For Txia and Greta

She slips through the trees she calls home,

and gathering, her kin hear of far off shores 

and stores of chocolates and fine clothes.

They hear of children calling for a future

and the adults who listen not. They lament

with solemnity the proclivity of the adults

unphased by the climate disaster. And a

love of carbon fuels that duels with the

way that the young and the already 

drowning protest, named pests by the

carbon killing, jet loving, coal digging

fools. Together they touch their trees,

their homes and grieve for their losses.

Save the Jungle

I moved through the towering trees,

with their mellifluous melody and

various greens and browns, reds and 

yellows painting a kaleidoscope, and


a perfect canvas for the glory of nature 

there. Awed, as in a holy place I saw,

the joyous sound of water over stone.

I sat and watched its furious rushing

forcing its way to a distant          ocean.


Butterflies lighted on my hands fearlessly,

ants strolled by and monkeys chanted,

while birds of every colour flew, making

a whirlwind, a multi-hued iridescence.


I watched water crashing and falling,

rainbows marching through the spray.

giving grace to the multitude that 

played with Iris, the mother of

their dancing, light-splitting joy. 


Around me damsels flitted, and all 

around brilliance burst like fireworks.

I marvelled at the spectrum dancing 

amongst the foliage in pure delight.


Silence and awe filled my senses,

but as I turned to take my leave I saw

in the distance, not the sun and skies 

of blue, but menacing darkness, which


smashed, and slashed out that life; that 

gave this spectacle its smorgasbord 

of iridescence and hues. Marching 

mercilessly the army of humans 

trashed their homes

replacing the hallowed

with stumps

and a graveyard