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| image from: Top 10 Ways to Destroy Earth |
Bitterness is jaundiced eyes
trying to recall seaside view
of aqua, turquoise, azure...
remember when slate
was a favorite neutral.
Now it chokes,
reserved not for shadows or rolling mists of fog
but seeps beneath my skin;
pewter, charcoal, ash contrast with flint and silver
on a good day.
Tears can’t wash away gray;
memory slowly losing grip of seasonal glories
as I glimpse remnants of earth from afar;
ponder my own guilt
in caring too late.
by Margaret Bednar, June 29, 2018
My take on "Imaginary Garden of Real Toads - Kerry Says - What is Spec Fic?" I almost didn't participate as this kind of doom and despair writing and/or imaginative futuristic fiction is very hard for me!
7 comments:
Are we, our planet, approaching the bursting point? I agree, there is a limit to abuse, we may be reaching that. Scary? Which generation from ours?
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I think that the scariest part of this poem is that we don't know who the speaker is talking to. It feels as if she is on her own... remembering... just trying to keep herself afloat with what once was (and was good), while still trying to recognize the horrors that are drowning all what is left (which might be just her). Alone is terrible place to be regretful in.
About your note, I think you did an amazing job. The mood of this piece leaves me a bit shaky--all that loneliness.
Oh the regret of caring too late... I wonder if we can ever be aware in time. It seems like we are bent on destroying for ourselves.
I am really glad that you decided to participate, Margaret. I think this is quite a unique voice for you, and one that conjures up a genuine sense of regret. Your imaginary destruction of the planet is a vision one would do well to heed.
I am glad you participated too Margaret.
Your fine words speak of desolation and such is the strength of them, made me feel quite sad. But I don't mind that.
I fear your words will be a reality sooner than we think.
Anna :o]
'Tears can’t wash away gray'...this is so poignant!
The lovely use of colors which call to mind smoke, debris, remnants, embers, and this feeling of ashes and desecration is done with such subtle deftness. This is an evocative cry. I love it.
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