Born from storm drain birth canals
the treasures washed ashore in E-ville
our gift to our grandchildren's grandchildren
remnants of fossil fuel called Polly Mer.
One hundred miles of plastic island floating
Our arty facts of 21st century cloned.
Play toys, gifted pets and playground fools
find their way among fishes and folks with hooks.
Bright colors fade more slowly than driftwood.
Bottled water floating in sea water.
The birds are watching what we're doing.
Outside only the old heavy sinks.
Thirty minutes of collecting great knowledge
a world of abandoned consumerism
our waste is not forgotten easily.
By waves or intent and greed,
The silence is spoken in tides.
Mother Source witnesses the disrespect.
Screw this, glue that, personification prevails
seeing more clearly the fog of discarded past
transforming a moment, a place, a peace, a totem
to honor what's naturally knot.
Cords of conscious crap discontent
revealing seastuffs renown as Drift Plastic.
"Drift Plastic!!" love it.
ReplyDeleteremind me to show you an article that my friend wrote (an incredible writer, he is) that i think will resonate with you. i'll try to bring it on saturday.
curious when you made this work...love the piece, poem is funny/good too. like your humor in this.
ReplyDeleteLove the artwork and poem. The reality is both sad and humorous.
ReplyDelete