The American White Ibis

The American White Ibis

will stay

on Florida’s shores

until the winds

blow the scales away

just so it can look

a hurricane

in the eye.

When faced with

Harvey, Irma, Maria

and the other seven

claiming the Atlantic

as their base,

the innate talent

for flight

becomes fragile.

How a being stays

watching

a giant grow

is beyond

evolutionary instinct.

It is a rebellion,

a resistance

until the whistles

of approach

become the call

to retreat

Retreat -not defeat-

for once the tide subsides,

the damage the siblings caused

is not enough to convince

a population

to a more permanent residence.

Note: This poem was inspired by the description of the American White Ibis in Micheal Largo’s book The Big Bad Book of Beasts.

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The American White Ibis by Cheyenne Alexandria Phillips is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.

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Extinction or Fly Home Martha

Hey everyone, I know that the New Year is coming up and usually it is a very happy time but I would like to take this opportunity to remind you that as we say Goodbye to 2017, we also say goodbye to many species that have lost their lives to habitat destruction, climate change and direct human impact. I hope in 2018, you vow to make personal changes that will ultimately positively affect the environment and keep the massive picture we know as Biodiversity intact. 

Extinction
(or Fly Home Martha)

I once read
of how we lost
so much life that
we were never
able to revive it,
that regardless of efforts,
the impulse of
uneducated decisions
left empty spaces;
missing pieces of a jigsaw
we were still
proud to frame.
What would Martha say
about her hole,
her blemish?
She did what others
before her did
and after still do,
100 years later.
Martha left us
and without passenger,
made her way home.

Note: This poem is inspired by Martha, the last passenger pigeon ever, who died in Cincinatti Zoo in 1914, and all other species that have become extinct due to human impacts.  It should be noted that Martha never produced an egg in her lifetime.
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How Glitter Transforms

Hey everyone! I know we are approaching Christmas and while everyone is going about their festivities, remember to take some time to consider how you are celebrating. Here is a piece about Glitter and some of it’s effects on the environment. Also I’ve been putting some of the science poems on instagram ( @poetic_science) so do check that page out too.

A bit of sparkle never hurt anyone
Was what she said
When she sprayed the gloss
Into my adolescent hair,
The year I was an angel
For christmas.

It is funny how
Glitter is transformative,
How
Two thousand tiny specks
To bring a shine
To matte hair
And radiance
To an ancient scene.
I wonder if angels knew about
The stars caught
In the tangles of locks
That evening
When we celebrated
The birth of a saviour.

 

A bit of sparkle never hurt anyone
Is a phrase I dare not repeat today.
It is a mistake
Two thousand of them, actually

 

A little sparkle never hurt anyone,

she said when she locked the stars

into my adolescent hair the night

glitter transformed me into an angel

to celebrate the birth of a saviour.

I wonder how many births were missed

when glitter washed fertility away
And choked others

with clogged immune systems.

I wonder how we preach for change

claiming to be saviours

while drinking our dead

transformative action.

A little sparkle never hurt anyone

is a mistake made

over two thousand times,

when dead stars kept being scrubbed off

for days after.

No one knows how deadly a sparkle can be

when you don’t notice its shine anymore.

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How Glitter Transforms by Cheyenne Alexandria Phillips is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.

Quantam Entanglement

Two electrons kiss,
and become entangled
ever bound to the other
you spin and shift and change
and even lightyears away I do the same

they call this quantum entanglement.
two pieces of a vast universe
that belong to each other.
the atomic level of love.

that is how I love you
even worlds apart I belong to you
I feel you when you are happy
or sad, or tired. When you long for me.
I feel your heart beating inside,
even though your chest is where it resides

Entanglement, the only way to describe our love
I could know no other.
It begs the question, why we feel so alone in this vast place.
We are two atoms huddled in cold dark space

Your energy is the spark in me.
I would move cosmos,
break the laws of the universe
just to be near you.
there is no law more powerful

than you and me.
entangled for eternity.

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Bamboo

It may not look like much
after a year’s worth of effort
to call the first sprout:
Progress,
especially
when promised a bounty.
Fortune comes in small packages:
underneath the levity
is a system expanding,
sourcing
for the strength
to carry the weight
of a phenomenon.

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Bamboo by Cheyenne Alexandria Phillips is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.

Race

In the race between
the body and the soul,
overheating is likely to occur
in those
who ran through the park
climbed the watchtowers
and strolled to the shoreline
to wave to the ocean.

Spontaneous combustion
forcing focused cells
from their frame;
a dust trail
with every step.
And the rhythmic
crunch of leaves
continue…

 

                                               …and the rhythmic
                                                  crunch of leaves
                                                  continue…

                                                                                                …and the rhythmic
                                                                                                   crunch of leaves
                                                                                                   continue…

setting a pace
for others to follow,
carving a detour
worth the view.

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House Guest House Pest

House Guest House Pest

(after the book of the same title by Richard Jones. The book is about insects, rodents and other animals (or pests) that have been living with humans throughout history, whether we like it or not.)

Moving
from tree-tops
to mud coated caves
to the furnished interior
of cemented walls,
this sacred space
needs no intrusion
from the world
I evolved from.
But making a new start
in the same small town
my divorce was filed in
leaves a residual presence
of an experience
I catalogued as ‘the past’,
a book sitting on the shelf
called ‘the present’.
They say
draw an outline,
disrupt the triggers,
give no reason,
no hiding place,
no nook,
no cranny,
for anyone
to crawl back into my life.
What they don’t realise
is that I’m living
infested;
my comfort zone:
a small square
on their land.

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House Guest House Pest by Cheyenne Alexandria Phillips is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.