This planet is small,
too small.
sometimes, it seems, there is
nowhere to hide when
what’s inside presides,
pervades,
prevails;
when the storm
shreds the sails
leaving no safe harbour.
soon,
there will be
no trees to breathe
no rivers to cry –
and the oceans will be salt
flat graveyards
for my whale brothers
and sisters to die (in).

this planet is home.
it is my home, it is your home.
she is ancient and beauty full –
once carefree and colourful.
cut her, she bleeds;
and yet she continues
to breathe and pirouette
around the Sun – the chosen, and only,
one.
and on and on
and on and on, she yields,
selflessly, with
wisdom and generosity, just like
my birth mother.

But still we press
upon her –
prey, greedily, upon her.
we cut her to the quick
don’t you see?
it’s our very own existence that
is making her sick.
’tis not cognitive dissonance
– we are but blind
and bumptious.
our selfish genes –
cocksure, precocious;
they do not see
nor do they care.
they continue to
rape
and assault her.

in the name of opium, religion
sanctimony or devotion, tell me
which God(head) has the
biggest and most powerful
Warhead?
beware!
wake up, people!
we do not have options:
we have nowhere else to go.
this is not a movie.
this is real.
wake the fuck up, Dorothy!
we’re not in Kansas anymore.
and you’re right:
“there IS no place like home…”
this IS our home.

we have nowhere else to go,
when this home is spoiled
and wrecked.
so sad a picture!
what a legacy we leave
in the damage we weave, into
the fabric of us.
when WILL we
realise the extent… when
it’s our OWN extinction event?
it is already too late.
do we care of our fate?
we should… like I say,
it’s not like we have options.
we can not just up and leave;
no other place to resettle
this will be the ultimate
test
of our mettle.

this planet is blue.
I can see why
can’t you?

“My name is Kat McDonald. I have written poems and prose since I was old enough to hold a pencil. They often made no sense, but now I write primarily for myself. I find it cathartic and it’s cheaper than therapy.
As a photographer, musician and writer, I view the world in a different light – seeking beauty in the mundane – and expressing myself with words and images, song and prose.
My poetry is a little bit crooked and off-centre, but this is my ‘inner focus’.
This poem was inspired by man’s seemingly innate sense of self-destruction, and its effect on our beautiful, sad and lonely planet.”
You can visit Kat at: KatMPhotography.Wordpress.com/

Photo by Qimono CC

Amanda Graham

Amanda Graham

Editor at NY Literary Magazine
Amanda holds an M.A. in History. She loves well-written poetry and romance novels. Amanda has 2 cats and a 3-year-old son.
Amanda Graham