Back OpEd News | |||||||
Original Content at https://www.opednews.com/articles/Capturing-scraps-of-the-Ap-Poems_Poetry-240214-226.html (Note: You can view every article as one long page if you sign up as an Advocate Member, or higher). |
February 14, 2024
Capturing scraps of the Apocalypse: Abdicating my Plastic Crown followed by a reflection
By Gary Lindorff
Some plastic turns brittle like eggshell / As if waiting for any kind of human contact to disintegrate.
::::::::
I have my bucket provided by the park
And I have my long-handled pincers
For capturing scraps without bending my knee.
I am picking up trash from the high tide line.
A few days ago the seas were rough,
The flag was red and it stayed red
For the rest of the week.
That was when the weather swept the sea.
And the seaweed is masterful
At holding bits of balloons and ribbon
Nylon rope, bottle caps, partial containers
Pen carcasses, toothbrushes without bristles . . .
Some plastic turns brittle like eggshell
As if waiting for any kind of human contact to disintegrate.
There are spoons and forks from take-out,
And straws that seem designed to last forever.
(Let me dwell on straws for just a minute.
Almost weightless, they roll and float with ease,
Putting up no resistance, allowing
The sea to flow through, as if sipping eternity)
Bottle caps are close runner-ups
For riding out the Apocalypse.
Their work of sealing long forgotten
They seem to be enjoying their retirement,
Contributing points of unnatural color to the beach:
Primary colors and black and white.
It does not escape me that my bucket is made of plastic
As is my bathing suit and T-shirt.
And my shoes and my socks and my crown
Which is a composite of ceramic and plastic
And my hearing aids.
I started out contemptuous of those of us who litter
But I ended up feeling like I was in a haiku:
I choose to pick trash
From the beach without judgment,
My crown of plastic.
.............
This poem plays on the double meaning of crown as a cap of a damaged tooth and the imagined plastic crown of my pseudo superiority to the trash I am picking from the seaweed from my favorite beach. Sure, I am privileged to be able to spend time in Florida and visit my favorite beaches. And I am literally from a "land far away" from this giant conservative paradise. I truly see myself as something of a foreigner down here in this politically backwards state where I obviously don't belong. My closest friend is a banyan tree that I visit every few days and open my heart to. I'm sure there are plenty of nice people in Florida who would like and accept me as I am, but my wife and I are happy just hanging out together at the beach, our choice being the one at John D. MacArthur State Park that you have to cross an estuary to access. The park provides buckets and litter nabbers for anyone who wants to clean up the junk that seems to be getting worse each year. My plastic crown is my pseudo immunity from being counted among those low-lifes who trash the ocean. Sure, I sort and recycle and I like to think that the amount of junk that we contribute to the landfill is minimal compared to what the average person is throwing out. (Americans throw out 4.9 pounds of trash per person every day -- that's nearly 1,800 pounds of materials per American every year. Our contribution is probably a third of this, but that is bad enough.) The thing is, although there are no statistics, my guess is that when there is even a slightly higher surge in the tides (not talking storms here, just an abnormally large surf and an onshore prevailing wind), the saltwater finds stuff that even slobs wouldn't leave behind when they pack up their beach chairs and roll up their towels to evacuate their outposts in the sun. (Also there are those who toss litter off boats for turtles and fish and dolphins to sample -- they will rot in the hottest circle of Hell.) My point is, I think most of the litter that winds up in the sea and in the seaweed is coming from a new source -- hedges and dunes that used to be high and dry, beyond the pale of the surge. Florida is basically a big reef. The highest elevation in FL is 300 feet, a couple of miles from Alabama but most of the state is just a few feet above sea level. When the seas really start to rise within the next decade, there is going to be a lot of litter on the beaches. I sadly predict that at some point even people like me won't see the point. So, how about you? Are you wearing a plastic crown?
(Article changed on Feb 17, 2024 at 8:45 AM EST)
(Article changed on Feb 17, 2024 at 10:06 AM EST)
(Article changed on Feb 17, 2024 at 10:11 AM EST)
(Article changed on Feb 17, 2024 at 1:49 PM EST)
Gary Lindorff is a poet, writer, blogger and author of five nonfiction books, three collections of poetry, "Children to the Mountain", "The Last recurrent Dream" (Two Plum Press), "Conversations with Poetry (coauthored with Tom Cowan), and a memoir, "Finding Myself in Time: Facing the Music". Lindorff calls himself an activist poet, channeling his activism through poetic voice. He also writes with other voices in other poetic styles: ecstatic, experimental and performance and a new genre, sand-blasted poems where he randomly picks sentence fragments from books drawn from his library, lists them, divides them into stanzas and looks for patterns. Sand-blasted poems are meant to be performed aloud with musical accompaniment.
He is a practicing dream worker(with a strong, Jungian background) and a shamanic practitioner. His shamanic work is continually deepening his partnership with the land. This work can assume many forms, solo and communal, among them: prayer, vision questing, ritual sweating, and sharing stories by the fire. He is a born-pacifist and attempts to walk the path of non-violence believing that no war is necessary or inevitable.