Join the Neopoet online poetry workshop and community to improve as a writer, meet fellow poets, and showcase your work. Sign up, submit your poetry, and get started.

To a Dying Planet

We are all dead here!
Lives spun out of patterned chaos shredded
Spent in adoration of Mac Blo, Nasdaq, Exxon, Bechtel
Promises of sated lives
Broken percussion played out on now arrhythmic pulses.

A Long line of gangling skeletal bodies
Dressed in uniform gay glissando
That covers our sickly blue translucent, mottled, skim milk, hides.

Furtive over shoulder looks.
Anguished twitches in response to
Sounds of deep limitless mourning.
The final uncontrolled movements of cadavers freshly dead; .

Eyes sunk and fearful
Turned inward toward a dim
Receding wisp of promised yesterday.

We walk two by two towards the final dark compline
Chants long forgotten.
Wishful Quixotic mantras to worlds held free from
Our lusting, grasping egos

Marakesh! Kyoto! bright and strong in a future long past
That cradled hope for a reasoned forever.

Adolescent fury flames at those who would ask
For thought or reason or restraint.

Pleadings for a planet on its knees

We are the last with conscious memory of cool rose dawns
Blinding blue meridians.

Of afternoons made soft by breezes
Brightly dappled gold, dancing through waves of forest green.

Of evenings sensuous with a secret flower’s redolence
And stars.

This grey and dripping world
The shroud we carelessly wove for generations
Planned but now never to be made real
Thank god
We are Satan enough.
We have reaped Armageddon
In terrible wonder
It is the magenta dawn of noon!
We are all dead here!

Editing stage: 


WOw pessimistic stuff, the stuffing taken out of the dolls of this world,
while I sit here the sun streaming through the window, warming me
after the Winter's dark, Norwegian dark, I cannot sense the dull dismal
message of this poem.

Doomsday was nigh in the sky of your mind as you wrote this Josephus,
with a name that conjures up ladders and coats of many colours, leading
to the beyond, the beyond that isn't there.

But it was a cracking story and I specially enjoyed these bits in it:-

"A Long line of gangling skeletal bodies"

"Eyes sunk and fearful
Turned inward toward a dim
Receding wisp of promised yesterday."

"Blinding blue meridians."

Love Ann of Norway.

"The image of yourself which you see in a mirror Is dead,
but the reflection of the moon on water, lives." Kenzan.

Thanks for stopping by to read this, Ann. I wrote it many years ago during a very stressful time for me, thankfully fully resolved now. I rarely write anything this dark but thought I would post it here for comments.

Thanks again,


My mind's writing cheques my body can't cash.

author comment
(c) No copyright is claimed by Neopoet to original member content.