Tuesday, 21 of November of 2017

Tag » Dragon

Joan Fitzgerald – Lead Apron

AFPGetty-144668318-698x540We marched in a parade against nuclear waste
Twenty years ago.
One of the activists wore a padded dragon suit
with a long green tail.
She carried a sign–
“If you think my breath smells bad,
wait till you smell nuke fumes.”
This was back when the Nuclear Reprocessing plant
was operating in West Valley,
A beautiful, wooded area of western New York.
They finally closed the plant
but it’s still heavily contaminated with Radioactive waste.

Twenty years
And we’re subjected to more and more insidious poisons.
The whole country reeks of dragon’s breath.
Supermarket vegetables shine lush and tropical
under their coating of pesticide and wax,
Irradiated with Cesium 139,
main_nuclear-wasteNo bumps, insect holes or wrinkles mar the smoothness,
The fruit is as dead as the ink on the Sunday Supplement.

Drinking water comes out of the taps
shimmering with pearls of chlorine, fluorine, and lead.
In my yard,
Soft as a ghost,
Transparent as an angel,
Atrazine is slipping into the blotting paper of my lawn,
As my next door neighbor has his lawn squirted
by a man in a white mask.
To eliminate the weeds.

In two decades–
More subdivisions have appeared,
Trees lopped, habitats destroyed, highways built.
Copenhagen Protest Dragon.previewThe deer have taken to foraging among the automobiles on the roads,
Their carcasses slumped in the ditches.

Out in West Valley,
Tests have shown that gamma Radiation
is leaking into the water table,
Invading Buttermilk Creek, Cattaraugus Creek,
Spilling into Lake Erie,
the water supply for the area.

Most people don’t want to hear about it,
They don’t want to see the dragon again.
But the invisible virulence can etch into your cells,
Knot around your genes like piano wire,
Poison the land forever.

Joan Fitzgerald
June 21 1995 Earth First!

Tomas Transtromer – Further In

As Sweden’s most lauded poet and a perennial favorite for the literature prize, Transtromer was used to the feeling. But just a few minutes before the rest of the world heard it, the Stockholm native received the unexpected news Thursday that he had won after all.
Word came in a slightly tardy (local) call from the Swedish Academy, which bestows the coveted award. “We were very surprised,” Transtromer’s wife, Monica, told the regiment of reporters who swiftly converged on their home in the Swedish capital. (Tomas Transtromer awarded Nobel Prize in literature)

On the main road into the city
when the sun is low.
The traffic thickens, crawls.
It is a sluggish dragon glittering.
I am one of the dragon’s scales.
Suddenly the red sun is
right in the middle of the windscreen
streaming in.
I am transparent
and writing becomes visible
inside me
words in invisible ink
which appear
when the paper is held to the fire!
I know I must get far away
straight through the city and then
further until it is time to go out
and walk far in the forest.
Walk in the footprints of the badger.
It gets dark, difficult to see.
In there on the moss lie stones.
One of the stones is precious.
It can change everything
it can make the darkness shine.
It is a switch for the whole country.
Everything depends on it.
Look at it, touch it…

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