On The State Of Things Poem by John F. McCullagh

My once rich topsoil clouds the seas

Man’s pesticides are poisoning me

This creature talks about his “right”

as he ushers in forever night.



What about the rights of those

Who did not wear designer clothes?

Those who fur or feathers wore

and eked out life by tooth and claw.



My ocean’s are awash with trash,

Over fished and fading fast.

Ever larger swaths of sea

Hypoxic, anaerobic be.



On land, my tale is much the same

From space, behold my forests burn

The little parasites descend

And rip my treasures from within.



Where once my oceans teemed with life

They’re silent, nearly empty now

And fields that once would gleam with grain

Befoul my air with flatulent cows.



Even my humble worker bees

Are dying off because of man

Are you prepared for silent springs?

Will death from hunger stalk the land?





Have you no awe, have you no fear?

Have you no thought of what’s to come?

Where once there was a paradise-

a dying sphere, a heartless sun.