Poem About Climate Change Novels & Stories

But as seconds passed and my body and soul decided to give up I just looked up at the stars and asked "Why can a single match make an explosion Why can a single drop pollute and entire ocean Why can a single matchstick made from a tree has the power to burn it down to ashes And why does everything has to end when it has just started." These 15 minutes of my life changed e 12614400 minutes of my life till now This very minute was going to end my very existence. And now with only few seconds left I want to ask moon goddess

that should not be possible but it was happening. I have always thought of these steps as something static. I have passed them so often, my black shoes making a gentle pitter patter on the stone-flecked grey. Today as I sit here waiting for Jared they are anything but; the wind moves dried leaves to pile up against them and the rain changes the hue one drop at a time. They sing with hundreds of footfalls in a single hour, and steal a fraction of heat from every one of them. Waiting does this, I guess. It gives one time to examine the ordinary and ask questions of things they simply take for granted. For a moment I wonder if it's like that with Jared, if he's become a part of my life I take f

You know, I’d like to brush your hair when things go ugly, as in when a tsunami hits the seawall and there’s no one to fix your hair out of fear. I will celebrate your eyes’ uncalculated blink as it might change the season from tinder-parched mornings to being 84 and still writing you poems. You know, I’d like to see you cry, laugh at people off to work, because you’re edged to clear the skies of jinx and throat-clogged pretensions. The paddling mallards, oh, I want to count

he asked, interested in my presentation; at least he looked interested. " Lately, the environment that we live in is slowly going into extinct. What I mean is, most if not all poets rather write poems about love or other factors if life, forgetting the location where all other factors take course. The few poems written about the environment, are not even written well. So I decided to bring that to notice." I answered, earning a wide smile from the other orators. " Well what are you waiting for? Dive in." the chairman said, smiling to his team.

**The Seeds of Tomorrow** Winter in Seabreeze slowly gave way to the early promise of spring, the snow melting into rivulets that fed the earth, coaxing new life from the ground. The air was still crisp, but there was a softness to it now—a warmth that spoke of renewal, of the world waking up after a long slumber. For Claire and Ethan, the changing season mirrored the shift in their own lives. The darkness and uncertainty that had once loomed over them had begun to fade, replaced by a growing sense of optimism and hope.

I nod a little. "Yeah. Yeah, it is, in its own way. But it's also dirty, and there's too many people, and all those people care too little about the footprint they leave behind. We have beautiful oceans full of amazing and wonderful creatures. But there's plastic wrapped around those creatures' necks, and there's mountains of trash at the bottom of those sparkling waters. We have tall mountains that touch the sky, but there's corpses littering the peaks of the most challenging ones. We use so much of our worlds resources it's begun to melt even the coldest of climates and has turned our winters warm." We're walking down the path now, shoulder to shoulder. Erik knocks branches out of my way a

the memory of the extinctions that were already happening in 2024—the bleaching corals, the vanishing insects, the warming ice. "The Earth isn't 'Auditing' us, Silas," Avery said, turning to her father as the garden around them began to "Shimmer" with a faint, violet haze. "It’s 'Recruiting' us. It’s creating a 'Shared-Neural-Lattice' to help us survive the climate-shift. But if we 'Resist' it—if we try to 'Standardize' it into a product—it will turn into the 'Winter' I remember."

“Let’s see it.” I turned the paper over, and revealed the poem scrawled in pencil on the back. Down the streets of woodland black I wander, earth to hearse In every tree I see a wave A looming tidal curse On the cusp of something greater Stood ankle-deep in floodwater Stagnant pools of brown and red The onslaught is coming; I dread For each dark night and each pearl day The mist does clear too soon The floodplain is drown’d again The water, torn from its ocean womb

I gather speed Yes, I gather the speed I know whom to blame I know why to not Live in shame With the snow With the snow Near all my home It is panic at times When food goes stale And there is no way To walk away for more But I will live the same way In snow But I know my way I make my way Through snow Despite the snow and storm Despite the torturous hour After hours I make my way through ice stones I know it's going to help me Long long way What I do today The fight I witness today But then, for nothing to stay Not even climate change At its own old and new pace Will stay I know the truth about weather I know my life will create its way From door to door The marketer goes There is food again

Like a flower that loses its beauty; so is the present that is happening to the whole country. Darkness forces beauty to mourn, darkening the happy atmosphere without being prevented. Gloom, that's all that's left. An eclipse comes between freezing snows. However, it actually lasted longer in retaliation for the delay. They said the darkness was created by a child. Dark and terrible poems about it began to surface. The girl fell like drops of rain from above the horror. She stood like a haughty tower in the distance. She limped in a gray cloud, like dawn breathing death.