20160821 (weep)

Observers of glacial recession  and of coral bleaching report coming to tears at the devastation

In 1957 I already knew about 

The dangers of CO2 accumulating

In the atmosphere which would

Cause earth’s temperature to rise.

It wasn’t because I was a nerdy 

Type, prescient, and clairvoyant

For kids my age (14). I was nerdy

Though the tern was not around

At the time. I was a reader of 

Science fiction and science 

Articles generally which clued

Me in to coming events of 

Which advances in rocketry

Were the most consuming. But

Nestled in there were astronomical

Speculations about why Venus,

Known as the “cloud-covered

Planet” would not be the jungle-

Like realm of lush growth and

Buxom Amazons we often read

About in the monthly SF ‘zines.

It turns out we nerds were not

The only ones who knew this.

The oil companies made their own

Studies* and in 1946 formulated

A public relations campaign to 

Discredit what would certainly

Be findings by other scientists

In universities and government.

Their plan involved always 

Raising an element of doubt

About the conclusions of such

Findings even though they knew

From their own scientists that 

Worldwide harm was certain.  

Unwilling to kill the geese 

(Coal and oil) which laid their 

Golden eggs, they callously shirked

Their responsibility to inform society 

Their industries were “poison

Producers,” after a fashion, so 

People could make wiser choices

And prevent the worst effects that

Came with time. They culpably lied

To keep making the easy bucks and

Resist even to this day, instituting a

“Greenwashing” of their activities

Through a campaign of distraction.**

People are already dying from the 

Ill effects. They’re not drinking oil

Or eating coal but the heat of the

Three hottest summers in a row 

Is preventing productive work

In many areas of the world. Drought

Is destroying their ability to grow

Food, and ancient bacteria, frozen

In the melting permafrost are

Reactivating to threaten life.*** 

The worn reply “Not in my generation”

Reveals the ignorance of common

Facts and the reckless lack of 

Concern for the lives of their

Children. That they shared their

Strategies of denying the science

With tobacco companies threatened

With the cancer scare of the '60s

And did so through members of 

Their governing boards was just

Frosting on the cake of their

Greedy deceptions.

c. J.S.Manista, 2016

*http://www.ciel.org/news/smoke-and-fumes/

**energyfactor.exxonmobil.com

***http://www.truth-out.org/news/item/37310-in-arctic-ancient-diseases-reanimate-and-highways-melt-as-temperatures-hit-frenzy-of-records

20160819 (photos)

Today's war boy, alive, five years old

Yesterday's war boy, drowned, three years old

Today’s war boy, alive, Omran 

Daqneesh, five years old, stares

Blankly ahead from behind his

Dust covered mop. He is in 

Some type of medical shock,

Not where blood pressure

Drops, consciousness fades. If 

Anything his consciousness 

Bristles with the images of what 

He has just beheld—a nearby 

Explosion that has shattered a

Building and covered him in

Concrete dust. Perhaps his ears

Have not recovered from the 

Sound. Bleeding from his head

He was hauled from the rubble

Of a building hit by a Russian

Or Assad regime airstrike. Early

Reports say he will recover. Oh?

Yesterday’s war boy, Alan Kurdi

Drowned, was only three. No 

Broken bones, and far from the

War-filled Syrian streets. The 

Family, fleeing the war paid to

Be smuggled across a small

Section of the Mediterranean,

When the inflatable boat, designed

For eight but carrying sixteen

Capsized. Their shoddy

Lifejackets failed.  His father

Was recovered; his brother and

Mother drowned. Reactions to 

The photographs were immediate,

Viral, as the word goes today.

The trope about pictures bearing

More meaning than words is

Inadequate to convey the

Larger scene not encompassed

In either or both. We respond to 

Images because they are more

Like being there ourselves and

Seeing with out own eyes. Words

Alone can describe compellingly

If they are artfully crafted but few

Approach the reality of the silent

Frame. Daqneesh’s is derived 

From a video clip which did 

Not record the explosion (could

Not replay the shattering, deafening

Noise, had it been recorded—that

Is left to our imaging). Just as the

Clip of waves washing against

Alan’s body, delivered to the beach,

Did not record his breaths, his 

Screams, gasps, or tears. What's 

Absent is the image of all 

Humankind screaming, “Stop the

Wars! All this is wrong. You’re 

Fighting for peace? While

Shredding our flesh? You’re 

Saving nothing but your vaunted

Manliness. You men who strong 

To kill are not strong enough to

Save. Obama, Putin, Assad, and

All you pusillanimous beheaders

Who talk the gullible into violent

Suicide, who delude young

People they are serving a proud

Cause. Liars—liars—liars, all!

There is no reason for another

To die.” Yet today’s world 

Of irate souls will return to

Travails of the Jenners and 

Kardashians, return to their 

Bombastic election prattle, and

Return to their busy lives

Easily forgetting the wars

Until the photo of tomorrow’s 

War child again sears 

Their retinas.

c. J.S.Manista, 2016

20160817 (answer)

Flatlands of Louisiana may have too much water but this summer's Ohio grass is finally green.

Recent rains have greened up the 

Brown grass of the neighborhood.

My back yard which had been 

Dormant for most of July has 

Responded to the waters of August

With vigorous, almost audible 

Growth. The weeds surrounding

Blitzer (the name Dinah gave her

Cast concrete wolf in the little

Druidic altar in front of the 

Stonehenge painted on the

Rear window of the garage and 

Behind the suggested circle of

Ancient pillars) are again almost

As high as a pachyderm’s eye.

I have twice pulled exuberant 

New weed growth from the 

Compost pile (indicates its

Fertility when it finally gets 

Churned into the sandy base

For the new owners’ gardens).

My practice with compost has

Been for over twenty years only

To keep piling on organic matter—

Green from summer grass, brown

From autumn leaves. My neighbor

From the Lee Road house (to 

Whom I gave permission in

Perpetuo to remove compost

From two areas of the Lee

Backyard), reports the stuff is

Better than GrowPup and seems

Inexhaustible, despite my never

Tediously turning it to get it 

In contact with fresh air nor 

Adding expensive worms nor

Ever measuring its PH and 

Adding appropriate chemicals.

Dumb luck to do what nature

Does—simply let it accumulate

And rot. And who do we thank 

For this recent fecundity—well,

God, of course—but in the more

Immediate events of the chain I’d

Lay this at the door of ExxonMobil

Whose carbon dioxide has so 

Warmed the earth as to enable 

The warmer air to hold (and then

Release) much larger volumes of

Water than in prior years. Wouldn’t

Be so bad if it wasn’t also the

Cause of those nasty floods on 

The Louisiana flatlands where

Droplets dumped in huge amounts 

Over short periods collect and 

Build rather than swiftly running

Off —killing twenty-two people

Before subsiding, making it to 

The Gulf, where it can mix with

The oil and thin it out just a

Smidge. I don’t need a fast-assed

Tesla to drive itself about in

High gear, slamming into 

Pedestrians and perambulators

Along the way. I‘d be pleased

As Pinocchio if they put an

Electric motor in my X-B

With an underside of batteries

I could charge every day

From the sunlight on my roof.

Occasional light rain would

Wash the panels clean. All

The old “gas” stations could

Service, wash, and wax our

Newly silent buggies.

c. J.S.Manista, 2016