UnPoetia:Well-Oiled Birds

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Unpoetia logo Poetry for people who hate poetry
Oil-bird

This little gal once had nothing to fear,
But now subsists solely
On a wing and a prayer.

We're told that the seabirds don't mind it at all
That their home is destroyed,
Their swim slowed to a crawl,
As they try and they try to float on the sludge
That covers their wings
Like a toxic hot-fudge.
As surely as Ann Coulter is a man,
Simon is rude,
And Meg Ryan can't tan,
Oily soaked Egrets take to the sand,
In throes of surprise
They sink when they land.
A crane in my view struts on a shore once so perfect,
Her wings now black glue,
Slim legs stick to long neck.
I saw a Brown Pelican laughing it off,
Pouch clammy with food,
Did I hear him cough?
Seagulls circle gracefully so high above,
They dive into the Gulf,
It fits like a glove!
Osprey, sandpipers, ducks, a few storks,
They bob in the oil,
Looking somewhat like corks.
Coral reefs, manatees, crayfish and shrimp,
Dolphins, the mermaids,
And "Bennie the Pimp",
They feel the black gold as it rolls off their backs,
Down their shocked open mouths
Into tiny air sacs.
These birds don't know they were scheduled to die,
When two-faced deciders
Signed off on the fly.
So BP's execs just flip us the bird,
Who can no longer fly,
And whose cries go unheard.
White men in dark suits look on with a frown
Not because of destruction--
Their profits are down!
They'll lie and they'll spin, no matter the cost
To try and recapture
All the income they've lost.
While Ma Nature suffers, those suits do okay,
They don't care for the Gulf,
They live so far away,
In big corporate houses powered by crude
That fatally stains
Beaks and feathers, how rude!
Stockbrokers arm-in-arm, buying and yelling,
Trading presents and futures
(It's your future they're selling).
To ensure BP's "proper" place in the order,
Rich men circle the wagons
(Some run for the border).
The Senate or President, which called in the seer?
"Barack’s numbers are down,
And the mid-term draws near."
Biden's confusing prophecy won’t plug this spill
That sends Texas-tea death
Into the Gulf still.
Students, housewives, old broken-down hippies
(Some haven't been laid
Since the mid-nineteen-sixties),
Ask for world healing, bring drummers and shamans,
To a nonviolent stand:
The United Nations.
"End Earth's destruction!" our request to the leaders,
"Restore lands and waters!"
With the help of the feeders.
So here, a rhymed call for humanity's quorom:
Now gather all your friends
At the world's modern Forum!

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Blackmore's Night - Times they are changin 03:36

Blackmore's Night - Times they are changin

425

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