Storm Coming In
“Storm coming in:
put up the shutters!
Destroy these despots,
secure our oil,
save democracy:
raise the Cross on high!”
Now they are
standing in the precipitation,
shivering in the inclemency;
still shooting-up the Fuzzy-Wuzzies,
still misreading the bible,
still asserting
that white
is might,
is right;
still complaining
that it’s pissing down
and the silly fools
have forgotten
their umbrellas.
******************************
When We Shot The Last Tiger
A fabled hunter
from
or
or somewhere,
held its head aloft
and screamed in
bloody triumph.
A cameraman
from
or
or somewhere,
caught it on film
and said it was
a defining moment.
A clever artist
from Cairo
or Canberra
or somewhere,
preserved its skin
and claimed it was
cutting-edge art.
An entrepreneur
from Beijing
or Bangalore
or somewhere,
ground up its bones
and sold them as
a love potion.
A wealthy lady
from Marseilles
or Manchester
or somewhere,
wept for its death
and said it was
a beautiful creature.
A wannabe hunter
from New York
or New Delhi
or somewhere,
marvelled at the shot
and hoped they’d show
him killing the last lion.
******************************
After the Silence
When mankind fell to silence,
the Earth gave a joyful shout:
another species now extinct;
nothing much to cry about.
Air blew fresh and clear once more,
seas and rivers: pure and clean;
when construction came to an end,
just look how the land turned green.
There’s no one left to alter genes,
no horror that cloning can bring;
at the end of vivisection,
every creature started to sing.
The whale can find its destiny
and the tiger now has a chance;
as mankind’s bones returned to dust,
Mother Nature began to dance.
When Apeman yelled his final song,
there was quiet in the merest blink;
it only took an Earthly sigh
to be free of the awful stink.
********************
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