Read The Tsar's Dwarf (Hawthorne Books)

Read The Tsar's Dwarf (Hawthorne Books)
"A curious and wonderful work of great human value by a Danish master." Sebastian Barry, Man Booker finalist (Click on the picture to go to the book's Amazon page)

Thursday, May 19, 2016

Global Warming (A Plea for Bear Hugs & Mindful Heartbeats)

The sun tan on our shoulders

is like a blanket of freeways

peeling off at the speed of sound.

It’s 96 degrees in the shade,

mercury rising, worlds melting away,

one hibiscus at a time.

Soon bridges will crash under the weight of tow trucks.

Mosquitoes the size of helicopters

will inject poison into the armpits of Olympians.

Planet Earth used to be a holy space for lovers and warriors,

but now we only talk to the help desk at Apple.

Our home is a scorcher where polar bears rent freezers

so they can breathe in the tundra.  

Where else are they going to live

when the only iceberg is in a museum in Brussels?

Soon an orange ghost will move into the White House

and admire himself in his endless mirrors.

He might be lethal but not as lethal as we are

with our selfie sticks and lust for punchlines.

Yes, the boat is leaving the shore,

even though there isn’t much water in the sinkhole.

The last drops have been reserved for small businesses 

while the horizon melts like ice cream

because we mistook it for a bank vault.

Now oak trees look like x-rays

with traffic jams moving through the sun roof of our blindness

What else can you expect  when you dry hump the planet 

and cuddle with credit cards instead of pandas? 

Butt-dialing our mother is not an act of kindness.

Tripping over the homeless can never be a tax shelter

                                                                         so wake up!

From June 1st you have to declare your appendix

when you land in O’Hare.

No wonder we need body bags to get through the airport.

Flying is as dangerous as breathing, only fools recommend it.

You might be strangled by stewardesses with secret burkas,

or forced into a love affair with Prozac.

Fear is a cloud, creeping into lungs and breast pockets,

yanking the soul out of our bodies.

Sexpect angels to  descend with eyes full of mischief.

They'll throw away the key to the Internet

and worlds will disappear like endangered species.

For a week it would be a sad goodbye

to cheerleaders giving head in Volvos.

Centuries of Snapchat, gone.

                     Millions of cat videos, purged.

                               Hedge funds and death certificates, stumped.

No need for passwords the length of novels

or tweets from dyslexic dingbats.  

Let's just just pet the neighborhood poodles and breathe.

So this is a bear hug from one of the monsters.

There are forces for good everywhere, 

ready to serve us with mindful daggers.

Messengers are working with beings we thought were fiction.

Wake up and the world won't turn into a beehive 

because every heart is connected to the universal chest.

We just have to swim through the mudslide

and the morning dew will be back on the prairie again.

Copyright, Peter H. Fogtdal, Danish Accent, slightly revised, August 9, 2016
The iconic photo of the polar bear was manipulated by me. I don't know who took it but thanks.

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