Cuckooville

 

The right is furious, seriously annoyed.

A new broom has arrived to kick some ass.

Cuckooville with an unhinged reality show host

president may not come to pass.
I have to hope that justice and

democracy will prevail at last.

We were held hostage to a demented dream
of dictatorship. Our spirits sank.

They wanted to burn all the books

in the library, send women back to 1950,
oligarchs grinning, pockets stuffed,
all the way to the bank.

All his puppets kissed the ring - a band of crooks.

(I'm not too shy to say I never liked his looks.)

PTSD - Post trump Seriously Dumped -
(we live in hope.)

They may hang themselves metaphorically

if we give them enough rope.

Polar opposites - the red and blue.

Since he'll never leave politely,

don't let them lie and misconstrue.

Democracy is on the line -

we get to choose.

For justice to prevail,

Cuckooville has to lose.

LOL. Not politically correct but I am too filled with hope to not Go There. It feels so good to have hope again.

for Shay's Word List

I Remember

 

I remember when we thought
we'd change the world:

the civil rights movement

the women's movement

Kent State/Viet Nam -

"Hello, no. We won't go!" -

flowers in gun barrels

Make Love Not War

and

Give Peace a Chance.

Love and hope were in the air.

The times, they were a -changing everywhere.

Our leaders and our hopes fell

one by one: Gandhi, JFK,
young civil rights activists,

Martin Luther King, Bobby Kennedy,

and John Lennon, with his song of peace,
silenced by a gun.

How heavy our hearts, as hope grew silent

and the world went another way.

The times, they were a-changing,

where corporations ruled, Profit Before Planet,

and Mother Earth and all her creatures

are the ones who pay.

Our hearts leaped when Barack Obama
appeared:

a visionary with heroic qualities to his name.

He reminded us what it was to dream.

The times grew bright till
the end of his tenure came.

Then a toxic angry cloud covered the land.

Where kindness and civility have gone

I will never understand.
Democracy under attack,
hard-won rights and freedoms
going/gone -
the far right is singing
a very scary song.
There is Truth and there are

"Alternate Facts," Project 25,
and fake news:

a dictatorship or democracy:

we get to choose.

For now a bright light surfaces again.

With Kamala our hopeful spirits rise.

The pendulum swings

from dark to light
to our amazed surprise.

The times, they are a-changing,
folks, once more.

May they change to the vision

our freedom-loving hearts
 are more than ready for.

for Mary's prompt at What's Going On : Changing Times

I had written a much gloomier poem until Kamala Harris announced her candidacy. I haven't felt this hopeful since Barack Obama ran for office. She is brilliant, warm, honest, real - and strong. It's good to have hope again.

If the World is Ending

 

If the world is ending,

come walk with me into the forest.

It has been this verdant, this silent,

this peaceful, for millennia.

The angry voices do not enter here,

where humans are respectful guests.

This is home for deer, raccoons, owls,

eagles, small scurrying creatures.

Stealthy cougar, big black bear

and shy, elusive wolf move invisibly
through the trees,

curl up in the vacant bowls of ancient cedar,

evading us, as we have taught them

we are to be feared.

See the tiny mushrooms, banquet

for fairy folk. Breathe in

the color green: fern, salal,

old man's beard, lichen,

moss soft and plush
as a princess's pillow.

If the world is ending,

walk with me along the shore.

Hear the waves singing

their forever song.

This much beauty feels like prayer,

even if the prayer is only

an expanded heart and "Thank You."

If the world is ending,

sit on a log with me.

Gaze into forever and watch

as the huge, golden-red fiery sun

goes down.

source

This poem was inspired by the title of Patrick Ramsay's poem "If the World is Ending."

Eaglet Elegy

 

Small eaglet,

when you fell from the nest,

kind people came

and loved you as you grew.

You were happy in the summer sun

till, unexpectedly,

(and oh, we could never, ever
 be ready for this),

you spread your wings

and flew

into the Otherworld,

where loving spirits sing.

We hope you knew

how much we loved you

and how the memory of you

is now one more of the many
golden gifts

you bring.

I wrote this for my prompt at What's  Going On : Elegy. But posted another choice as my link.

Strangely, as happens in life, I had this prompt ready two weeks ago when, just last week, a young boy I looked after for years when he was small died suddenly in a boating accident. He was the sweetest boy, now in his early teens, and everyone who loved him is just devastated. 

Grief Can Be a Sunflower

 

Grief  can be the sunflower delivered
by a smiling friend,
that inexplicably begins to die that very minute,
leaves drooping, head tucking under its chin,
giving up, leaf by wilting leaf,
because the world is broken, and too hot,
its roots too tightly packed
for water to reach its faltering heart.
Grief can also be the bouquet of cut sunflowers
I bring home from the CoOp
and put in the tall green vase,
to cheer me as I add one more loss
to all the others, and remember
that the world, though suffering,
is also beautiful.

Grief becomes everything with age,
laced through the heartbreaking beauty
that is this world, this life, and death, all passing,
the shine, the wonder, sunrises, sunsets,
laughter and tears and love come and gone ~
earth grief for a planet in distress,
and our culpability/inability
to restore what has been lost

loss upon loss, the heaviness,
us learning how to plant our feet
and strengthen our shoulders to bear it.
Not giving up like the sunflower,
setting our roots down deep,
strengthening our stance,
accepting pain is the price of being fully alive:
gratitude for all of this life and love -
the richness of it! The gifts.
Joy woven through the sadness.
Sadness woven through with joy-
gilt-edged, and fraught,
and yet still remembering
how to dream.

Then I went to the beach and let the waves sing their song of forever to me. An elderly and rather chubby bassett hound turned himself upside down on the sand, paws in the air, snout lying flat on the sand, totally blissed out. It made my day!

Elegy for the Wildlands

Mother Earth,

your clearcut slopes in winter
bleed mud and tears.
In summer,
wildfires roar across the land.
My cousin walks out at night
to embers falling
from an apocalyptic sky.
Grass crackles underfoot.
Water sources dry up.
Leaves on trees and bushes curl,
thirsty, as are all the wild ones
in this burning world.

Down into the valley wander

displaced bear, cougar and wolf,

who are shot for intruding

into "our" territory,

though their perplexing plight is

how far we have encroached

into theirs.

And yet, life struggles on:
two baby orcas swim through warming seas,
where not enough salmon remain
to feed them. Like many
on this earth, their tummies
are never full,
yet they swim on,
in hope and trust,
for swim they must.

My heart is heavy

with how badly we have

ravaged you,

razed the beauty of your wild lands,

hunted to extinction

your beautiful wild creatures.

We have even endangered

the inoffensive butterfly.

What manner of species are we?

Yet the loons still sing softly at Loon Lake,
though algae, pollution and plastic
line its banks.

The trees still hopefully

bring forth their buds

and miraculous bounties,

the animals still try so hard to live,

no matter how badly

we have husbanded

the bountiful earth

that was given to us

with more than enough

to share,
if only we care.

Our souls know

we should be much better than we are.

The planet spins,

strangling in our emissions.

Our hearts grow as polluted

as the coral reefs, the fish in the sea,

the hunted whales,

the sky above the billowing

industrial smokestacks.

My heartsong is an elegy
all day long.

Even as I watch the peaceful loons,

hear their beautiful and hopeful song,

in my heart, with pain,

I fear, already,
so many innocent lives

are going

           going

                 gone.

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

I just watched a beautiful film by Jennifer Abbott titled The Magnitude of All Things, which records the grief of many, including her, across the world who see the impact of climate change on the natural world. Her sister's death from cancer opened her eyes to the grief of so many of us for the losses we bear witness to on a global scale. Nature and humanity are not in balance and the only ones who can change this are us. The more-than-human beings on earth are waiting for us to understand what they (and indigenous people of the earth) have always known - we are all connected. We share the grief and are not alone.

The message is actually hopeful because what we love, we try to save. And what we save, saves us.

A Candle for the Dead

 

In ceremony, I light a candle for the dead.
So hasty was his leaving, I was not ready -
his face ashen, now, his spirit having fled -
so hard to find my footing, make it steady.

So hasty was his leaving, I was not ready.
I sing a lullaby to him, ring little bells.
So hard to find my footing, make it steady,
I build an homage, an altar of sand and shells.

I sing a lullaby to him, ring little bells.
We had adventures when the lad was young.
I build an homage, an altar of sand and shells,
remembering when our journey had just begun.

We had adventures when the lad was young -
his face ashen, now, his spirit having fled -
his song unfinished when it had just begun.
In ceremony, I light a candle for the dead.

A rhyming pantoum for Shay's Word List. This past week, a young teen I cared for when he was small died suddenly. For six years, when he was little, we walked forest trails, bought treats and then went home to colour together. He told me "You're like a grandma to me." He was only fourteen and so suddenly gone, it is hard to assimilate. And extremely sad.