I imagine us, coexisting with the too hot summer sun
How burns our bodies and runs us dry
Our lungs struggle to keep up
With the demand of breathing through the heat wave
The water supply wanes low
While our throats beg for every last drop
We are malnourished
Wheat fields, fruit trees, Grandma’s vegetable garden
All perished, victims of the Earth
Survival dependent on lab-grown food
Carefully engineered slop we now put in our bodies
How we feel like machinery, rather than humans
The city’s population is dropping
The once vibrant streets are barren
The rich have moved to Greenland, the poor have died
The rest live in limbo, a state of suffering
We’re too tired to socialize, to think for ourselves
Without the help of mindless robots
We are left to think back into the past
To think that maybe we screamed louder, Fought corporations,
Looked after our planet just a little bit closer
We wouldn’t be here
How maybe we’d be happy, how we’d live rather than survive
Yet, in such an apocalyptic scenario, the worst we can do is sulkAnd become victims our circumstances
Because even if 100 years forward, Earth is beyond damaged We still have the option to pick up the pieces
To clean plastic off the ground, rivers, lakes, and oceans
To let the sun fuel us rather than fossils
Why should we submit to despair when it comes to our home?
Only Ocean
Fiction by Rashea McGee
As we all gather around my grandmother on the boat, she talks to us about a time where everyone could walk on something called the land? She mentions how it was so much better than having to be in water all the time but that's all there is. "No one paid attention to global warming," she grumbles to herself. My grandmother always hated being on the boat and stated that land was better, easier.
But, I think she's just crazy, there's always only been the ocean.
Earth Day Poem by
Joey Knizner
When the fields dry and burn
When the air is black and the wind no longer turns
When we drain the oceans to sate the thirst of a data center
When the plants die and the trees sigh
When the factory smog suffocates the stars
When climate change becomes climate changed
When the only green on Earth Day are greenback notes
Will it have been worth it?
To exploit the only home we had?
Tipping Point
Fiction by Mary Pat Zink
“How did it get to this point?” I try to ask aloud, but the thick smog chokes out my words. “As far as I can tell, I am the last human alive. The string of catastrophes that plagued us have finally come to a calm. But the destruction is complete. Oh, how did we end up to this point? We were warned of climate change and the harm we were causing to the planet. Yet we did not listen. So instead, we were forced to notice. First came the waters. The melting ice caps in theArctic caused a torrent of rain and crashing waves. Then came the winds.All over wind blew sand, soil, and all debris in every which way. Then the earth quakes. These were the worst. There were people who thought they were safe and that everything would eventually calm. They thought this until the earth shook and they saw their loved ones on the other side of the house fall into the gapping earth and be swallowed by the darkness. More torments came that I cannot recall. But the earth has become so marred and maimed that I do not know anymore where I am. I started in Ohio, but now I could be anywhere from Paris toAfghanistan.
The only thing I know is that I am alone as I wander this desolate wasteland we animals known as humanity used to call home. I ask myself how we got to this point, but the answer is clear. We turned on it, so it turned on us. We choked its resources, so it choked us. We slowly killed it, so it retaliated by mercilessly slaughtering us.”
Happy Earth Day!
The Year is 2126
Poem by Josh Mansu
Plastic pollution covers the earth
To get to water, you have to walk miles across plastic vortices
Our bodies have more microplastics than ever
Our Earth is losing its greens
All of what makes it a home
Sea creatures are going extinct every single day
We are running out of clean water and food
Was your plastic bottle, your plastic straw, that important?
Was all of your plastic worth it?
Rage of Iran
Fiction byAvione DeVond
June 10th, 2026
Abig storm was coming. they named it Hurricane Iran--the first storm predicted to hit all 50 states. It was around 3:12AM--the devil's hour and packed up in Donald Trump's office was the elites. Hegseth, Noem, Patel, and Trump all ignorantly playing around with not a concern in the world.
Hegseth, doing what he does, picked up his glass, filled to the brim with a '63 Singani and said, "Well. It’s gonna be a lot of bodies after this storm. Suckers."
Noem, like the puppet she is, sat underneath the portrait ofAndrew Jackson so she could stay close to D.T, snickering at Hegseth’s stupidity. There was no preparation. There were no plans. They were "elite." Surely the storm would pass over them. Little did they know the storm wouldn't hit the 50 states; it would only go to one place the capital.As 4 am approached, the deafening calm before the storm plagued the hallways of the Capitol. Kash decided to play music, a peculiar action for a time in need of panic. Walking to the record player in the corner, Kash put on Robert Johnson's “Me and the Devil Blues” such a fitting song for their impending dismay.
There was one person who was dead silent: D.T. For the first time in over a year, he had nothing to say. 407 days of anarchy, war, and bloodshed and he had not one word to utter.
"Sir, you don't think the storms coming.” The puppet, I mean, Noem said. "No! it’s only going to the poor areas" Trump exclaimed. "The ghettos will be wiped out, making room for the golf courses, casinos, everything we could ever want!" Three minutes after his last statement, there was a sound--something like thousands of dying children. The storm was here.
Drunkenly, Hegseth slurred, "Oh shit, y'all don't hear that?!"As they got up, inching closer to the door, suddenly, the doors busted open, water
rushing through the Capitol halls. They were all being washed away away from the glory, away from the riches, just swept away.
After what seemed like hours and many miles, they landed themselves in an inland city, where they were the only occupants.
“Oh God! Mr. President! You have to help us!” Noem shouted, running around the stretch of land, scratching herself.
Sitting on a rock, soaked with water and shame, Trump once again said nothing. Where was his five-million-dollar gold card to save him?
Nowhere no one was coming to save them.
AsAmericans everywhere calmly stayed indoors and braced for the Category 5 made it unharmed and unphased the capital of the U.S.A. was gone, the so-called elites were gone.
America can now heal and rebuild. That’s the rage of Iran.
What Happens?
Poem by Tori Orbegozo
What happens when the bees go away?
When they all die and stop spreading pollen
When our food stops growing, and our crops shrivel
What happens when the Earth gets too hot?
When storms become too strong, and the oceans rise
When extreme heat waves make it intolerable to be in the sun
What happens when construction destroys forests?
When the lack of trees makes clean air impossible
When habitats are demolished, and animals have nowhere to survive
What happens when you continue to ignore the problem?
When you feed into capitalism and fast fashion
When you throw away everything instead of donating
When you tell yourself there is nothing you can do
You are the problem. I am the problem
We are the reason the Earth is dying
You won’t care until it directly affects you
Until you experience food insecurity and go hungry
Until you aren’t able to trade convenience for life
That’s when it will matter, when it is already too late
Haikus in theApocalypse
Poem By Margaret Utley
Our world is dying; there's no use reversing now. Our greed destroyed us, moved us past the brink into the fiery freezing death they had warned of.
All that is left to do now is kindly ration and pray it ends soon.
