POEM: The tragedy of the commons

This poem is an *IA Writing Competition (creative work category) entry.

The Tragedy of the Commons

Anarchy Rules, OK? — that’s the question for today.
And Anarchy is lawlessness, where each does as they will
‘Cos government is absent, vacuous (or swill).

Now I have to say it here up front, so my meaning is quite plain:
I don’t dispute that Anarchy rules in this domain.
Anarchy is what we have — that proposition’s true.
It’s the "OK" where the issue lies. That’s what we all must rue.

Once upon a time there was a friendly little frog
Got dropped into a saucepan — of water, the poor sog.
That saucepan was placed on a fire and the water slowly boiled,
And the frog, being on the grog, kept his jumping legs uncoiled.

He could have jumped. He should have jumped, to the safety of fresh air.
As the world around him slowly boiled. And yet the sod stayed there.
Eventually, the frog was cooked. Not just legless, as in France,
But cooked. Kaput. K.O.-ed and creamed (and not just in his pants).

The moral of this story is plain for all to see!
Or is it? For we’re now that frog, and our world’s that saucepan, see.
We haven’t jumped. And we won’t jump. Though we talk of it a lot.
But talk’s hot air — and that’s the rub! For it’s Anarchy we’ve got.

We’re lighting our own bloody fire! And sitting on our hands!
If there’s a god – and I doubt it mates – is all this in her plans?
No mates! She’s far far far far far away, in Heaven on her throne,
We’ve made this world a pressure cooker all upon our own!

There was a Commons, in a village, a long long time ago.
The village was called Anarchy. (I tell you, so you know.)
And every git in Anarchy grazed sheep or cattle there —
And everything was sweet for years, ‘twas plenty grass to share.

Now it happened that this Commons could take a hundred cows
(Or sheep — if you’re a pedant. Keep it simple anyhow).
And with a hundred grazing balance was maintained.
The grass it grew, was eaten – and grew ‘gain when it rained.

But one of the Anarchs, he had a bright idea.
He added then another one, the 101st, I fear.
He knew – or came to understand – that 101’s too much,
The Commons was overgrazed – spawned bare patches and such.

So everybody suffered, as in the little village,
Less meat and milk resulted from the Common’s use and tillage.
And everybody shared the loss. But the Anarch with that cow
Got all the meat and milk from it. So he was laughing now.

The losses socialised, they were, the profits all for him,
If he hadn’t put that extra cow, he would have been quite dim.
But his neighbour took a while, I know, but then he twinked as well,
And added his own extra cow, and the numbers they did swell.

Soon everyone was adding cows, the profits for to reap,
‘xept the Commons soon was bare, no grass for cows or sheep.
And Anarchy – the village, where the Anarchs they did live –
Destroyed itself – cos without rules the Commons cannot give.

Now all the world is Anarchy, the Commons is the air,
The water and the soil. These, all of these, we share.
And every smokestack that we add is just another cow,
And this is not a fable, friends — this is happening now.

The Tragedy of the Commons, let’s give it its real name,
Is that this isn’t funny. It is our species’ shame.
Oh, yes, I know the cows they fart – add methane to the air –
But it’s people’s greed that’s stuffed this world and laid the Commons bare.

The world’s collapsing, climate-wise, the seas are rising fast,
And still they say, "The jury’s out, best sit upon our arse".
"It’s too expensive for to fix." "Let’s not rush in too quick."
They lay it on thus with a trowel, and they lay it on real thick.

But back in Village Anarchy, where is it going now,
Now they know they’ve got to clear the Commons of some cows?
They’re arguing, they’re talking, they’re saying, "You go first.
It’s more your fault than mine, you know, that the Commons now is curst."

The Tragedy of the Commons is nobody rules!
— Because it’s bloody Anarchy. And the Anarchs are all fools!
The solution lies in Leadership — who takes their cow off first
Regardless of the other gits, before the world doth burst.

So look around you, have a geek, don’t just stand apart
And start with a mirror – a splendid place to start –
Are we doing all we can, you and me, my friend,
Our families and our relatives, to help our world to mend?

The future lies with all of us, our Governments are pawns —
Cowards, cretins, compost heaps. No wondrous moves they spawn.
If Earth’s a future it’s with us, that’s the message here,
We’re the Commons’ saviour — or its Tragedy, I fear.

Dr Keith McKenry has been a consultant to both the United Nations and the OECD Environment Directorate. His album 'Bugger the Music, Give Us a Poem!' won the Golden Gumleaf Bush Laureate Award at Tamworth for Album of the Year.

* Full IA Writing Competition details HERE.