Poem 4 – A Simple Lake

I got so side-tracked in this new Covid-19 world, that I never posted my last two poems. I may also post the unedited version of the other 4 poems, we shall see. Anyway, this was the 4th poem I submitted in my poetry class. My professor challenged me to look at an inanimate object and I chose a lake. I wanted to examine a bit of changing climates and what the world would be like if we continued on the current trajectory. Without further ado.

A Simple Lake
Nestled in the cleavage between
two massive, grass camouflaged hills,
is a mirror of blue, smooth as sateen,
broken occasionally by energetic fish
or an overzealous juvenile.

For just a moment, no one is fighting.
Children splashing, adults laughing,
heads dunked, glee and joy abounding.
This pleasure will last a moment,
for a warm front is in the forecast.

Tentacles of shadow extend,
the rush of living comes to a close.
The surface is uninterrupted,
smooth and calm, no more jubilation.
Vibrancy fades, eerie quiet invades,
crickets sing
the end is coming.

Now placid surface, the people gone,
the heat keeps on rising,
will it stop?
The crickets and roaches have all left too,
no creature to call this place home.
Beaches maturing all around the globe,
extinction is real, look at the sigillaria tree.

The Jungle

I’m in a poetry class and we needed to write the same poem but in two different formats: metric and cadence. I’m still early in the revision process, but which do you prefer and do you have any suggestions?

The Jungle (metric)

Tall masts, a beacon flowing in a sea

of green, stretching to the heavens, reaching

arms pleading with the Gods, a chance maybe,

to put this in the rearview, beseeching

the higher power to remove the pain,

for every one felled, I now must feign.

 

There is no more, only incompetence.

Bleats surrounding, lessening our breath,

methane filling the air, no bottomless

source. Each fallen brethren, another death.

We do not mourn, you’ve done this to yourself,

You never cared for the shrinking ice shelves.

 

The Jungle (cadence)

You see a tall mast, maybe a beacon, flowing in a

sea of green,

arms outstretched, reaching toward the almighty heavens,

pleading with the Gods for a chance

to put an end to this nonsense, and the encroaching

herd, a nuisance

eating their way through the life force, encouraging

a beseeching to the all mighty, anyone, to answer the call,

to make things right, and return to the Earth

a moment without blight, where you mourn the dead,

and cherish what has been returned to continue your life.

 

Your call goes unanswered, you’re fighting for your life,

not for lack of meat, but because livestock is your greed,

but the lack of trees,

is lessening the oxygen from the air you breathe,

giving you the replacement of methane,

which you do know is fatal, but as long as your stomach is full,

who are you to judge?

So cut down the trees, forget what they mean.

Burn them in your fires and fill the air with hydrocarbons,

for humans will live long after the rest of the Earth expires.