To a Poet in 2050

 

Conference about climate change

Are there still poets? Is human (and non-human) life

still viable, or have you all fried to a crisp?
If you are there, know that some of us foresaw this,
with great grief and alarm,
but capitalism blinded our leaders
with greed and denial, and no one seemed to know
how to change the trajectory.

Humans now have all the information
in the world. And little wisdom.

Are there still trees? In my time, they are
cutting them down faster than they can grow;

not enough mature trees are left

to absorb the carbon that is slowly choking us.

Animals are starving and we are losing species.

Have you heard of elephants and lions?
Bears and wolves?

Do you know that icebergs once
covered the north pole?

They are melting rapidly now, the earth is
tilting slightly on its axis.

Indigenous people view what settlers

have done to the planet in only 150 years
with horror. Summers scorch the earth;

wildfires rage. Storms, hurricanes, and floods

batter towns and cities.

And nothing changes, nothing changes.
Nothing changes.

What little we do is not enough.
Leaders gather to talk and talk and talk.

Target dates get pushed farther

and farther off. One target date is 2050.
Are you and other beings still here?

They say addressing climate change is too expensive,

then send rockets to the moon. Cleaning up after

floods and fire is expensive too. This week

a head of cauliflower costs eight dollars.
Inflation has run amok
and only the rich are happy
(but not content.)

So I ask you: Are there still poets? Birds and seasons?

Are people living on scorched earth,
among the rubble, or in caves?

Did humankind war itself to death?

Or did climate breakdown force us

to finally change our ways?

Future poet: this is what an
iceberg used to look like

This is an old growth tree

A gloomy poem for Brendan at earthweal: Earthcentric Vistas: The Future Poet.