WANNABE GREENIES

Boab Tree

If I were a bona-fide greenie

there’d be heaps of things I couldn’t do.

I wouldn’t be lit-up at midnight

typing these poems for you

   (…for a start!)

I’d be out there hugging a tree-trunk

in the dark, in the rain, in a field.

The hypocrisies of wannabe greenies

are embarrassing – once they’re revealed.

(I mean…)

Who would burn off barrels of diesel

gadding about the terrain?

Or pollute the upper ionosphere

jetting about in a plane?

(Or…)

Who’d sit at a desk well past midnight

and tweet messages all afternoon?

Who’d hang on a phone ‘cos it’s running red hot

in their own locked-in-tight climate zone?

(No…)

Saving the planet ain’t easy,

(though it does make one seem very nice!)

But with modern-day games and distractions,

it requires too much self-sacrifice!

 

It’s A Gas!

Needle & Thread

There can’t be a hole in the ozone-layer

– I’ve decided it, don’t you see.

There can’t be a hole in the ozone-layer

because ozone’s important to me.

It’s a very serious matter.

I’ve been panicking about it all year.

I’d mend it myself with a needle and thread

but I can’t find the Stratosphere.

HI-TECH GARBAGE

HI-TECH GARBAGE

HI-TECH GARBAGE PILES

Oh dearie me, what have we done!
– By caring for our trees
we’ve caused an even bigger problem
– mainly overseas.

No longer free to write a note
on pristine paper sheets,
we’ve manufactured electronic
bleeps and cheeps and tweets.

By using smarter gadgets
and discarding older phones…
we’ve created hi-tech garbage
in a crush of silicone.

 

GAS GUZZLERS

CARSGAS GUZZLERS

We own a white coupe

(which was once a fancy car!).

It’s only meant for two

and so we cannot drive it far.

But it takes us to the shops

and down the coast and out for meals

It’s modest and efficient.

        Well – it’s just a set of wheels !

 

CARS

We bought it years ago

with petrol prices at their worst.

The planet was in meltdown.

Now – I’d guess that’s been reversed.

‘Cos we’re parked here at the shops

among a drove of monster cars.

Four-wheel-drives peer down wide-eyed

as if we’d landed here from Mars.

 

CARS

A Colorado to the fore…

two Sportivos to the rear…

four Hilux in my line of view

…five Rangers very near.

Some Prados and a Cherokee…

an Azure. – Get my drift?

And nowhere do I even sense

one modicum of thrift!

 

CARS

Seems to me that conservation’s

gone off-road and lost it’s way

‘cos we’re driven to expand

 no matter what the pundits say!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CORAL TANKING

Fishtank in Window                                                                                CORAL TANKING

Coral bleaching! Coral bleaching!
What’s the point of all that preaching
if the coral reef keeps bleaching all around?

We could dive down in the ocean
to apply a rainbow lotion
‘til a permanent embalm’ment could be found.

If we stopped the seas from warming
would we save the coral-spawning
in the moonlight, on that one night of the year?

Would that give us baby coral,
make us feel upright and moral
if we grow some in a fish-tank somewhere near?

 

Russian Sink Ponds

RUSSIAN SINK HOLES

RUSSIAN SINK PONDS

The tundra of far-off Siberia
is a very remote location.
It’s where all the dissidents of Communist Russia
were sent for their “re-education”.
True.
So…
this frozen zone has a small claim-to-fame
as a bleak and unusable wasteland.
If you tried to establish a home of your own,
there’d be pressures you’d have to withstand.
Because…
the tundra is covered with thin permafrost
holding pockets of methane in place.
When it melts in the summer, the gasses escape
to disperse and pollute without trace.
Worse…
this thin permafrost is melting too fast,
in these days of increased global-warming.
It’s not cold enough in the winter
for a firm permafrost to be forming.
So now…
far-off Siberia is becoming renowned
…and this greenhouse gas is the reason.
Its bubbles of volatile sink-holes
may be changing the balance of seasons.

Wind Turbines

Windfarm

WIND TURBINES

“Wind turbine” is an ugly phrase
-just like the thing it describes.
Some people might claim it’s an elegant shape,
but they come from a lunatic tribe.

The problem, you see, is the job that they do.
They have to trap wind as it passes.
You cannot disguise them, or close the things in.
They’re out on the hills in great masses.

They’re planted like rows of clunky contraptions,
spoiling the landscape for acres.
These stark metal monsters with spindly arms
are supposed to be energy makers.

God help us if this is the best we can do
when we’re trying to save Mother Earth.
It might curb the production of coal for a while,
but it greatly detracts from it’s worth.

 

Down Below Floe

Kilroy on ice floe

DOWN BELOW FLOE

How can it possibly be
that rivers run under the sea
that under the poles
rivers burrow great holes
and disrupt things unnatural-ly?

When the Gulf Stream bumps into the Arctic
it becomes very rude and anarchic.
It intrudes down below,
deep down under the snow
and the outcome is less than cathartic.

Sheet-ice melts in the North and the South.
Hidden rivers flow in and flow out.
If the ice forms a crack
and breaks off in its track
then the oceans will rise and spread out.

 

Blow Bubbles

bubbles.jpg

BUBBLES ARE BETTER

Blow bubbles instead of balloons.
Blow bubbles, you bodgie buffoon!
When helium pops
and a burst balloon drops
it’s cuteness is lost far too soon.

Then it randomly falls to the ground
and becomes a small rubbery mound
which animals eat
since it falls at their feet
mixed in with the forage they’ve found.

So that rubbery lump blocks their throat
or it causes their bellies to bloat.
They meet a sad end.
That’s the message I send.
Blow bubbles ‘cos bubbles just float.

 

Little Plastic Baggie

Little Plastic Baggie

I started out so prettily
and then I took a dunk
down the drain and out to sea
with all this other junk.

Spat-out like old chewing gum.
Squashed-in like a pea.
Ripped and torn and soiled and sodden,
Battered end-less-ly.

Swirly-whirling through the waves,
mashed in tight together –
me and all my motley mates,
out in every weather.

Drifting half-across the world
and wider than a mile –
the Great Pacific Garbage Patch
has become my domicile.

A bag