NaPoWriMo #11: V8 Melody

The last wail of a dying breed,
a thunderous eight cylinder bellow
facilitated by perpetual ignition,
by the constant cranking of pistons
and the onslaught of fresh oil.

Yet the habitat of the V8 diminished.
The roads it roamed in ancient times
now infested by silent hybrids
and lifeless, whirring batteries,
imitations of the age of oil.

Perhaps it was inevitable.
To survive by guzzling and burning
fuel till the fumes choked the sky,
the eight pistons rattled along
until their sustenance evaporated.

On a few isolated country roads,
a distant roar can be heard
by those who stop and listen
for a rising and falling vibrato,
the final note of the melody.

Dead Earth Sunrise

Seconds before the dawn,
the cool of the night
is still a simmering furnace.

The crest of the sun,
a red colossus of violent rays,
eliminating anything
with the will to survive.

The trees, the savannahs,
the tundra, the ice fields,
they all submitted to the genesis
of a global carbonised desert.
Lava seas destroyed what was once
a green a blue orb
on a vibrant solar chain.

The sun expands to engulf the sky,
the heat stirring the flames
as it swallows the atmosphere,
the last morning of a silent earth.

Iguana Nostradamus

Algae going

I was basking on the rocks
on the shores of Fernandina
with half of my colony
nestled together, a scaly thicket.
Then it occurred to me.

Algae going.

The sea is warm of late,
the greenery on the rocks
battered by constant surf
is withering of late,
and I see less of the penguins.

Algae going.

I foresee thunderstorms
as heralds of the warming,
lightning, twisted and contorted,
flashes above the islands.

Algae gone.

The colony is withered,
husks of lizards litter
the petrified beaches
and the skeletal reefs.