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Poems by Jim Fulcomer

  The Atmosphere

What I regard with utmost fear, is shrinkage of our atmosphere.
Those gases which, by oddest chance, let living things exist, advance.
If gravity should let them go, back into space, "I told you so!",
would not suffice to solve our plight, and things would seldom work out right -
as now we have that wispy shield, to guard us from a mighty field,
of meteors which would descend, unimpeded by our friend.

While radiation, undispersed, would kill the higher orders first.
And as we gasp for vital air, we wring our hands in deep despair.
F or this is not the end predicted, in ancient texts, now so conflicted.
Solutions we must then contrive, if we intend to stay alive.
The Laws of Newton and of Boyle, are now an insufficient foil.
I know this hurts - the thought is numbing, when Al Gore says,
"I saw this coming ...