Frack Off! – dVerse Poetics – Re-blog

Frack Off! – dVerse Poetics
FREYATHEWRITER
– Frack Off! –

What the frack are you all doing,

stomping through our field?

Shaking up the ground boys,

to extract what shale will yield.

But can’t you see we’re ripening,

until we’ve reached our best?

Sorry guys, the future’s ours,

there is no time to rest.

You’ve got to wait, the season’s here,

the farmer needs his crop.

Shut your mouth, behave yourselves!

There’s no way we will stop.

Pumpkins, squash and turnips too,

for decades we’ve grown here.

Times they change, that’s how it is,

the law is very clear.

Power and might are on your side,

for now at least, it’s true.

But Mother Nature will fight back,

and first, she’ll come for you.

You’re going too far, you’ve lost the plot –

money has turned your head.

Filthy lucre’s not all that.

Especially

when

you’re

dead.

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Freya Writes...

Please excuse the poor formatting and whatnot – I am posting this using my phone, so goodness knows what it will look like! Suffice to say that this week’s dVerse Poetics prompt was too good to miss. The issue about which I feel strongly was also very close to my dad’s heart, and since I have spent a strangely enjoyable evening talking about him, it feels like the right thing to do. I don’t have my laptop with me (I am away from home), hence the phone post.

I hope you enjoy this – it was written very quickly, but the pumpkins were calling! I will come back and comment on others’ poems and tidy this up, next week.

– Frack Off! –

What the frack are you all doing,

stomping through our field?

Shaking up the ground boys,

to extract what shale will yield.

 

But can’t you see…

View original post 111 more words

About Nan Mykel

I used to think I would be a child prodigy, but then I got old. Formerly I had fantasies of rubbing elbows with cultural and academic leaders but that did not come to pass because I did not become a cultural or academic leader or any other kind of leader, for that matter. I am not even an "Alpha Dog," a term learned from a friend who had to become "Alpha Dog" in order to influence her own pet. (When gazes lock, she never looks away.) For years I expected to become a published author, but in passing I could not avoid the fact that I had little to contribute to the world's bulging dumpsters. I'm embarrassed to report that I also considered my primary process artistic productions powerful, rather than mildly neurotic. Which is not to say that I disrespect myself, only that I am beginning to doubt my potential for making a mark on the world. If I focus on strict self discipline I may be able to keep my garbage removed on a weekly basis, to keep the kitty box changed, the clothes cleaned, the dog watered, fed and walked, but that just catches me up to the starting mark again. When writing I physically grapple with words, wrestling them from their indifference into attempted chunks of awareness. I sit heavily on my chair; I breathe in artificially cooled air; my ear drums note the tap tap of the keyboard and the steady uninterrupted sound of the air conditioner, What is that sound? The roar of the ocean from 30 yards away...Inside, my thoughts are are balls in an electronic game machine, bouncing hither and yon from lever to lever. I am a little grim and intent until I recall a dream related by a black man in the prison where I once worked. He said that when he was a small boy, back home, he dreamed he was standing on his front porch pissing, and that he suddenly found himself pissing stars...
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