A slab of flesh so grotesquely desired
Drowning in grease, not advised or required
Clogging the arteries, clearly a vice
But the non-human victim pays the real price.
Without anesthesia, as babies they’re maimed
Billions of beings, unique but unnamed
Bodies imprisoned, minds that go mad
Severely they suffer, so intensively sad.
Like 3-year old humans, alert and aware
Of stifling indifference so thick in the air
Their only release, a torturous end
They’ll never know freedom or the warmth of a friend.
Throats will be slit, blood will be spattered
Consciously boiled, but what does it matter?
Who mourns the loss of each innocent soul?
When misery makes such a great bacon bowl!
Who cares that you pay to put others through hell?
Sizzling sorrow has such a nice smell!
So what if each piece causes torment and pain
There are lives to be lost and diseases to gain!
Each slice of bacon costs more than you think
It belonged to a playful little bundle of pink
With a curious demeanor and a sweet, squishy snout
They’re the who, not the what, this poem’s really about.
Photo by Erin Wilderman
With silent persistence you patiently wait
On your intricate world spun of silk
Sensing a quiver so swiftly you scramble
You’ve snared your next victim to milk.
A creature so hated but also revered
Without you we wouldn’t exist
Crops wouldn’t flourish, famine would spread
Disease would prevail and persist.
A dominant predator whose presence is vital
To preserve the health of this sphere
A functional artist, a formidable ally
A being to admire, not fear.
Place faith in facts, not superstition
We dread what we don’t comprehend
It’s important to share space compassionately
With our incredible 8 legged friends.
Photography by Vanessa Sarges
Deep baby blues
Such vast seas of sorrow
They’ve never seen mercy
And they won’t see tomorrow.
For a shred of relief
From continual torment
And perpetual grief.
They puncture my heart
And bleed my eyes dry
Almost-human eyes haunt me
Asking me why
Begging for kindness
Some semblance of grace
A sweet, hopeful gaze
On each innocent face.
I offer them water
A stroke on the snout
They silently question
If I’ll let them all out
Their senses are heightened
Each sound, each new smell
Since all of their lives
They’ve been locked inside hell.
They are promised through tears
As the semi departs
I’ll continue the struggle
Changing minds, touching hearts
Your beautiful blues
Will become a clear voice
Make the compassionate choice
Photography by Vanessa Sarges
Anonymous at birth
Anonymous at death
You’re a piece, a part, a unit
A number with a breath.
A unique personality
With one common name
And tangible feelings
No two the same.
Few will ever meet you
Or mourn your tragic end
You never had an ally
You never had a friend.
Through portholes in the metal
Our somber eyes unite
We promise you through silent tears
We won’t give up our fight.
We try our best to comfort you
Your dignity embraced
Through photographs we’re changing hearts
With each angelic face.
To us you weren’t an object
And although your soul’s departed
We refuse to let compassion die
The ripple’s only started.
“Auschwitz begins wherever someone looks at a slaughterhouse and thinks: they’re only animals.”
― Theodor W. Adorno
Near an overturned trailer, wheels still in motion
Feathers surf wind like the waves of an ocean
Dipping and dancing a soft pirouette
Gracefully pleading, “Please don’t forget.”
Don’t overlook the lives that were lost
Don’t undervalue what apathy cost
Don’t close your hearts to the pain we endured
To our dismal existence, the cries no one heard.
Wheels now at rest, the cleanup crew arrives
No one speaks about beings, no one talks about lives
How much money was spent? How much money was lost?
Can the truck be repaired? How much will it cost?
“No one was injured,” the reporters all say
Just a huge “inconvenience” to commuters today
Not one single mention, no compassionate words
Are spoken in honor of 200 birds
Bodies casually scraped off the road where they lay
Treated like garbage and thrown away.
The cleanup now done, there is almost no trace
But the wind wants an encore and picks up the pace
White plumage performs one last pirouette
As if to implore, “Please never forget.”