PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Fishermen now fishing for oil,
just makes their blood boil!

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Many men blown off the rig that day,
We'll not forget them in the Bay.

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The stench of crude wallowing up from the deep;
Will spare not any creature in their retreat.

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Belching from mother earth's crust;
is a calamity to send many bust.

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Profit and greed have caused this black bile to spew on our sand;
surrounding the coast on every lea,marsh and wetland.

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Unleashed and untethered this black slime forms a gigantic bloom.
The earth's black bile smothering all in her excrement, sending many to their doom.

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A quagmire so great...has caused many to heave a deep breath leeward;
now each tide brings this scungy oil seaward.

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Thousands of litres of black gold leaching freely each day;
from the blowhole far below the Bay.

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A generation to come will shake their head;
at the up-evil inherited from their dead.

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All sea creatures have sadly come to grief;
washed up on shore and floating dead on the reef.

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B.P. executives shifting the blame,
I want my life back just the same.

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Even the President from the White House, flew over to see;
the brown gooey mess now floating on the sea.

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The pristine coast now looks like a ghost,
with the grim reaper settling in as a host.

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An Apocalyptic event has erupted indeed;
because of man's insatible profit and greed.

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Crustaceans and coral all suffocating in brown sticky sludge;
no wonder the southern states are holding a grudge.

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This monstrosity only man to blame,
not on God this time...as some would like to claim.

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Katrina came and ravaged many a poor folk;
Crude black Mary has made many broke.

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The gut wrenching work of cleaning up this sticky black mess;
has broken many a strong man's heart...I guess.

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The legacy of this generation's obsession with oil;
will be banked on the beaches, lagoons and soil.

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Every second, every minute of each waking day;
mother earth vomits its bilious black bile in the Bay.

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The question must be asked on Capital Hill;
will you change your policy on oil...after the spill?

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The moral of this poem is clear to see,

man can't go on polluting the ocean and sea.

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The earth is weeping and crying in pain;

can it ever be put right again?

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