Thomas Piekarski
California Karma
On a sweaty-hot July afternoon,
City smog mixed with wildfire smoke,
The atmosphere dense enough to gag on,
There is fortunately an oasis, refuge
In the shade at the Capitol grounds.
I repose upon well-watered grass
Glowing green, amid a grand display
Of exotic trees from various continents.
The smoky air doesn’t seem so thick
Here, as I meditate with legs crossed.
Pedestrian paths span the lush grounds
And visitors wander in every direction.
The whole northern half of our state
Enveloped in a veil of wildfire smoke.
Its concentration varies, depends
Primarily on prevailing winds.
Emancipated tourists immersed
In cell phone euphoria take pictures
In front of the Viet Nam memorial
As I glance over at the Capitol dome.
It has lately been suggested that poor
Water management is responsible
For fire tornadoes incinerating
Hundreds of thousands of acres.
Contemplating future disasters
I’m motivated to write a poem.
Its characters are historical figures
Acting out lives in the firmament.
Earth is running out of fresh water.
Soon there will be flooding of coastal
Cities, but nary a drop to drink.
Then panic could set in, even anarchy.
Movers, shakers and corporate raiders
Oppress, and yet we live languid lives
Clutching hope. I hope for a delta breeze
To waft upriver and blow smoke away.
Perhaps technology will rescue us,
Unworthy as humanity may be.
For persecution persists despite
Protests, our congress gridlocked.
An eco-friendly world within view,
Silicon Valley Edisons inventive.
But will they develop means to make
CO2 and methane miraculously vanish
Before man as a species is expunged
From a planet that would reclaim it?
Inasmuch as that strikes me
As the concern du jour, I reflect
And seek answers in actions of others.
For I’m but one man. Individually
My opinion means little if anything,
Especially when kept to myself.
We pursue truth or suffer consequences
No matter if it’s circumstantial. I want
Truth and beauty to be inexorably bound
As I recline and watch citizens stroll,
And await the main event, impending
Massive release of karma. I’m ready
For my tectonic plates to rupture
And release Mother Nature’s rapture.
Thomas Piekarski is a former editor of the California State Poetry Quarterly and Pushcart Prize nominee. His poetry and interviews have appeared in literary journals internationally, including Nimrod, Florida English Journal, Cream City Review, Mandala Journal, Poetry Salzburg, Poetry Quarterly, Pennsylvania Literary Journal, and Boston Poetry Magazine. He has published a travel book, Best Choices In Northern California, and his epic adventure Ballad of Billy the Kid is available on Amazon in both Kindle and print versions.
California Karma
On a sweaty-hot July afternoon,
City smog mixed with wildfire smoke,
The atmosphere dense enough to gag on,
There is fortunately an oasis, refuge
In the shade at the Capitol grounds.
I repose upon well-watered grass
Glowing green, amid a grand display
Of exotic trees from various continents.
The smoky air doesn’t seem so thick
Here, as I meditate with legs crossed.
Pedestrian paths span the lush grounds
And visitors wander in every direction.
The whole northern half of our state
Enveloped in a veil of wildfire smoke.
Its concentration varies, depends
Primarily on prevailing winds.
Emancipated tourists immersed
In cell phone euphoria take pictures
In front of the Viet Nam memorial
As I glance over at the Capitol dome.
It has lately been suggested that poor
Water management is responsible
For fire tornadoes incinerating
Hundreds of thousands of acres.
Contemplating future disasters
I’m motivated to write a poem.
Its characters are historical figures
Acting out lives in the firmament.
Earth is running out of fresh water.
Soon there will be flooding of coastal
Cities, but nary a drop to drink.
Then panic could set in, even anarchy.
Movers, shakers and corporate raiders
Oppress, and yet we live languid lives
Clutching hope. I hope for a delta breeze
To waft upriver and blow smoke away.
Perhaps technology will rescue us,
Unworthy as humanity may be.
For persecution persists despite
Protests, our congress gridlocked.
An eco-friendly world within view,
Silicon Valley Edisons inventive.
But will they develop means to make
CO2 and methane miraculously vanish
Before man as a species is expunged
From a planet that would reclaim it?
Inasmuch as that strikes me
As the concern du jour, I reflect
And seek answers in actions of others.
For I’m but one man. Individually
My opinion means little if anything,
Especially when kept to myself.
We pursue truth or suffer consequences
No matter if it’s circumstantial. I want
Truth and beauty to be inexorably bound
As I recline and watch citizens stroll,
And await the main event, impending
Massive release of karma. I’m ready
For my tectonic plates to rupture
And release Mother Nature’s rapture.
Thomas Piekarski is a former editor of the California State Poetry Quarterly and Pushcart Prize nominee. His poetry and interviews have appeared in literary journals internationally, including Nimrod, Florida English Journal, Cream City Review, Mandala Journal, Poetry Salzburg, Poetry Quarterly, Pennsylvania Literary Journal, and Boston Poetry Magazine. He has published a travel book, Best Choices In Northern California, and his epic adventure Ballad of Billy the Kid is available on Amazon in both Kindle and print versions.