Lu Zenghai is building an ark
to float his family safe through what he thinks
is another flood coming & we laugh,
the way they laughed at Noah
because he is millenia out of fashion
in survival techniques
in the ’50s, 60s & ’70s
bomb shelters were the fashion
of the passionately paranoid
while we children crawled under desks
in school, whispering below
the shriek of sirens
singing down bombs
that never struck
as if planes were the real threat
what protection would those desks offer
from warheads that were aimed
but never deployed
just stockpiled in a race
with no winners
no–there was no running from that
no matter how deep you dug
or how thick you poured
concrete walls
the survivalists appeared again
for the Y2K disaster
that never happened
but they kept their propane tanks
& tinned beef/just in case
& now people of similar preparedness
bordering on insanity have catalogs
& order apocalypse survival kits,
backpacks heavy with water purifiers
& jerky. the best have bullets
(gun not included)
for hunting or protecting
what earth
remains soft enough to till
or build on
odd, if you think of it
with most everyone else dead
& the planet empty to choose space from
what would be left worth killing
or worth fighting over
to own?
Related articles
- apocalypse poem #4 (it’s temporary) (susandanielspoetry.com)
- apocalypse poem #2 (longing for apocalypse) (susandanielspoetry.com)
- apocalypse poem #1 (susandanielspoetry.com)
- apocalypse poem #3 (daily faith) (susandanielspoetry.com)
Susan Daniels Poetry 
I was very disappointed with Y2K
Oh, me too–all those hours spent editing and recompiling programs–loads and loads of work for me, and then–pffffft. I wanted at least a few rumbles (although coming from nothing I had written for GE, LOL).
ever see that bomb shelter episode on the Twilight Zone? your poem conjured up that same panic and turn on your fellow man mindset.. love it Susan.
Audra–thanks so much–I’m glad that is your response, because that’s what I wanted to catch…
Provocative poem. I wonder if fighting would continue as a way of staying sane – which would be the ultimate insanity.
Oh, I like the way your mind works.
this one gave me the chills. strong work, Susan!
Miriam, thank you…
A manifesto for the reflecting pacifist! well painted!
Thanks, Noel! I firmly believe (hypothetically) if there are 2 men left alive (not a man and a woman, or a woman and a woman), at some point they will find a way to fight over the ashes and bones. Am I being a pessimist? BTW, my mind is loving all of these “what if” scenarios…
I guess people grasp at anything at the prospect of losing everything in order to feel they have some control. Lots to think about here. Very nice!
Adriene, thank you. Think you have hit on something true re.the psychology at play here.
Have you been checking my new header?!
Anyway #17 and #2b aside – whoa – you totally Christmasified your bloghouse!!
That was unexpected. I like it though – festive not glitzy (festish?) 🙂
Hahaha–I am going to say your new header must have seeped into my consciousness for this poem, because it has certainly made me chuckle a time or two. I am going to have to give you credit for that, Mike… Thanks for liking my holiday decorating. Btw–I also like festish, which reads an awful lot like fetish, one of my favorite words 😉
It’s also dangerously close to fistish – but let’s not go there! 😉
OUCH! Yes, let’s not go there…
Wonderful Wonderful Wonderful NEW DESIGN! ESPECIALLY YOUR BEAUTIFUL WRITING SUSAN!
Awww–thanks, Deb!
Pingback: apocalypse poem #6–the prophet | Susan Daniels Poetry
Heh, how well I recall the to our knees cover head with hands routine practised during the Cuban missile crisis. Crazy time.
Yes, indeedy. We were still doing that in the early 70s when I was in grade school. Do not remember exactly when it stopped, only that it did finally stop.
Pingback: apocalypse poem #7–terminus | Susan Daniels Poetry
I am back. 🙂 Exactly my sentiments, Susan. What will be left on that day to destroy or fight over? probably our sinful, selfish and grabbing souls. Well done
First, glad you are back, and second–yYes, I can see us, squabbling over the little that is left to or of us.