Perhaps we are in the
hallway
of a great
reckoning.
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Mother Earth is
old, tired, sick
of slatternly
bastard brats
pulling her teats,
calling rude names,
fucking her over
and over
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Mad Earth grumbles
loudly,
threatens to rescind
Her bounty.
Men of ill will, men of
destiny,
no interest in acting
honorably as good
stewards of God's
Creation,
proudly proclaim their
birthright
to pillage, to plunder,
to prey upon
chaos,
annihilation.
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Petulant brats demand
obeisance
to our code of
conquest, of dominance,
of hard-assed outcast
of deviance.
Rule over Earth and her
issue;
break them to work for
our wishes.
Honor, respect, these
are authorities’ own,
the war lords we place
on our thrones to command.
Progress is forward
motion on moribund roads.
Marching, no conscience
nor care for what may explode.
Let our Great Destroyer
sort it.
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Taste our pain.
Savor the flow of
blood from torn veins,
wounds of idolic
war, vitriolic rain,
beggars kicked into
oblivion on deadened streets.
Pain, the great
motivator.
Grind them all into
a massive meatball,
cover with
condiments extracted from tortured Earth,
this is the wealth
that is worth
every
sacrifice.
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Rape of Earth,
hot spurts,
invective words,
savage
knives,
sliced,
screwed, carved up for profit.
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Flowing rivers reveal
lines for exploration,
mining ores,
mine and yours.
That element missing
from accounting calculations,
Earth and her hordes, a
separate salvation?
Wherever did you hear
that enmity
would take you anywhere
but desolation?
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These people valued
patriarchic hierarchies,
perhaps as being
easier to control.
They instituted
strict rules;
made sin of bodily
gratification,
pleasure, fun.
In many ways they
devalued the Earth,
intra or inter-species cooperation,
the eco-sphere, the
kinds of interdependence
that lead to
appreciation of each connection.
They embraced harsh
competition,
violent
confrontation,
us-against-them/winner-take-all.
They favored the
wealthy and powerful
whose ends justified
any abhorrent means.
Their moral code was
about restrictions,
not remedies.
It seems to me that
these people are mistaken
when they claim to
be at war against Satan,
because the God they
worship is the God of Evil,
Destruction, Death,
and Despair.
Yet, there are other
gods with other values.
How did this group
gain so much control over mankind?
Why do we hate our
lives?
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When Earth no
longer sustains human lives,
these arguments
won’t matter.
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but that's the point --
the end times
For whatever psychotic
reason there are a great many
people who do not want
to be here, on Earth.
If their goal is an End
to the Earth,
they have no interest
in making anything better.
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There is a potent
mythology that it is God's will
that the climate
change become untenable,
require Judgment Day
at last, the end
of our suffering
here in this testing zone.
For life on Earth is
a test of our immortal souls.
We are sent here by
God to be tested.
Those who pass get
just reward in Heaven,
unhindered by unbelievers or those lesser.
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We sing Epiphany.
All the holy, all the
empty,
all the sorrows filled
with poetry,
with charging beasts of
challenge
and slip ping back
savagery.
I hear the Angels sing
of Earth
as mud, as muck, as
fuckin' murder in the womb,
as luck would have it,
as black streaks redacting
the jubilance of
Heaven.
I hear the demons
laugh,
dancing akimbo hunker
down
to limbo to lindy hop
upon the prophet's breath.
Such noise.
Such annoying brays and
cagey whispers.
I would sleep, snore,
evermore
if they would but
diminish,
allow silence to
enfold. Instead,
the dream takes over,
dissolves all sanity
no morning
(mourning)
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On Judgment Day this
Earth experiment
ends in floods and
flames.
Who cashes out with
greatest profit
wins eternal
praise.
Rushing to the final
contest --
so little time, so much
dickishness to express.
Free to be mean, even
vicious – what Fun!
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On the hate
wagon
enjoy this wild horror
ride
to the end of
Earth.
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Promoters of the end
times,
in favor of
welcoming Apocalypse,
ending the travails
of Earthly life,
fulfillment of
cutthroat meritocracy
prophecies, gain
ever more support.
Let violence and
despair ravage the Earth,
that those who
cynically twist evil and good
may transport to
their Heaven,
miraculously escape
the horror and destruction
they have
wrought.
Annihilation for
their own elevation.
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Having built the fires
of Hell
to burn your perceived
enemy,
letting evil loose
upon
the Earth we were meant
to share
in peace and
prosperity,
proving only that the
Word
you claim your
guide
you ignorantly
ill-define,
expecting
salvation
through worshipping
sin.
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Final
Days
Basking in His
glory
All Earthly chores
and woes
ended like the
planet we
never wanted to be
our home.
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Which of the plagues, weapons,
increments of Earth destruction, cataclysmic storms,
nuclear heck, submission to
fantasy starving for money, or even more fantastic
lapse of sanity will we
choose?
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The Earth
screams.
People die before
their time,
or never get much
life.
Species die, their
music silenced.
Crazy theories of
wealth
belie obligation
or simply seeing
the laws of
consequence.
Scream
Earth!
Pierce the cosmos
with your
terrible
cry.
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Fragments, smoldering
ash, attest inferno’s horror
beyond any concept of
fright.
Desirous
destruction
engulfs, combusts,
devours the night.
Ghastly imbroglio to
contemplate.
Holy emission of
erupting sky
obscuring, engorging,
torching heavens and Earth.
Maelstrom behind closed
eyes of flesh-rending fire
razing, exploding,
resplendent in awe filled
agony;
transcending density
into shocks of deadliest
tremors.
Caught in a thread
which ravels to end in
throat-clutching
screams.
Send dread escaping,
sad streams of molten tears.
Rent past all
mending.
Quiet, so quiet
tonight.
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Endtime dreams of
planet Earth.
We assume worth is
ours to name. Act
like we’re more
than a bored God’s game or
random
chance
or random
plague.
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Petroleum under the
sea
breaks
surface
fissures in our social
contract
corroded
wealth
corrupted
Earth
leak of held back
tears, grief of millennia
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scenario: Mankind wipes out other
species;
creates AI “children” to be trained
to do our work/
act as pets to pamper and punish
and preen.
Humans become obsolete, Earth home
to pointless
AIs made to serve biological beings
who
no longer exist.
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Speciesism.
Tragic boorish
arrogance.
Deaf to wisdom,
portrayed in
ominous myth, moral
lore.
Slay the
goose;
destroy the
whales.
Uproot untold
trees
bearing fruits that may
have
saved us staggering
agonies.
Crucial for human
well-being
microbes,
photosynthesis,
symbiotic
processes ignored,
misunderstood.
Focus squandered on
ephemeral
opinion, petty envies,
rivalries,
diatribes on evil and
good.
Ruination we have yet
to account to,
acknowledge, grieve;
collateral
damage
to insolent
bravado.
When will we repent,
let go,
rethink this mad master
plan,
relinquish need to
command?
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When will we relinquish
hubris, ruinous hatred,
accept Gaea as partner
and home?
Progress with respect,
ally so all may thrive?
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The land, when we found
her was warm and inviting.
We felt safe,
supported, encouraged to grow.
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We ate of her fruit,
fish, herds.
We built with her
trees, stone and clay.
We drank from her
beautiful streams
which we soiled with
our waste.
Gaea was saviour and
womb.
We repaid her with
rape.
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We didn't
understand,
thought her merely
land,
thought ourselves
masters from afar.
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Gaea sent storms to
bring us to our senses, wild winds and seas.
Gaea tried to shake us
off: Earthquakes, Floods, Famine, Plagues
sending us scattering,
blind in rage.
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Without question or
shame, we murdered as if to keep score.
Without honor or
remorse, we laid waste to our host,
to our only
home,
then cursed her for not
giving more.
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Frozen in fear and
rage, children swept out in the storm,
trapped in a self-made
cage we had hoped to protect us from harm.
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Gaea, we cry, why do
you treat us so angrily?
What will it take for
us to wake up and see it is we who are wrong?
To hear and be aware of
Gaea's song singing in our blood?
To learn the cycles,
the seasons,
the reasons for fire,
wind and flood?
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To redefine our
race,
to find out that our
place is here among our Gaean kin?
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The telling of new tale
must begin.
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Was there a time in
the early history of homo sapien
when we and the
Earth had been companionable kin?
Could that kind of
relationship be built here, now?
Could there be a
reconciliation, a healing?
What is this primal
wound that keeps
humankind from true
sanity, integration with
a living
world?
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I wish for miracles
that outdo, overwhelm biblical prophecy.
Let them fight, outside
our Earth borders, those archetypes of Lucifer and Christ.
Let them whip up
fierce, boisterous conflagration – epiphanies of rage against love.
Hell, take bets, cheer
and get high on the action. Up there, in that realm made of digitized dreams.
Here, right here
and now and always from here on, let it go.
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Let the profiteers
leave, and give us back our
common
Earth.
Let them enjoy the
angry rip of tribal sheathes,
repurposed scythes
rising, colonial histories.
Let them eat the
falsely filling cake of lies, forced miseries
that defile
practical fulfillment, and
breathe the poisons
they agree fit for our
common atmosphere,
elsewhere.
Let us help them out
the door, as we make
for ourselves a
world worthy of all
who value
terrestrial vitality.
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Peace on Earth we seek
in song.
Dear lurkers, please
sing along.
Expand our voice, let
all hear:
Peace is a choice, so
is fear.
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Breathe out the stale
pain.
Laugh in the chilling rain,
yes, even as the tsunami hits, the Earth quakes,
erupting ash burns, take my
hand, my word, my promise.
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Sea
Sons
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The Sea is changing.
Aging beauty, seething with
rage
of the forgotten.
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Once your tempestuous
lover,
violently seductive, wild
mystery.
Legends of monsters and
gods
poured from her
essence
into your sleeping
ear.
Challenge of fear and glory
brought you
to her shores, pleading
for
acceptance, romance,
adventure
and all its chaotic
promise.
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The Sea swimming with
life,
unbound to
expectations,
inspiring song and
trepidations.
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We are all changing,
aging,
wearing down.
Less arrogant hero
than
teller of tales,
what will we teach
our grandchildren
of the Sea?
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The wild rains of
spring
have caught me
napping.
They catch me up in
torrents
swinging me
along,
a cradle in the
sea.
I am dreaming
mazes,
wondrous
pageantry
woven into ancient
walls
the sea
surrounds.
I acquiesce to secret
ceremony,
believing planet Earth to be
my home.
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Earth
Songs
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Aching times.
Ghost singers on the
prairie.
Snug little home, hearthfire
familial peace
against rage and winds. Stone and
sacrifice.
Dust storms erode,
leave wastrel
sentinels.
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Far, in green glade
mists
where sacred hymns are
born,
chthonic wilds, primordial rune
castings.
Building over eternity, silent,
archetype of will ponders.
Intrinsic senses, despair,
bottomless sorrow, loss of intent.
At the root of desire, truest wish
to be fashioned,
sold at price of who you were made
against your nature.
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Wooden ships sail eternal
sea.
Journey ages within these circles,
free.
Easy found trades, winds selling
seeds.
Back to the gardens of pagan lore
--
earth, air, sun, and transforming
water.
We wander days of potent
destiny,
telling the tale, deep mystical
incantation,
of a possible age in
birth.
Love song 'tween man
and Earth.
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we are not our
ancestors
we are not
religions
we are not lines on a map
demarcated by war
we are earth made
vital
we are seeking minds inviting
partners
we are seed and core as skin
sheds and grows anew
we are me and you and all we
become, alone and together
we are as we agree, composed of
dissonance and harmony
Thriving lives
matter
Peace matters
Living Earth most greatly
matters.
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Trees’ lusty
greenery
Wind touch,
trunk to branches.
Birds cry
greeting in arbor breeze.
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Trees to Dream
on
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Pine mountain
scent
majestic
snow-globe memories
ancient beings
twixt sky and earth
bask in waning
sunlight,
twinkling night
encroaching,
fluttering leaves
cast
in white lace,
starry splendor.
Long have we
lived
cycling through
death's rebirth,
seasons of land
and sea linked
in living
countenance open to
winds of fate and
change.
Days have been
when brutal cold
demanding
sacrifice saw hunt and harvest.
Nights given to
ceremony, entraining
frenzied dance,
spontaneous gaiety
-- a tribal stew
of sustenance
warm spirit and
body
through the dark
times,
built on timber,
built on years
of sun, storm,
forces claimed
and reconfigured
to bring us here.
Reconnecting,
anchoring to tales
told in firelight,
warm wood, bright tinder,
holding ancient
light, charms, secrets,
holding warmth to
warmth,
life to
life,
year to
year.
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Surging through veils,
storms breathe ice, sand,
the fire of prophecy,
the flood of repentance.
Glacial migration
bequeaths rage, rampage,
rapacious gratuities
boiling beneath.
It's not winter here, nuclear
quiet.
Not yet.
The eternal balance:
rocks, meteors, dark
inconsistencies with
metaphors of the righteous,
pilgrims past the age of bowing to
scriptures.
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