Belinda Subraman (Climate Change, Eco-activism, Whisperings of Social Justice)

Belinda Subraman

Besides writing and publishing for decades Belinda Subraman was a Registered Nurse for 14 years, mostly in hospice. She’s also an artist working in ink and acrylics. Belinda’s art and poetry have appeared in many publications both online and in print. She is editor and publisher of GAS: Poetry, Art and Music, an online zine and video show as well as a group on Facebook. She was recently named State of Texas Beat Poet Laureate (2023-2025)

 

Insomnia Again

 

In these insane times

I tell Alexa to play

rainforest sounds and she does.

The 4k tv plays the war on Ukraine.

A tyrant threatens a nuclear plant

while some politicians

cheer him on.

 

We’re killing what sustains us

with singular egos

and loss of connection

creating dramatic times

living in a pandemic

on the edge of a war

that could wipe the earth

of its human infestation.

 

Nature will win.

New life will rise

from our ashes.




 

 

Spring 2022

 

The Pandemic is waning but still present.

Now the threat of WW3 blossoms before Spring.

 

Evergreen mesquite and cacti

are unchanged

as I learn more friends are dying.

 

The still bare trees are pregnant.

 

Weeds are already here

but green and flowering.

I leave them

and love them for now.

 

Each year Spring is more important

to see the brown and withered wake up

to know everything lives again.


 

 

Earth Day

 

I nurture self-planted Mesquite trees 

outside my desert home.

I do not “own” the land

but my husband says he does.

He’ll do with it as he likes. 

He says he’s boss

and he wants the new trees gone.

I’m the the one who tends the greenery

mostly cacti, creosote and sage bushes

front yard and back. I water and trim

and painfully “weed”. 

(I welcome all green

because so little grows here 

but I do this for him.)

He declares the Mesquites will disappear.

They’re not following the rules.

I plead, “Please don’t. I nurture them.”

Now he’s bought a chainsaw.

I know his plan.

Soon I will be gone all day, selling art.

In a last ditch effort and in vain,

I’ll leave a note that says

“Please don’t kill what I love.”

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