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  • Writer's picture Francess

Poem : The Plastic Age

Two poems highlighting some of the horrors of #plastic #pollution.

The Plastic Age

Crude, crude oil; skeletons, trees and life from times gone by decompose to

become dense black goo that is sucked out from the depths of our earths ore rich

rocks through miles and miles of metamorphosed mineral and plastic pipes.

To iron rigs for iron transporters to transport trans oceans

to ports for the insatiable modern world to be transformed and transforming Homo Sapiens creating and moulding new to infiltrate every aspect of life.

Crude, crude oil refined into petrol, PVC, fleeces and synthetic fur

the art of mimicry, even our estrogens, affecting us!

The plastic age almost escapes atrophy it defies aging defiantly

bags, bags and more bags; containers to contain anything

alive and dead, once useful, then carelessly dis-guarded

contents, consumed ravenously.

How can our miraculous planet Earth sustain this abuse?

We have the duty to nurture nature, plant and water seeds for fruition of foods

and beauty; we can make Eden if we want to, it is our choice to abandon or

nurture, love and care or use and abuse.

Like everything in life we can make the difference if we choose to.

by Francess

What the Fox Says...

Bags, bags and more bags...

"I am very tired" say the bags under my eyes...sleepily

"I earn five bags a day" says the professional footballer... unbelievably

"I am a money bag" says the wags designer hand bags & bags & bags

"And I'm environmental poison" says the big black bag of festering rubbish.

"Yummy" is what the fox says. "Scrummy" is what the rat says.

"I'm disgusting" says the little black bag of dog foul dangling off a tree branch

"And I'm toxic to you and the planet" says the plastic bag - "I can suffocate, strangle and kill"

"So can I" says the stubbed out fag...

"But I don’t" says the paper bag "I am not toxic or environmentally cruel, I am made from trees which are life giving sustainable health for the people and the planet and there I return by compost or ash, not trash"

"Is it really rocket science which to cultivate?" say the wags...

"I am tired of trying" say the weary bags under my eyes "I cannot go on with so much grief

"Never mind" says the surgeon "let's just cut them out and everything will look fine "he deposits his bags of " ooh, bags of money" say the bankers, one for you and lots for me...

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