extinction

Durchsage / Announcement (Schlußverkauf IV)

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment


Der große Schlußverkauf

IV.

Durchsage

Der Schlußverkauf
ist durchgehend.
Greifen wir zu!

Das Tropenjoghurt
ist einfach bezaubernd
und zweifellos zuckerfrei.

Der Waffenstillstand
ist langfristig.
Entspannen wir uns.

Etwaige Wirkstoffe
sind im Gleichgewicht.
Auf Ihre Gesundheit!

Seien Sie versichert:
Sie sind versorgt.
Die Zukunft ist da!

Spenden Sie am Ausgang.
Die letzten Elefanten
werden’s Ihnen danken.

Christina Egan ©2023


The great sales

IV.

Announcement

The sales
are permanent.
Take your pick!

The tropical yoghurt
is simply enchanting
and doubtlessly sugar-free.

The truce
is long-term.
Just relax.

Additive agents
are in equilibrium.
To your health!

Rest reassured:
You are provided for.
The future is here!

Donate at the exit.
The last elephants
will send their thanks.

Christina Egan ©2023

For the first poems of The Great Sales, see Erdbeerjoghurt (“Wir sitzen im Erdbeerjoghurt.”) , Klebstoff (“Wir verwandeln die Welt in einen Erlebnispark.”) and Gegengifte (“Schluck es, das Gegengift und das Nebengift.”).

Riders of the Whales

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

Riders of the Whales

I turn my face towards you
the riders of the waves
the riders of the whales
not as masters
but as friends
I lay the shimmering isles
into your unknown hands

I lift my smile
like a bright-blue flag
to one who wields the wand
and strikes the rock
to turn the wasteland
velvety and fragrant
once again

I lift my cup
of bittersweet brew
to one who turns the wheel
and shifts the clouds
to make the frosty stream
a sparkling wall
once again

I sweep the ashes
and lay the bricks
I feed the seeds for you
I grow the words for you
I beg your forgiveness
and scatter blessings on you
the yet unborn

Christina Egan ©2021

The Forest on Fire

~ Christina Egan ~ Leave a comment

The Forest on Fire

The forest on fire, filling the screen,
catches your eye, the living torches
of the towering pines, the sore soles
of the koalas, the bent skeletons
of the verandas. You notice at last
the whale on your doorstep,
led astray, stranded, gasping, or
the regal white bird, its wide wings
spread out on your beach, already
choked on your civilisation. Where
is the lark? Half your precious planet
is about to be razed. Face it.

When you rush out now to fight
the fire, the flood, and the festering waste,
do you not know it is too late
for you, yourself? The biting fumes
are invisibly running in the rivers
of your blood, the glittering garbage
is secretly heaped in the caves
of your bones, the drugs and counter-drugs
skip around in your brain. Doomed
you confess to be? You are due,
overdue. Half your precious life
has already been cancelled. It’s gone.

Christina Egan ©2021