Poems About Pollution 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

She couldn't help but feel that she was on the verge of something spectacular, history about to be made that the civilised world had only heard about in legend. Millions of people were set to die, and they were all going to perish without knowing a bit. She wanted to laugh but couldn't, not yet anyway. Sure, there were some innocents among the ants scurrying around the pavements. But that was how life was. Sometimes innocent people are killed. And, if it was for a good cause, did their deaths become meaningless or in vain? She didn't think so. Thailand was a major polluter of the sea, air, and land. Every day, massive amounts of waste are heaped up in gigantic landfills or dumped into bodies

“So?” He was marginally disappointed she hadn't acknowledged his effort, purely on her behalf, to remember something he found so utterly banal. “Normally, the warmed air generated by the city rises, carrying this pollution away. With this particular phenomenon, the atmospheric rise is stopped. The air becomes still and heavy, as we’ve already seen. Dust and pollutants are suspended in the coal smoke and trapped against the ground.”

Though the storm rocks our boats and the gentle wind eases our rows, our peace still ebbs and flows, because until our eyes are fixed beyond the sun, our nostrils will know less roses than our skin the thorns. In a of white and black world, let's be just enough to repel these filthy shades of grey. Karma is a poet, so please the arms that make you less a prey, because until our eyes are fixed beyond the sun, our nostrils will know less roses than our skin the thorns. So let us milk the cow while it is still dawn, for the night comes, when only the diligent will be able to admire the milk he weighed. Even if the sun rises on our evening wake, time will surely set on our wasted years, then our

after everything I went through, still just insults I did my study on those creatures for years, and I can still remember some of my favourite poetry and poems I read as a kid A Last Word by Ernest Dowson Let us go hence: the night is now at hand; The day is overworn, the birds all flown; And we have reaped the crops the gods have sown; Despair and death; deep darkness o'er the land, Broods like an owl; we cannot understand Laughter or tears, for we have only known Surpassing vanity: vain things alone Have driven our perverse and aimless band. Let us go hence, somewhither strange and cold, To Hollow Lands where just men and unjust Find end of labour, where's rest for the old, Freedom to all

To me this has to be perfect and also possible for more further developments, as it will become one of Aeternum largest and most visited place in the entire nation. “...Aside from the public order…Andrea…I want Resource department to implemented the Newest Constructions technique on all the building that will be built..also…Have all the botanical expert to figure out..on how to find a solutions on how to cleanse pollution…Industrial Zones..will not only be bustling with activities..but also be filled with harmful smokes, land and water pollution…we need to at least be ready to addressed this issue before it becomes rather to big for us to handle…I do heard that there’s a plants that can do t

The dawn was majestic when I arrived at Hagnaya Port. The sky was painted in shades of orange and red, like a furious artist had flung his palette in a burst of creative anger, leaving behind a mess of colors—raw yet stunning. Waves crashed against the shore, their deafening retreat mingling with the soggy groan of truck tires on damp soil. Though the area had been swept, bits of trash still lingered in forgotten corners, a testament to either the cleaners’ low pay or the never-ending tide of litter.

wonder plants. perfumed by poetry or—philosophy. the Ecosystem, the still neon-twinkling thought of. the world: you & me & this apparition of faces, Notre Dame burning out of time w/ Kreymborg flowers all phrasally rooted to the print composition of ‘vers libertines’ in Others. where is the Other in The Waste Pound & Other Poems? subjected to, quarterly slicing open, the social subjectile: my dear abiotic of the super blood wolf moon, Make it new!

“The more evil people die, the more the world is cleansed of pollution.” I looked away, biting my tongue to stop myself from screaming at him.

The mindless animal killers and me. I often hear kids say, ‘There goes the freak.’ And ‘Look, there goes the Pig Lover!’ I know being in China doesn’t help my cause. This country is completely obsessed with demolishing every living thing on this earth and every organ they so desperately need. My nostrils are constantly soured by the grotesque odor of the recently slain that’s one line from one of my poems, so as you can see, I have a skill in the art of expression, too. Not that anyone knows, my gifts are kept hidden, hidden in a blank smile. And sometimes a sigh.