Politicians! Everyone! Listen to my cry
I’m the child of Climate Change and
I’m too young to die!
Wildfires, hurricanes, melting ice and flood.
We pay the price for ignorance: paying with our blood.
Marching might not be enough.
Surely, it’s a start?
It might not change the planet but, could it change your heart?
In every nation, every town, children stand as one
They haven’t all the answers.
True.
Yet, does anyone?
They’ve grabbed our shoulders, shaken us, tried to make us see
The things we’re ‘Oh So Mad About’, just aren’t worth toffee.
Wake us from our apathy, misguided rage or fears;
Kindle hearts with dawning hope we haven’t felt in years.
Maybe we need children now, to make us hear the truth;
Maybe what we need the most is optimistic youth.
They walk in peace, not anger. Not with force nor might
And they may win this argument, just by being right.
It’s time for us to change this world.
It’s time we all were trying.
For I’d rather see kids protesting
Than watch them slowly dying.
Will you?
You protest the mess this world is in?
It’s true! But you must first begin
With you.
No game of blame can change a thing.
No matter what rule the Government makes
Rather it takes the masses to act
To be exact –
it’s not enough to make a fuss
We first must make a change in us.
Can we match protested passion
With stopping relentlessly purchasing fashion?
Can we eat less?
Drive less?
Share more, thrive less?
Saving the planet is likely to hurt
Twice
Are we ready, yet, to pay the price?
For here’s the catch
Not everyone’s prepared to match.
You and I will both exert:
Agree to try to do what’s right,
And we might.
We’ll cut back, try not to yearn for more than our share
Take only what’s fair:
What the good Earth can bear.
But how to prepare to watch those, other, who’d rather
Party
as the forests burn?
Not everyone will take their turn.
Are we ready to lose our comfort today
In order to not throw our future away?
I will if you will, do you see?
If I will and you will, will he?
I don’t like it
My home is on fire. The outlook is dire.
The flames, over time, just keep getting higher.
I don’t think I care. I’m here in my chair;
The fire is such a long way over there.
I’m glued to the worlds I see on my TV.
There’s plenty of things to keep me busy.
What do I know about putting out fire?
I haven’t the know-how, nor yet the desire.
My house is enormous, I think there is time.
I sit and wait inside.
Flames slowly climb.
I’ll argue instead over levels to set
For how high it’s safe to let the flames get.
Common-sense says, once flames reach the roof
The house will be doomed.
But I want the proof.
Do I pretend fire doesn’t exist?
It’s a temptation that’s hard to resist.
Maybe I’ll joke that at least I’ll be warm
When once flames reach me from this fire storm.
As for my cousins who live in the room
That’s nearest the fire, bemoaning their doom?
Don’t show their sad faces on my TV.
I don’t want to know.
I don’t want to see.
Their chance of survival starts to seem small.
They try to escape.
So, I build a wall
And hire big men with lots of hard clout
To guard my nice room and keep people out.
I don’t want to see; I don’t want to look.
I curl in my chair and read a good book.
My children peep out and ask, “What have you done?”
But what can I do? I am only one.
Those memes on the web inform my world view
“Think of yourself now. Take care of you.”
The voice on the telly tells me not to think,
Buy a new phone.
Pour a big drink.
Though I know every new thing that I buy
Pours fuel on the fire, makes tinder more dry.
Will it seem worth it? This boom and this bust?
When all we have built up is ashes and dust?
It can’t be too late! Not even to try?
We all must do something.
We do
Or we die.
Soap on a hope
If our great planet’s only hope
Lay in our use of bars of soap
Not plastic pumps of shower gel,
I wonder, would it end up well?
Plastic pumps are so so easy
Satisfying, clean and squeezy
Labels are pretty, colours too.
Matching a perfect shade of blue!
The words that promise Oh So Much:
Skin that is smooth, soft to the touch.
Whereas soap? Nope! Not a hope.
No-one loves a bar of soap.
It’s fine and all, when it is new.
Looks lovely for a day or two.
But then it starts to leave a slime
That never dries and, over time,
The soapy dish is dirty too.
It’s kinda hard to shift soap goo.
And you wonder: can it be clean?
It touches all those hands, I mean,
You wipe your bum then hold that bar!
And that is it.
And there you are.
The final nail: Dare I go there?
Stuck in the soap – one pubic hair!
We tried less plastic, did our bit.
It didn’t work out. It wasn’t a fit
With busy, hectic daily life.
It increased daily toil and strife.
We bounced straight back to clean clear plastic.
Convenience makes our morals elastic.
What do you think the children will say
If we explain ourselves this way?
What it all boils down to is this:
The reason why rhinos no longer exist;
The reason why storms rage over the sea
And so many people are going hungry;
And oceans are filled with more litter than fish…
It was just too much trouble to wash a soap dish.
A humble metaphor for hope
(Or lack of it) – a bar of soap!
Ali 