Environment

Solyent Green

Solyent Green

By jfarrell

 

(love them old scifi classics - don’t you)

 

In a way it’s inevitable;

Every culture has it’s own tastes, own customs,

Of what is and is not acceptable to eat,

For a multitude of reasons.

 

For Britain, horse being passed off as a cow was a major scandal;

Though I doubt few noticed until it got front page in the red tops.

And despite those headlines, we queued in our droves

To buy our horseburger with cheese please.

 

And we had been buying our horseburger for some years

Before it became front-page news;

They ‘sneaked it in, with no-one noticing.’

For years.

 

With our population growth,

We have two major problems (worldwide - not just Britain, hehe)

We need to produce more food;

And we need to build over where we grow food and let animals feed.

 

I’m sure, if they could get away with it

“Roll up, special offer this week, free batman with every solyent green!”

Sadly, I begin to realise…

To save everyone, you may have to make a deal with the McDevil.

 

First time I’ve really empathised with a politician.

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

remember watching star trek as kid, in black and white, with william shatner as kirk - talking into your phone, beam me up, it's a torch, it plays music, it turns on your coffee machine... solyent green a prophecy, as things are, sadly

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Bill's Grass

Ah! The first spine of light
Dawn again, and I made it through the night.
Soon my owner will come and water me.
I hope he wakes soon as I am thirst-ee
Lookin' forward to hangin' with the boys on the lawn
could use a trim today, as my tips are getting long

Bob told me last night of a time without Bill,
when grasses like us could grow at free will,
supposedly we'd climb almost 6 feet high,
that's all the way up to Bill's eye.
Our long seeds would blow through the breeze,
sometimes they'd get higher than the trees
I'm glad all that's over, the tall growing stuff.
no sharing with clover, it's not half as rough.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Wrote this in a few minutes during a writing exercise for mock teaching. The group loved it.

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Thoughts

The duality of personality is reflected in reality
And it seems, nothing gleams outside of dreams

The street is hot,
Steam rising from the baked black pavement
A flower wilts, it's leaves singed
Are you sure you can't walk to the corner store?

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Just random thoughts. Let me know what you think

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Orion

1977—The Department of Energy becomes a new cabinet post;

2027—
This little lighta mine…

At 9:07pm, EST, a distant silver bubble skimmed the top of Orion’s belt. In the city it could be seen only by looking straight up so that the towers didn’t impede the view. No one, except the agent, looked. Four street lights on First Avenue hummed on. A chorus of reverent chanting arose almost simultaneously. Agent Hatt, gazing skyward as he walked towards home, did not smile. Any pride in his achievement was canceled out not only by the necessity to deny his part in it, but also by the hollow, haunted voices singing praises to The Power that Be.
* * *
Before Agent Hatt was an agent and far before he had to change his name to Hatt, OPEC had used its dying words to demonize its foe, the Department of Energy. Pumps had been dry for months, with people growing increasingly rabid for gas and kerosene and power for televisions. On the evening news, if you could get it, they invariably charged the DOE with “burning the last billion barrels of oil” to crush such honest American endeavors as oil and coal and nuclear power. And although the DOE remained alive in theory, it was starved of funding until only a handful of followers—a few idealistic scientists who changed their names to Hatt and Vest and Shue—trudged on within its skeletal remains in the hope of relighting the city.
* * *

I’m gonna let it shine…
* * *

But there was still power, mostly thanks to Hatt’s jet stream turbines. (Vest and Shue had relocated to the abandoned land ringing the city to capture solar power and siphon it covertly back to the people.) A trickle like a choking stream dripped through what was left of the grid, jumping around the way electricity does, and random lights winked throughout the city at any given time. In fact, a whole religion crawled out into the flickering lights. Its Savior: The Power that Be. Its Satan: the DOE, who had undone all the progress of power and industry. Hatt assumed that these followers still thanked OPEC when the lights flickered, as if the Spirit of Oil was still alive within the grid. The tics—fanatics—sent up amens and hallelujahs when nearby street lamps wavered to life, and any on the street would run into a shop if the power happened to come on, sending up hymns of praise to the images illuminated inside. This superstitious fanaticism birthed, or at least reincarnated, humanity’s tendency to create imaginary evils. Those archaic avatars of ancient times rose like steam from under the jagged urban towers. People began again in the night to see filmy floating specters, heard the wailing lamentations of la Llorna, and found rumbling ravenous demons in alleyways once reserved for tomcats and bag ladies.
* * *
At home, they ate on the floor, cross-legged, amid dozens of overpriced Yankee candles that made the food taste sweet and smoky and waxy. It’s schizophrenia, Dee—he called her Dee honestly, lovingly, as if it were her real name—but you’ve got to wonder, if everyone’s got it, is it insanity or just reality? She loved him not because he was a scientist or even a good man, but because he was a poet. And a prophet. He whispered, The grid is dead. It’s rotting and no one even smells it; they enshrine outlets with wreaths and incense and candles until all you can smell is their decomposing idolatry. Whispering had become, to him as to most, the standard mode of speaking. Its tone and flavor fitted instinctively inside the darkness. The tics had never adopted whispering, but screamed into the empty streets and took the echoes as proof of disciples. She hardly noticed the whispering anymore, except when she thought of the tics, screaming prayers to the street lamps, and how his voice challenged them not by its volume but its reason.
They would go outside after they ate, before la Llorna began to pace, and search for Orion’s belt. You can’t take light away from people, he said to the stars. And when the faraway turbine passed across his eyes, his face, illuminated, became one as a martyr’s.
Let it shine, let it shine.
Let it shine.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

short story contest 2011

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Plastic

Folder: 
Filipino poems

Taga-ipon ng mga dalahin
upang madali itong bitbitin:

tagapagsilid ng mga lihim
tagabalot ng mahalagang gamit
bahagyang proteksyon
sa tubig,
sa bagyo.

Subalit,

kung marahas na buksan
o kaya'y marahang silipin man lang,
agad ilalantad
ang dalahin,
lihim,
ang mahalagang bitbitin.

Walang tibay
ngunit kung gumaganti ay mahusay;
hindi lilisan
hindi mawawala
sa paligid pa ay maninira.

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Nature's Cry

Ugonna Wachuku 

 

 

Weep with me because our enchanting oceans

and seas are polluted. Weep with me because

there is nuclear danger dumped in the icy
north. Let us weep because climate change 

is upon our enchanting earthly home. 

 

Weep with me because fishes are
dying. Dolphins are singing no
more. Weep with me because oil
is choking earth's oceans to
death.  

 

Weep with me because our trees
are dying. Human hands defile
them. Weep with me because our
farmlands can no longer be
pregnant with seeds: Famine,
barenness and starvation
menacingly storm through
the earth in broad day
light!  

 

Weep with me because I went to the
Niger Delta and the earth was dead.
Ogoniland has been stripped of her
fruitful environment and natural
wealth. Weep with me because I

wentto Odi and Odi village was

dead.  

 

Deeply weep with me because I went
to France and saw the sea spitting
oil. Weep with me because oil tankers
now break into two at sea. And now,
this Prestige, off the Spanish coast
has fatally wounded earth's oceans
with oil spills and leaks once more:  

 

I am so deeply hurt, and keep asking:
Why wasn't that oil pumped off the
Prestige into a healthy tanker all
those days it sat there waiting to
break and sink??????????
???????????????
???????????????
??????????????: 

 

Countries talk dumb and hopelessly
dumb letting their numbness to truth
and urgent reality reveal heaven's
weeping heart for dying humanity
and our bleeding earthly home.
And now Spanish government
apology. What use is this
apology now? What use???:  

 

And the USA Gulf of Mexico 

one with BP: and more: 

 

Weep with me because I am dead.
Weep with me because you are dead.
Weep with me because our beautiful,
chanting birds are dying. Weep with
me because our bountifully and
wonderfully created earth is
singing a glarring dirge.

 

Weep with me because Igboland

is weeping for her own and
all humankind. The land
of the free and the home
of the brave is also
weeping. All earth is
weeping indeed.  

 

Weep with me because I am Mother
Nature and I am weeping for earth
and every uncaring human being.
My brilliant blue earth is fast
dying. Dolphins are singing no
more. I am so scared. So, weep
with me. Let us meet at Mt.
Olives. Let us plant the earth
anew under heaven's loving eyes
of compassion.  

 

Come, humanity, let us save
our dying earth this new day.
Yet weep with me because I am
Mother Nature - I am heaven's
soul - and I am weeping for
earth and all humanity! I am

weeping for our dying oceans! 

I am nature. And I am crying! 

Our climate is changing and 

global warming is threatening 

us. 

 

I am nature! 

I am earth! 

And

I'm weeping!
!
!
!

Banks of the Amazon

Ugonna Wachuku 

 

On sustainability, climate change action,   

renewal of earth's environment, corporate

social responsibility, energy efficiency, 

responsible global trade and abiding 

nature conservation for beloved

humankind's survival: 

 

Life will continue her journey
on the dream's path. She will
take along every purity from
the earth. Every root shall be
moved for life through nature.

 

The dream has come to the land.
You shall ever know the love
from my soul to help humankind 

take sustainable action on this 

threatening climate change, 

globally. 

 

From bountiful banks of the
Amazon, I shall rise for the
voyage. I shall take with me
fresh fishes for new
beginnings. Trees of the
jungle will bow in
admiration and care

for earth's soil and

blood humankind.  

 

The dream shall kiss this
river in a subtle show of
universal love. On the face
of the Parana, the dream shall
glitter to let everyone know
the love that we share.

 

This spirit of the Amazon shall
take me to the breath-taking
height of precious Pico da
Bandeira. Then, let me know
what you think of the dream's
soul for earth's renewal, forever.

 

Cherish a whole life of oneness
across the land. Let love light
the dream's torch in the morning
of darkness and uncertainty from

this climate change on humankind's

enchanting earth home.

 

Let every eye see its the dream's

flame in the heart of Brasillia and

across the world. From the land's

depth, let Rio de Janeiro beat

drums for a Samba of peace and

love to let humankind conquer

this climate change, threatening.

 

Let time and seas of life kiss
the love of my being on the coast
of Sao Paulo. Let your soul
experience the dream's lovely joy
on the yearning lands of Salvador.

 

Let love and hope
dine with us in
Thecife for

humankind's

earth

r

e

n

e

w

a

l

!

 

Let the banks of
the Amazon and
Niger bloom and
glow for life

for climate 

renewal
on
our
dying
earth
this
day
and
ever!

 

Nobody Loves Me

Ugonna Wachuku  

  

 

I live on a misty mountain top
in the heart of Uturu. On this
mountain, I walk with eagles.
My house is built of natural
stone. Streams water my
surroundings with refreshing,
live-giving scent from nature.  

 

I am in tune with nature.
I am a child of nature.
Nature knows me; and I know
nature within the depths of
my being. 

 

My hope in life does not
wane because daily, I breath
healing freshness from nature
and my mountain top environment.

 

I drink from springs on the
mountain. Each night, when I
bend down to drink, moonbeams
caress my longing back.

 

Nobody knows me; not even
my name; not even where
I come from. Could I have
been forgotten in the still
smallness of life? Could I
have lost that unchanging
love promised?

 

Each dusk, I stare down the
valley wondering if life has
anyone like me down there.
I wonder at my home and at
nature in all of its beauty.
I wonder at my beginning.

 

I rest with the hope of
finding a companion. But
nobody comes. Nobody calls.
Nothing leaves. Nothing comes.
Yet, I stay on this mountain top.

 

Suddenly, I wake up sweating like
a christmas goat: I have been
dreaming. Then, I realize that it's
real. My heartbeat panders to the
rhythm of a bird's voice. I listen
carefully. This reality comes into
me. I look out of my stone house
window:

 

The bird's green trees and lush
landscapes have been burnt by
fires of human strife and loveless
destruction across the valley below.
Tear drops fill my sunken eyes.

 

"Nobody loves me, nobody loves me;
including you" the bird sings on
my mountain spring while I watch
from my weary window on the
mountain top. The bird's tears
mingle with my natural spring
on the mountain.  

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A bird laments humanity's destruction of its environment ... 

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Bring in the Sheaves

Ugonna Wachuku  

 

With love for the earth's rural poor in unwavering support of the crucially essential mission and work of CIAT: International Center for Tropical Agriculture: Science to Cultivate Change: http://ciat.cgiar.org and FAO: Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations: http://www.fao.org + IFAD: International Fund for Agricultural Development: http://www.ifad.org 

 

Through blue, cloudless skies,

 

I see rainbows and stars drawing

 

glorious patterns and planting

 

flowers with nature's sweet scent.

 

 

Beautiful hearts and loving souls

 

gather to tell the story of the

 

rain. The rainbow is there to tell

 

this love story from heaven. The

 

farm will bloom forever with 

 

fertile rain from these clouds

 

in celebration of the world's 

 

rural poor and those of us 

 

living in hunger-striken 

 

shadows of life and wounded

 

hope bleeding.

 

 

Inspiring smell from earth's soil

 

meet me on this journey to

 

welcoming farmlands of home.

 

I see grandma's handsome hand

 

sowing seeds for new life.

 

I warmly view mummy's caring

 

hand cultivating corn seeds, cassava

 

and yam tubers for our earth's

 

rural poor. With gladness, I 

 

remember CIAT's, IFAD's and FAO's 

 

crucial mission and work throughtout our 

 

yearning world of poverty and hunger!

 

 

I see heavenly hearts beating for

 

the new harvest when these seeds

 

come to life with my love for

 

these poor of the earth; these

 

rural hearts of beauty longing

 

for healthy abundance and fertile

 

renewal of their earth's barreness.

 

 

For these beloved rural poor, CIAT's, 

 

IFAD's and FAO's bounties abound. 

 

Grandma's seeds are sown. Mummy's 

 

handsome harvest is real. And through 

 

the loving lushness of my weeping 

 

heart on green pastures, and fruitful 

 

meadow sea shores, joyful, refreshing 

 

rain is given from heaven's heart to 

 

our tearful earth's rural poor made 

 

whole in heaven's unfathomable 

 

abundance forever.

 

 

There is a glad song echoing

 

throughout the galaxy; far beyond

 

the simple skies we know. This harvest

 

will renew humanity. This coming harvest

 

will teach us love and brotherhood. This

 

harvest will be a new beginning if we

 

wish it deep down CIAT's, IFAD's 

 

and FAO's systems; deep down 

 

humanity's heart of cultivated love 

 

and sustainable survival on rural 

 

landscapes and agricultural lands 

 

waiting to be made fertile and 

 

humbly rich for the good of our 

 

enchanting earth's rural poor.

 

 

For these beloved rural poor of our cute,

 

yearning earth, CIAT's, IFAD's and 

 

FAO's bounties, experience and 

 

knowledge of poverty eradication 

 

and science of cultivation are made 

 

available with care and unwavering 

 

love embodied in humaneness:

 

 

Then, humkind, CIAT, IFAD, FAO, 

 

grandma, mummy, me, let us go forth 

 

and bring in the sheaves for our 

 

beautiful earth's beloved rural poor. 

 

We must go now: 

 

 

As we bring in the sheaves, let us share

 

this new breath of love and oneness. Bring

 

in the sheaves. Bring in the soothing sheaves.

 

Let us breath from the calm, refreshing wind

 

of this fertile love, for the earth's beautiful,

 

rural poor: Love made real and meaningful in

 

CIAT's, IFAD's and FAO's committed mission 

 

and crucially essential work of enabling our 

 

world's rural poor overcome their poverty 

 

and nutritional deficiency!

 

 

This is the welcoming message I leave

 

with all women and men of goodwill and

 

love this new day in unwavering support

 

and cherishment of CIAT, IFAD's and FAO's 

 

highly essential mission across the world.

 

 

Come! Beloved Humankind:  

 

Join CIAT's  mission now, this day! 

 

Join IFAD's mission this new day! 

 

Join FAO's mission this new dawn! 

 

Let our earth's rural poor overcome

 

their poverty. Let their "levels

 

of nutrition and standards of

 

living" rise with improved 

 

"agricultural productivity" 

 

and nourishing "science to 

 

cultivate" abundantly! 

 

 

Together, as 

 

one, 

 

With 

 

CIAT, 

 

with

 

IFAD,

 

with 

 

FAO, 

 

let us

 

bring 

 

in 

 

the

 

bountiful

 

sheaves

 

for our

 

earth's

 

rural

 

poor.

 

Bring 

 

in 

 

the 

 

s

 

h

 

e

 

a

 

v

 

e

 

s

 

this 

 

new 

 

day 

 

with 

 

CIAT, 

 

IFAD

 

and

 

FAO!

 

!

 

!

 

!

 

Bring in the Sheaves 

~ Critiques/Comments ~    

 

Lesa Gay

lesajg@aol.com

I was raised on a little farm in Iowa.  I know well the smell of freshly turned earth, the busy time of harvest, and the prayers to the Lord for a bountiful harvest.  Thanks for bringing to mind a picture of my childhood.  ~Lesa~

http://PostPoems.com/members/lesajg 

 

 

2002-04-04 15:39:45

Linda M. Medeiros

pudnsis1@aol.com 

 

Ugonna,  

 

As usual, you have outdone yourself. Each of your poems pour out with love, compassion, truth and with your heart's spirit, your words impress deeply into my soul. There are many poor and hungry and if they could use their soil would plant and grow for themselves, but, those of them that destroy and ruin, prevent this. Yes, let all who can share a kernal or morsal do. Let us help each other so that no one starves by the hands of evil. Thank you for sharing. Linda 

http://PostPoems.com/members/pudnsis1

 

 

2002-04-08 14:43:57

Helen Schmidt

heljac123@aol.com 

 

Ugonna, 

 

What fervent words pour from your bountiful heart.  This wonderful piece reflects your caring concern and unending hope for the betterment of those less fortunate than you.  I certainly enjoy reading your humanitarian poems, Ugonna; they are wonderful.  

 

Helen

http://PostPoems.com/members/helen

 

2002-04-08 16:15:24

Mona Omar

moca124@hotmail.com

dear ugonna a beautiful  poem  full of compassion  planting more seeds of love :)

http://PostPoems.com/members/mona

 

 

2002-04-09 02:33:55

Keith Neal

techpoet82@yahoo.com

 

Another piece that allowed the reader to 

gain visual experience with your words. 

 

The line where you described your mother's 

"handsome" hands is a characteristic I've  

seldomly heard having reference to a woman. 

 

Another eloquent piece from you! 

 

Keith

http://www.postpoems.com/members/techpoet

 

 

2002-04-09 03:46:50

Amy Riberdy

winnowillwhite@hotmail.com

These are such strong words, pouring out with the heart's compassion that is so much a part of the many beautiful poems that you produce. 

 

To take the seed & plant it in the hopes that it will produce the bounty necessary to feed the hungry of the world, is feeling the greatest joy in the many miracles of God.  

 

To imagine that one simple tiny seed can feed so many. And the action of a mother's hand sowing these seeds with tender loving care brings hope to the hearts of all wish for a better tomorrow. 

 

This piece says this & more.... 

 

Well done 

 

Amy

http://PostPoems.com/members/gentle 

 

 

2002-04-10 13:30:02

Douglas Lazard

dougiebgood@hotmail.com

I will check out IFAD... What a wonderful poem expressing your heartfelt desire for the betterment of mankind! And yes, we must do it through the healing and caring management of dear mother earth!  Like you I can't wait for that better day of love and brotherhood1 

 

Well done my friend! 

Peace and love ~~~~ Dougie ~~ 

http://PostPoems.com/members/dougie 

 

 

2002-04-11 06:43:43

Mary Charest

charest67@aol.com

Hi Ugonna, 

Your humanitarian poems really touch me.  I join with you in hope that we can feed the poor and change the world with unwavering love.  This is my constant prayer. 

Love, 

Mary

http://PostPoems.com/members/maryfran444  

 

 

2002-04-11 16:13:55

Myra Lochner

myrataal@mweb.co.za 

 

Dear Ugonna ... 

 

Let me try again to post this comment ... it is also on your guest book ... 

 

I love the visual impact of this poem, imitating a pregnant sheaf, ready for the reap.  The beautiful imagery as well as the implicit message of hope and expectation is a typical Uggona style, reflecting a tender heart.  I also love the way in which you reach back to you roots ...  

 

Thank you for inviting me here again.  It is always a pleasure to read your work.  

 

May God bless you and keep you.  

 

Myra 

 

Ps. Ah! The Internet is surrendering to tender touch ... LOL ... here goes ...

http://PostPoems.com/members/myrataal  

 

 

2002-04-12 09:30:33

Donna Allard

email hidden

Well Ugonna.. tis a prayer we should all sing, tis a seed we should all plant, tis a hope that should dewll within all souls, on this earth and beyond, the rainbow.  

 

Just a thought :) Donna

http://PostPoems.com/members/saphire

 

 

2002-04-12 23:19:50

Farah D

fiffi_d@yahoo.com

Its amazing how much inspiration you bring out with your words..Ugonna. I found this poem powerful and beautiful and at the same touching and sad. All I can say is AMEN..to your words. http://PostPoems.com/members/destiny

 

 

2002-04-14 13:27:24

Lorraine Reutter

nittykiddy@aol.com

Dear Ugonna, once again the your humane compassionate heart is echoed in the walls of this beautiful poem...thankyou once again for sharing ..I will be sure to check out IFAD...Respectfully ...Lorraine

http://PostPoems.com/members/lorrydell

 

 

2002-04-15 10:54:24

Ann-Marie Williamson

hl_angel@lineone.net

well done. Beautifully written and beautifully layed out.  

If only more people could look at things in the same way. 

Keep up the good work.

http://PostPoems.com/members/hl_angel

 

 

2002-04-15 12:27:09

Tim / manatee Marshall

bigone5gt9vc7@webtv.net

hi,this gets an A+ from me,keep up the good work

http://PostPoems.com/members/bigone

 

 

2002-04-15 13:57:22

Jessica (Cook) Edwards

jedwardscook@charter.net

Thank you for including me in your list of friends.  You write so eloquently of the things you love and I can see clearly that you love your work with the poor.  God bless you and yours and know that you remain in my prayers. 

Jessica

http://PostPoems.com/members/onelilartist

 

 

2002-04-15 20:19:31

Betty Hattersley

silverlining7@talk21.com

Ugonna what a beautiful poem.  So many times I wonder why harvests are poor in the places that need the food.  Yet many others waste or destroy so much.  To see children happy and smiling is a wonderful sight.  These poor people don't ask for much, are always proud and work so hard.  Your words are so deep and true...thank you for being a friend Ugonna...it's an honour to know you. 

http://PostPoems.com/members/silverlining7

 

 

2002-04-17 13:30:59

Adele Smith

adelesmith4@yahoo.com

This is an insparational poem. Can't wait to read more

http://PostPoems.com/members/alienadele

 

 

2002-04-19 14:30:03

Misty Lackey

countrygal_cc@yahoo.com

Well Written with good style! 

I really am happy now that I have read all of your nice comments on my poetry. you are quiet a talent yourself, 

keep it up, and stay sweet :-) 

http://www.postpoems.com/members/mistylls

 

 

2002-04-19 22:37:14

michelle

mobakeng@yahoo.com

This poem shows that we cannot do things solely on our own and for our own good alone.  Either we are aware of it or not, we need God, men, goodwill and a cooperative nature to provide sun, rain, a good soil in a symphony of love and life. 

 

You have been able to bridge a faceless organisation with real life, a woman sowing seeds, far away in Africa but this could be anywhere in the world where there are the rural poor. 

 

 

2002-05-09 13:08:34

Karyn Indursky

pablondie21@aol.com

It's shocking how much love pours from you into all of your work. You really know to deliver not only the scenery, but the tranquil, loving feelings. Then, you even go on to dedicate this and list the links. It's just amazingly beautiful and respectable.

http://PostPoems.com/members/pablondie21

 

2003-05-02 11:48:50 

 

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