Mother Tongue

Mother Earth - credit Earth First Newswire

There is one language that is the same 
all over the world.
It is the way Mother Nature speaks to us,
whether we live in the desert,
in the mountains,
by the sea,
along a river,
in rolling farmlands,
in the jungle,
or on an African savanna.

When each of us stands at our window 
in the morning, 
or steps outside to greet the brand new day,
our eyes lift to the sky,
caress the hills, the water, the grasslands,
follow birds in flight,
listen to their song,
breathe in the fresh breeze,
breathe it right into our beings,
our mother, above and below,
keeping our lungs
moving  in and out.

There is a hum scientists have detected
coming from the centre of the earth.
It is Mother Earth, singing to her creatures
her song of love.
We attune to it without knowing,
a child to its mother's heartbeat.
She slows us, stills us,
reminds us to breathe,
keeps us looking up
at all the wonders.

That feeling in your chest,
when you watch an eagle in flight,
when you stand under the starry heavens, 
in touch with the Great Mystery,
when you walk in an old growth forest -
That's it,
that universal language
that we all understand,
the voice of the land we live on - 
in my chest, in yours,
in everyone's,
gladness to be alive,
loving Mother Earth,
Mother Earth
loving us back.

for Susan's prompt at Mid Week Motif: Mother Tongue: International Mother Language Day, this past February 21. Do check out the links. There will be some good responses!

AT THE DVERSE BALL

cliparts.co

The lords and ladies softly creep

past the cave where the dragon sleeps.

They do not care at all

to be captured in his thrall,

because they're on their way 

to a very special ball.

The castle walls are hung with banners bright and gay,

the ladies' gowns resplendent, in colorful array.

The knights stand, tall and brave, 
against castle walls of grey

and all is bright and beautiful, 
so bountiful a day.

Sir Brian and Lady Claudia are sitting on their thrones.
The lords and ladies leap about, 
all jerky arms and bones.

"Hip, Hip, Hooray!" the folk all cry,

clapping our hands with glee.

"Blogdom's never had a King and Queen

as wonderful as thee!"

The Royal Pair smile, they wave, they bow,

then they get off their thrones.

"Sir Bjorn," King Brian kindly says,

"now you're on your own."

Sir Bjorn gulps, he stands up tall,

though feeling not too well at all.

"I'll do my best to fill your shoes,

my feet are not too small."

We sing, we laugh, we cry, we thrill.

We all burst into song.

"Thank you for giving us this place

where everyone belongs."

LOL. At dVerse, they want knights and tourneys and jousting, as the pub keys get handed over to Bjorn and the team. So there had to be a dragon.

Brian and Claudia, our heartfelt thanks to you, for your many labors of love over the years at dVerse. I'm glad you will  both still be around, as I doubt I could do without reading your words. Welcome, Bjorn, as you don your mantle. We're very glad you and the team are willing to keep the bar open and thriving.

Hop over to dVerse, kids, to join in the fun as Claudia and Brian hand over the pub keys to Bjorn and the team.

Age

dailymail.co.uk

Born to the wind and the wildish waves,
trapped in a river valley,
my soul lifts up to trace 
great flapping circles across the sky,
grey, mist-trailing clouds, flowing out behind me,
gauzy veiled mystification, obscuring sight,
like woolly scarves along the mountaintops,
like stunted wings.

I touch down in my spirit place:
mossy banks and old growth,
the sacred silence enveloping me
in the everness of time,
then soar back to my body,
replenished, but land-fettered, 
all sky-blown.

Somewhere along the way,
one's questing self catches up 
to the soul's journey,
integrates the all-that-was
into the being-here-now,
the looking ahead, finite and already scripted,
measured against the pressing beat
of time's accelerated passage.

The treacherous pilgrimage across 
the perilous mountain passes of the heart,
the bloody-footed stumbling up rocky ledges,
the sliding down,
the impetuous struggle of surviving,
the constant rising up and beginning again,
has morphed into this kinder, slower, 
more benign acceptance
of What Is.

Life is already done.
Now is the summing up, the reconciling
of the dreams, met and unmet,
the telling of the story
that is creating its own slow ending.

After struggle, after enduring,
after all the Keeping On,
I find myself in the turret
of my being,
calm and still,
gazing down and across
my own peaceable kingdom.

*I borrowed the phrase "peaceable kingdom" from the closing lines of the fantastic poem Getting There by David Wagoner: "your own unpeaceable kingdom". Altered, since mine is peaceable. Whether from inner peace or sheer exhaustion has yet to be determined, LOL.

Night of Broken Glass

belfasttelegraph.co.uk

The tinkling shattered glass of Kristallnacht

still echoes through the years,

the night when the crystal heart of mankind

fractured, and

took a dark turning,

from which there was

no place to hide.

For Susan's prompt at Mid Week Motif: Glass, or glasses

I thought of the sound of breaking glass on this night of infamy, Kristallnacht, November 9/10, 1938, when Jewish synagogues , businesses and homes were attacked and destroyed, and many were killed, millions more to follow.

Token Grove, 2050

At Token Grove,
the tour busses are pulled over
so the tourists can admire
the last of the ancient cedars.

The trees stand behind protective fences,
neatly, in rows, branches clasped to their chests,
their ferns and fronds and
old man's beard neatly combed,
posing prettily for the photographers.

A grandfather, his hand on
his grandson's shoulder,
says, reverently,
"Look, Johnny, these are trees!
When I was a boy, there were a lot of them."

"How many was 'a lot'?" asks young Johnny.
"More than this?"

"Yes, many more. They grew all over this island.
Not behind fences, whole hillsides and acres of them."

Young Johnny: "What's an 'acre'?"

"Well, er, land that has.....land......on it,
earth and grass and trees and growing things.
Land without concrete, without tall buildings,
without expressways, paved lots,
shopping monstrosities, er, malls.......
In those days, I could ride my bike
through the countryside
and see trees everywhere.
And we didn't have to wear these
oxygen tanks then,
because the trees gave us air."

"Wow," says Johnny, impressed.
"No oxygen tanks?
Grandpa, what happened?
And why do they call this Token Grove?"

"Big companies wanted to make big money
and they cut all the trees
and shipped them away,
as fast as they could.
Till the hillsides were bare
and began to slide down
the mountain slopes every rainy season."

"And that's why the mountains are little hills now?"

"Yup. And we call it Token Grove because
these are the only ones that were protected,
and the only ones left on this whole Island.
They are rotting now, and soon will fall to the ground
with the winter wind."

"Grandpa, I wish it was like when you were a boy, for me."

"Me, too, Johnny. Me, too."

for Grace's fantastic prompt at dVerse: how weird will the future be? My guess is - very weird.

A Pilgrim's Prayer

Mount Chomolhari

geo.cornell.edu

I approach your holy mountain

with a humble heart,

scattering rice

for the blessing.

huntersforluck.com

One step , another step -

a prayer, in human form,

climbing

Tiger's Nest - taringa.net

Breathing the air of the gods,

bent low, I approach

Taktsang Dzong, Bhutan 

- nepalsanctuarytreks.com

Clear the greyness from my eyes,

all darkness from my heart
O Beloved One,

Make me clean

[The glaciers of Bhutan, whose ice melt is essential to the growing of crops below, are expected to be fully melted within 25 years. In fact, flooding is already occurring with devastating consequences to the people living below. As the flooding is attributed to climate change, this is a controversial topic in the Bhutan. But the Prime Minister has said the melt is occurring faster than predicted by the UN report of a few years back, and is likely to occur much sooner.

I cant imagine how they built those monasteries on the edges of such sheer cliffs! Carrying everything by hand and yak, likely. So beautiful and precarious a perch.]

source: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Glaciers_of_Bhutan

Every Prayer a Thank You

aquarius new moon by astrology.com

Wild Woman discovers

the new moon is in Aquarius.

It is time,

she understands,

to manifest one's deepest desires.

Liberate your wildish heart.

Make known your every dream.

Convey your wishes

to the moon.

Write them 

upon the stars.

All, all, is beauty. 

Let your every prayer

be "thank you",

for all that has been,

all that is yet to come.