Rolling Coal

Rolling Coal

Rolling Coal32 in ’85, in a B model Mack
more than 20 years old, accelerating
from each light with gray-black smoke
spewing a cloud of death, my signature
the black particles settling everywhere,
to my great embarrassment.

Mental notes, gathered through the day
while I struggle with a transmission
that has seen better days, jotted down
at day’s end, nothing more than rants
about profit over ecology, an economy
of words just short of poetry.

Three more years before those dinosaurs
are retired, even then seen around town,
someone else’s signature, and my writing
turns to things internal, poetry. Even so,
trucks that shift like fluid, leave fewer visible
traces of their passing, continue with emissions.

’06 and retirement, just when electronics-
tailored engines start to address air quality.
No longer my concern, but isn’t it?
More time means more time outdoors,
just as conscious, my appreciation reflected
in my poems composed on a kayak.

Driving home after a day on the water, I wait
for the light to change. Some people never do.
Green light, and the pickup ahead takes off,
rolling coal enveloping my car in black. Too late
to close my vents, all I see and taste is black.
Hoping to clear the air, I pull over to take notes.


This poem is my response to earthweal weekly challenge: EARTHCRAFT.

In 1985, I lost my job on the loading dock of a trucking company when a merger brought in men with more seniority. I had obtained my CDL (back then called a Class 1 license) when I was twenty-one, but had never used it. That license led to my next job in local pickup and delivery and served me until I retired in 2006. At first, I was low man on the totem pole at the new company, with no choice of equipment. I often drove the oldest trucks in the fleet. Emission standards were very lax at the time, and those trucks were in sad need of retirement. Nowadays, it’s not uncommon to see diesel-powered pickups with exhaust systems modified to bypass emission controls. The drivers are called “coal rollers” for their practice of blasting pedestrians, etc., with their black exhaust. The trucks I was embarrassed to drive in 1985, for the same company as the image, looked much worse than that picture.

Till There Is Nothing ~ quadrille

Till There Is Nothing

Must it be, to find tranquility,
our search must be beyond
the reach of hands that spoil
the land till there is nothing
more than barren waste?
We hasten our demise, the seas
and forests soon like the moon,
little more than a dream.

My mind immediately turned to the Sea of Tranquility when I saw the prompt from Lillian at dVerse … the most beautiful words are … which is to write a quadrille (a 44-word poem that does not require meter or rhyme) using tranquility.

Image: full moon, 22 November 2018

It’s in the Bag

It's in the Bag.jpg

It’s in the Bag

Plastic shards will congregate
Coat the world till it’s too late
Choke the sea, and with it life
Desolation will be rife

If we don’t reverse this trend
Our planet will meet its end
Wasting the intrinsic worth
And splendor of our fair Earth

The prompt for Shall We Gather? from Lillian at dVerse is to write a quadrille that includes the word “gather” or a form of the word.

A quadrille is a 44-word poem, with no other restrictions (except the prompt word).
Unfortunately, as noted by Lillian in the comments below, “congregate” is not a form of the word “gather.”

Image source:
National/Global Poetry Writing Month ~ Day 24

NaPoWriMo 2018