Alone

 

The pines, darkly shrouded

in morning mist,

line the river

like guardians of the wild.

The water roars its winter fury,

white spray tumbling over rocks

and through the narrow

rock-walled chasm,

green with the river's passage,

all these years.

An eagle surveys all

from his perch atop

a giant cedar.

And me? I walk in sorrow

along your favourite river,

holding your leash

and still - always - missing you.

Do you feel me,

searching for your spirit,

lost in the absence

of your soft padding footsteps

by my side?

How many sad walks

along the river will it take

before there are no tears?

Your being gone

is still too big an absence,

and it has nearly been

one year.

for Mary's prompt at What's Going On - Lonely ,  In this poem I remember how I felt the first time I walked the river at Stamp Falls after Pup's death. I still miss him, and it has been fourteen years, as many years as he was alive. He had, as Annell once wrote, "a spirit too big to kill."

Whalesong and the Language of Elephants

Google image

 

In the depths of the ocean, an otherworldly,
mystical, lonely sound is heard,
a song older than time, echoing
mournfully through miles of water
in distinctive patterns, that repeat,
improvise, and evolve.

Each whale in the sea, it has been learned,
composes her own song,
which is constantly growing and changing,
an example of cultural evolution
that far exceeds our own.
If only they could find a way to speak.
If only we could find a way to hear.

In the African savanna, or
at your neighborhood zoo,
if you sit in silence, and listen,
you might feel a throbbing in the air:
the vibration of elephant communication,
a sound below the pitch of the human ear,
their infrasonic calls.

Like humans, these gentle beasts feel community,
attachment, love, sorrow, grief, passion and play.
If parted for mere hours, on return
there is a joyous cacophony of welcome:
elephant cries of joy, ear flapping, trunks twining,
as if the benevolent being has returned
from years away, though he may have last
been seen earlier that morning.

Sometimes the entire herd
becomes completely still.
They are listening,
a trait we humans would do well to emulate.
Being Silent, we open our whole being
to what is here, before and all around us.
Becoming completely present to the moment,
we can hear trees sighing, a single stone
plunking into moving water,
eyes following clouds across the sky.
It is all magical. It is all Enough.
If we listen hard enough, we might even hear
the planet humming to us from its inner depths.
Mother Earth is continually speaking to us,
singing to us - singing us her song of love.
Waiting for us to love her back.

for Lisa's intriguing prompt at dVerse: Creature Feature:   speaking from concern at animals' well being during the climate crisis, and my belief that animals are sentient beings, and feel things as deeply as we do. (Legendary Creatures by Type)

source: In the Presence of Elephants and Whales, with Katy Payne, at On Being with Krista Tippett. Katy Payne has spent her life decoding the language of whales and elephants in efforts to better understand the species, and assist in conservation. Katy speaks of cultural evolution, demonstrated by the evolving songs of whales, and many other fascinating things. This is a wonderful interview, which set me dreaming about two species I love very much. I also am remembering here a news report many years ago, where scientists had heard a hum emanating from the depths of the earth.

I Fortify My Heart

 

I fortify my heart

against the loud and clamorous voices

that speak untruths -
against the hearts that have no love in them,

who seek to divide and disappear

the most vulnerable among us -

against those promoting hate

who have forgotten there is no Other,

only Us.

I fortify my heart

against despair, against hopelessness,

against surrendering the rights

that we hold dear,

that are vanishing week by week.

I fortify my heart by believing

more of us seek justice, truth, and humanity

than those sliding into the pit

of fascism, not understanding

that they, too, will suffer

under its yoke.

I fortify my heart

by understanding that the arc of justice

is long, that the universe tilts itself 

towards light, and goodness, and justice,

and that one day, when all of this madness

has done its worst, there will be a time 

of reckoning, of healing,
of restoring what has been lost,

a time when peace and dignity will return

to a continent that has forgotten

who we are and who

we are meant to be.

For now,
I resist.
I resist.
I resist.

for my prompt at What's Going On - Resistance.

I resist, but I also experience much grief at the state of the world, and outrage at all the injustice. But because everything is so dark, I have had to learn to protect myself by striving for balance, finding solace in nature - and also understanding that the pendulum swings from one side to the other, and that this will not be our forever reality - if humankind survives this difficult passage. I have to believe that truth and justice will - eventually - prevail. The North American spirit is used to being free.

COURAGE

 

Mi'kmag mother kneeling in front of police
at an anti-fracking protest.
APTN News photo

Courage
is peacefully protesting
for the rights of others,

even when it draws the ire
of the oppressors.

Courage 
is speaking up
against racism and injustice,
when others in the room
are silent.

Courage
is never giving up
our insistance on
democracy and human rights,
even as masked agents
disappear people
right before our eyes.

Courage
is feeling the fear,
seeing the militarized and brutal forces
lined up against you,
donning your frog costume
and dancing your froggy dance.

Portland's brilliant response
to the arrival of trump-sent militia in their city.

for Susan's prompt at What's Going On - Courage.

The Face In the Mirror

 

The Dog of Joy

Over the years,
as I looked in the mirror,
I have seen many changes -
the same eyes as my mother,
my grandmother,
all the Marrs.

Once, at fifty,  I saw my grandmother's face
looking back at me.

I have seen happiness
in that mirror.
I have seen hopeful eyes
and long wild hair.

I have seen sorrow, and loss,
and heartbreak -
and then transformation.

And now I am old.

Someone cut my long hair off
without permission.
I begin, fiercely,
to grow it back,
wilder than ever.
My face knows so much
that I wish I had known
back then,
but that is not the journey.
The journey is long,
full of stumblings,
and starting overs.

And no matter who it is
who looks back at me
in the mirror,
always
-always!-
behind the outer self
that the world sees,
is that wild girl 
galloping along wild beaches
with a big black wolf.

Inspired by my comment on Jae Rose's poem, that reminded me of a few things. Smiles.

ALIVE, ON PLANET EARTH

 

Fabulous wave shot by Geoff Johnson
at UkeeTube

When the Westerly blows,
and waves crash rapturously
upon the shore,
when treetops poke their spires
up through the fog and mist
along the slopes of Wah'nah'juss,
my heart exults in wonder.

When the eagle's piercing cry
echoes across the harbour,
and the heron picky-toes
along the rocky shore
seeking her breakfast,
when dogs with loopy grins
go lolloping in and out
of the waves at Chestermans,
and surfers stand to ride, and fall,
and rise again,

When the morning sun rises
over Lemmens Inlet,
geese flying above in a wavering V,
as the sandpipers whirl and swoop as one
along the water's edge,
and ravens croak their gobble-cry,

When sunset paints the sky
with colours too fantastic to describe
as the big old fiery orb sinks down
below the horizon at day's end,

When just being alive and breathing
in this forever power-place
seems wealth beyond compare,
and I most richly blessed,
thankfulness expands my heart
to bursting, again and again,
so dearly do I cherish the beauty,
the sheer interconnected wonder
of Clayoquot Sound.

How grateful I am
to have walked this earth walk
along its beloved shores,
the song of the waves
forever advancing and retreating
in my heart;
how dearly I feel the blessing,
rich with all life's worth,
just to have another day,
like this,
alive, on planet earth.

Warren Rudd photo

I have posted an earlier poem for Sumana's prompt at What's Going On: What makes you feel most alive? because I could not say it any better than I already have. And for Jennifer at dVerse: a poem based on a poem of Place by Ted Kooser - to write about our own locale.

Truly, where I live abounds in life force, and astounding beauty. Its citizens draw from the powerful energies that surround us. We are blessed. I am forever grateful for my years here.

Black Like Me

Lokman Vural Elibol/Anadulo via Getty Images

I am called black, though my skin is really brown,
rich and warm, like coffee with cream.

I had just begun to feel comfortable in my skin
in North America, as our leaders began
to include some positive and inspiring figures
who looked like me.

But now. Oh, now.
Masked goons attack us based on how we look,
slam us into the pavement, are unmoved
by our screams, our tears, our sobbing children. 

We are entering the dark night of the soul.
When we emerge from this time,
I dream we will turn to the light,
vote away all that is doing harm,
that all of us who possess human hearts
will join together, strong in our belief
that each living being matters,
is someone of value, who deserves
to live unassaulted in what was once
called the "land of the free."

for Mary's prompt at What's Going On: Black or White. I am speaking here in the voice of a person of colour, who has my complete empathy for the cruelty and injustice so many are enduring now, for no reason other than the colour of their skin. (The title is a reference to the book of that title, written by John Howard Griffin,  who coloured his skin so he could research what it felt like to live in darker skin. It was a revelation to him.)

For years, all the way back to my teen years, since I became aware of racism and social injustice, I have worn my white skin with discomfort, knowing that it implies privilege I deserve no more than any other human on earth. For eight and a half years, I worked with the beautiful local First Nations community, in a centre for Indigenous families (children included) who were recovering from addiction issues but, even more so, from the legacy of intergenerational pain and trauma of the residential school system in Canada. 

I am all too aware that my white skin is that of the oppressor of people of colour all over the world. When Obama came to power, I felt such hope, as so many of us did. We are living with the backlash of that event right now and it is ugly. The terrorizing and brutal treatment of people of colour in the USA, the disappearing of citizens, is something I never thought I would see to this degree in North America (though racism has always been part of the story and is rising in Canada too.) Yet here we are. Hopefully, not for long. I applaud the strong voices raised in opposition, and the millions of marching feet that rise in protest. May each pair of marching feet march into the voting booth at every opportunity.

The arc of justice is long and more of us believe in equal rights for every human than those who do not.  I believe we will emerge, maybe sooner than we think, from this outrageous time, and begin working to restore and retrieve what is being lost. We live in hope.