Gedichten over het onderwerp: extinction

Gedichten over het onderwerp “extinction” op Poets.by.

PeinzendDave Bonta

The Hollow (10)

birch roots turned stilts a hollow in the shape of a stump desire path deer cutting across this trench of a trail raised high in a claw of upturned roots an ordinary rock smooth sandstone the empty seas of the first great extinction
VerdrietigDave Bonta

The last lion in Pennsylvania

was never found. Black-&-yellow beetles smuggled her underground; trees took her up. Her ears became— among other things—leaves, & her roar was reborn in the tops of tall pines. She ran in the sap. But she traveled, too, into the ravenous stomachs of the deer, who were no longer the wary creatures she used to stalk. Through them, she explored
AngstigBalachandran V

Fish out of Water

In this heat, I sweat profuse. I splash water at my armpits The nape of my neck And shameless, over my genitals. On the bed, in the nude I fart and sigh, happy. The dogs lie legs up in the air, Too tired to smell the wind. I choke at the chilled lemonade Gurgling down my throat. Out in the portico, a crow Dips its beak and then jumps Into the clay pan, splashing in the water. I wish I were a fish, Swishing my tail, chilling With the mermaids.
AngstigNdrek Gjini

‘Stop’ Signs

‘Stop’ signs horrify me. Every time I look at them I start thinking about a great disaster which could happen, if those cold metal signs with just four letters applied to our thoughts, our feelings and our dreams. All the roads within the world of our souls would be trapped in big traffic jams. Warning sirens, crashes, fires, would appear everywhere in this endless fast-moving network. The world of our souls would go crazy, and within a few days time a sign with ten letters would appear, ‘Extinction’.
PeinzendSara Teasdale

"There Will Come Soft Rains"

(War Time) There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground, And swallows circling with their shimmering sound; And frogs in the pools singing at night, And wild plum-trees in tremulous white; Robins will wear their feathery fire Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire; And not one will know of the war, not one Will care at last when it is done. Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree If mankind perished utterly; And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn, Would scarcely know that we were gone.