2004

2004

Don’t you hear the planet crying?

Her hair has been chopped off

Every inch of her shaved bald

This is the timber for our houses,

our cardboard boxes, and paper.

Don’t’ you hear the planet crying?

Her bones are cracked and the

marrow sucked out

These are the precious metals

for our pots and pans our

computers and important doodadas.

Don’t you hear the planet crying?

A thousand needles are jabbed

in her veins.  The tubes are

long, they wrap around her.

Her blood is all gone, it’s all sucked

out of her.

This blood is oil for our industry, our

automobiles, our plastic and vaseline.

Don’t you hear the planet crying?

Her skin has all been raked up raw.

She used to be so verdant, fleshy

She had fat on her thighs

and breasts, fat on her belly and buttocks

That was her soil, it was all used up so long ago.

She is skinny anorexic now.

We poison what’s left with

pesticides to make our

perfect fruits and  vegetables grow

And the same cancer that

poisons her poisons our food and poisons us.

Don’t you hear the planet crying?  Even the aura of

life, that thin blue layer

that encircles her is

thinning, fading.

This is the atmosphere,

the ozone layer, breaking

down with each new fridge

that leaks freon,

each smoggy cloud to the heavens.

Don’t you hear the planet crying?

Bald, Exposed, Naked, Torn, Raw,

Raped, Cancerous, Poisoned,

Broken, Bloodless

And yet she cries.

Her eyes now dim

stream tears

Rivers of tears

An acid rain that devours

man’s precious monuments

sacred cathedrals

A flowing, growing torrent of weeping

That will flood this earth

And shape it anew.