for just the wise
I do not wish for our demise
but our course says thus will arise
it's clear to see by any eyes
in many hearts, in many skies
we will drown within our towns
viscous air too thick for breath
our hopes die upon the mounds
of this future I do believe
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
Untitled, before 7/1/2021
What are we? To this end, I know not.
Some say we’re a personification,
That we’re an aberrescence concentration.
Now isn’t that quite the intriguing thought?
I’ve heard claims that we’re a rabbleous lot.
All we’ve accomplish is devastation,
No matter the power, every nation,
And over every idea, we’ve fought.
But would you like to hear the truth I know?
Our brains were not born in the world we are.
And so the mind was birthed, a translator.
In being modern, nature you must forgo.
Ignore Lucy, our reputative scar,
And instead, embrace the excavator!
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
City of Salt
3/9/2021
To travel to the city of salt is to risk lung and limb
Across stained plains of salt, painted by the smokestacks high
The Urbanasite spreading across this planet, afflicting even the night sky
Man has stolen the stars, and collapsed the lungs of our atmosphere.
Theocrats rest upon their temples low
Descending their city into the depths of hell
For their hands are washed with the blood of the innocent
And they know no safe passage lies athwart the aethereal gates of life and death.
Acidic tears from convalescent clouds rain down
Cleansing the world of the infrastructural plague
Piercing the soul of the planet, fracturing the very core
Led like lambs into the invisible arms of endless growth.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
Untitled, before 7/1/2021
Gray clouds way on high,
The verisimilitude,
Be they smoke? Or storm.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
Untitled, 7/5/2021
July whistles—
Choking heat, tempting me yet
Damn these winds of change
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
Eigengrau
4/20/2021
Eigengrau sinks its claws into me.
My world is that of anger and ringing;
Static clouds my vision, my heart to see,
Pulsing like a dying light, and singing.
Singing the song of fluorescent promise,
Seeping through the ear, usurping my foundries.
Twisting my vision until demise,
Defining the truth of my boundaries.
What’s real, what’s not, I care little with this lot.
Breathing walls suffocate my reasoning
While a dank fog turns gray matter to snot.
I find this inner corruption deepening.
May this film part itself from my life,
Or is this incessant motion my strife?
Untitled
5/28/2021
A sea of regret
I find myself unable to speak
Drowning in a pool of my creation
Remorse
Hurdles built before me by one with my face
Swearing they’re for my own good
Untitled
7/1/2021
Voices yell beyond the reach of my ears
As they’re covered by delusions of choice;
Visages of what has been and will be.
Shattered, torn, I do not know who is me
With spite I check demons to no rejoice,
But the gentle sound of our fallen tears.
Untitled
1/17/2022
Silent, but not for lack of words
Caught adrift in a sea of static
Trying just to be heard
Is it enough to keep moving forward
At any pace, no matter how erratic
And sit back without a word
To move as a fish in the herd
One must renounce that most drastic
Trying just to be heard
Fields of Memory
7/3/2022
A Field of Memories
Not sown by those to come
Left with theories of time spent
And all the songs unsung
In a world that asked for nothing
But took it all
What could be done? Nothing
The dominos begun
Static walls and steel shackles
That cannot be undone
We are Beasts of these
Fields of Memories
Longing to join those able
To abound beyond the Trees
Mind of the Lost
10/12/2025
Thirsty
The further I walk into this desert the less I believe I know where I am going
Thirsty
The Sun above beats down wave after wave of Luciferian heat
Thirsty
The salt beneath my feet, cracked and pockmarked, like the skin off a leper’s back
Thirsty
Yet, up ahead, an Oasis I see
Thirsty
Yet, up ahead, a Mirage just for me
Thirsty
Peering in, the reflection I see is that, all which I lack
Thirsty
Looking back at oneself I see Meat amongst Meat
Thirsty
I see a beastly display, with ill intent showing