Trash Cycle [Today's News Poem, October 11, 2010]
Elsewhere, they're landfilling
Lots for the offices:
Lead in the firmament
Sweating the excesses
Deeper than rivulets,
Under the glamorous
Surface of glossiness.
Closing the aperture,
Snapping the elements
Shut, with a fiberglass
Shield as the leftovers
Sprout up as carriers
Bearing the heaviest
Metals: the flowers of
Chromium, mercury.
Likewise its counterpart
Demonstrates streamlining.
Empty aluminum
Can with a colorful
Sham: who can emulate
Joy much less paint it on
Drinks? Is it currency?
"Hungarian police today arrested the managing director of the aluminum company behind the spill of toxic sludge that killed eight people, drove dozens from their homes and threatened to pollute the Danube River."
—Phil Cain, The Christian Science Monitor, October 11, 2010
http://www.csmonitor.com/World/Europe/2010/1011/Hungary-arrests-executive-connected-to-red-sludge-spill
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Showing posts with label flaming garbage. Show all posts
Showing posts with label flaming garbage. Show all posts
Monday, October 11, 2010
Trash Cycle [Today's News Poem, October 11, 2010]
Labels:
anti-news,
doxa,
flaming garbage,
garbage floe,
Hungary,
Khakjaan Wessington,
October 11 2010,
toxic sludge,
Trash Gyre,
trash planet
Saturday, July 03, 2010
Astral Projection to the Tropics [Today's News Poem, July 3, 2010]
Astral Projection to the Tropics [Today's News Poem, July 3, 2010]
Relax and take fantasy. Ride on the ether
Across the dull ocean and land in the jungle.
A village, a garden of smoke and green timber
Awaits you. The orphans are playing with garbage.
A tee-shirt you donated: legible, ragged.
“All meat comes from MURDER!” You linger above him—
That boy with the shirt that you got as a joke that
You pledged on a whim. He is banging on rusted
And emptied out drums, with a stick, as a lorry
Collides with a car and the driver is screaming
To run—and the urchins are racing to gather
Their plastic containers and rush to the gusher
Of dollars, of dinners, of medicine; school fees—
The suction of air from the fireball erupting
That shatters the windows and heartbeats of children.
“A fuel tanker overturned, caught fire and exploded in the Democratic Republic of Congo on Friday evening, killing more than 200 villagers, some of whom had been trying to gather fuel from the leaking truck, officials in Congo said Saturday... United Nations-sponsored Radio Okapi in Congo said more than a quarter of the victims were children. ”
– Adam Nossiter, The New York Times, July 3, 2010
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/07/04/world/africa/04congo.html?_r=1&hp
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Relax and take fantasy. Ride on the ether
Across the dull ocean and land in the jungle.
A village, a garden of smoke and green timber
Awaits you. The orphans are playing with garbage.
A tee-shirt you donated: legible, ragged.
“All meat comes from MURDER!” You linger above him—
That boy with the shirt that you got as a joke that
You pledged on a whim. He is banging on rusted
And emptied out drums, with a stick, as a lorry
Collides with a car and the driver is screaming
To run—and the urchins are racing to gather
Their plastic containers and rush to the gusher
Of dollars, of dinners, of medicine; school fees—
The suction of air from the fireball erupting
That shatters the windows and heartbeats of children.
“A fuel tanker overturned, caught fire and exploded in the Democratic Republic of Congo on Friday evening, killing more than 200 villagers, some of whom had been trying to gather fuel from the leaking truck, officials in Congo said Saturday... United Nations-sponsored Radio Okapi in Congo said more than a quarter of the victims were children. ”
– Adam Nossiter, The New York Times, July 3, 2010
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/07/04/world/africa/04congo.html?_r=1&hp
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Labels:
Astral Projection,
barbequed orphan,
fantasy to nightmare,
flaming garbage,
July 3 2010,
Khakjaan Wessington,
tropics
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