‘Pacific Trash Vortex’ and Other Poetry by Bob McGinness The Society November 27, 2016 Humor, Poetry, The Environment 5 Comments Pacific Trash Vortex I don’t care about chemical sludges, I don’t care about plastic debris, the Pacific trash vortex is so far away, that it just doesn’t matter to me. So, the plastic is piled on the beaches, and the turtles are starting to choke, and the weather channel is filming the birds, who pro’bly are all gonna croak. But I’m never allowed to use plastic, now I’m forced to watch doom and gloom, I suspect this is simply one of your schemes to get me to clean up my room. Composting, Composting (decay to mulch) Ashes and grasses and feathers and hay, garbage but only from Vegan’s they say, Leaves and some newspapers (paper not “E-”), Sawdust and pine needles Weeds from the sea. Biodegradable it all should be. Carbon-to-nitrogen ratio: three. Decomposition with bacteria: Psychrophiles, Mesophiles, did we say, “duh!” Thermophiles, fungi, actinomycetes, enzymes and earthworms in subcommittees. Rotting and roasting and decomposition; barrels and bins or a pile in position. Chicken mesh wire or plastic style tumbler; box made of cement or something quite humbler. Aerate and water and turning quite often, grinding and chipping and shredding to soften. Measure the pH and spread on some lime, use a thermometer give it some time. Fold in your garden in fall or in spring, when it is black and is finished aging. Use it for mulch or use it for tea. Organic nutrition and practically free. Bob McGinness is a freelance writer who has written for numerous publications, none of which have published his work. He has painted houses, washed dishes in a TB hospital, and lived in a gated community in Florida. After a career as a migrant white collar worker harvesting profit from data in the health care industry he currently strives to expand his knowledge about nature, human behavior, and music. He also likes maps. He lives in Columbia, South Carolina. Related Post ‘Passing of the Seasons’ and Other Poetry by Wan... Passing of the Seasons When snow has melted, chill has gone, and winter turns to spring, The tender buds grow on the branches where the robins sing.... Tell the world:FacebookTwitterTumblrPinterestRedditLinkedInEmail 5 Responses Lew Icarus Bede November 28, 2016 I enjoy your robust humour, your extraordinary diction, “Psychrophiles, Mesophiles,” etc., your dactylic metrical patterns, e.g., “Carbon-to-nitrogen/ ratio: three,” etc., your unique rhymes, like the particularly acute, “actinomycetes…subcommittees,” and your overall copacetic artistry, a cut above the typical mulch. Reply Bob McGinness November 29, 2016 Thanks. I try to write gardening poems and every time I use a species or genus name my brain yells, “Stop. Don’t do it.” Reply Ken Carpenter November 29, 2016 Bob didn’t mention his seafaring days. I’m still waiting for some sea shanties. What could be more classical. Reply Bob McGinness November 29, 2016 Aargh! Ok here: http://www.boomercafe.com/2014/11/24/creative-baby-boomer-writes-greatest-pirate/ Reply Dona Fox December 26, 2016 Love them both. Reply Leave a Reply Cancel Reply Your email address will not be published.CommentName* Email* Website Notify me of follow-up comments by email. Notify me of new posts by email.