Forever Responsible

[image from icicp.blogspot.com]

[written for a prompt from Real Toads :

a quote from The Little Prince, as quoted below]

In the Old Ways,

they believed

that every choice,

every decision,

every taking of

the earth's resources,

or reverent consumption

of a wild animal,

had to be

sustainable,

for each decision

affected

their children

and their children's children,

unto the seventh

generation.

Now,

talking heads,

suits in executive boardrooms

across the planet,

fat cats,

CEO's,

glad-handers

and slimy

profiteers,

make decisions

based on

their Bottom Line

(which is money,

and

always and only

money):

"As long as

I get mine, Jack,

I don't really care

about you."

The multinationals 

are raping and pillaging

the planet

as fast as

is humanly possible.

As fast as

the gaping maws

of monster-machines

can grapple

the living trees

off the sides

of mountains,

and truck them

away

to

Somewhere Else,

as fast as

driftnets can

stuff themselves

with a mile or so

at a time 

of the ocean's store,

like giant vacuums

across the

ocean's floor,

as fast as

huge tracts

of wilderness

can be burned,

the machines,

the trucks,

the boats,

just

keep on coming,

and taking away

everything

that humans

hold

most dear.

Wave goodbye:

to every good

and beautiful thing

this earth gave us.

To such

abundance,

Wave

-forever?-

goodbye.

They are

hurriedly

trying to

Get Theirs

before

global consciousness

- or Mother Earth

Herself -

reaches

the breaking point,

and rises up

to stop

the slaughter

of the earth's resources,

its wild places,

its wildlife,

its very lungs

(the vanishing forests

that

produce

the air we breathe).

Meanwhile,

the surface

of the earth

is heating up.

Meanwhile,

the polar ice caps

are

swiftly melting.

Meanwhile,

whales are dying

along the coast;

in the forests

and jungles

of

this ravaged

earth,

species are disappearing

faster in

the last fifty years

than has ever

happened before

in recorded history.

The CEO's

may be in denial

that

this will ever

affect them.

And maybe

it won't.

But it will

definitely

affect

their great-grandchildren,

and those children's

children.

Sadly,

it will also

affect

yours and mine,

and every feathered

and furry beast

that shares

this planet

with us

and our

exponential greed.

For

"You become

responsible, forever,

for what you have tamed*."

*quote from The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupery

Finding Home

[image from stormgrounds.com]

Are you out

in the forest

searching

for a path,

looking

high and low

among

the trees ?

Are you frightened

by the wild wind

howling through

the branches,

and the low moan

it makes

just before

a tall pine

crashes to

the forest floor?

Are you wondering

if you'll

lose your way

when darkness

falls?

Come home.

Come home.

I'll leave

a lighted candle

in the window,

to guide your way.

Watch for

its glow

and, by its radiance,

make your
slow way

home,

home

to yourself,

once again.

Peace Within

[image from peaceproducts.com.au]

In the middle

of

worldly warfare,

in the middle

of

created and imagined

chaos,

in the middle

of

other peoples'

problems,

in the middle

of

temporary strife,

in the middle

of

all the noise,

all the jangle,

all the dis-ease,

all the

it's-got-to-get-better,

in the middle

of

it all:

Deep breath.

Breathe.

Just breathe.

In the middle

of

it all:

Peace within.

Lemonade, Anyone?

[citrustreesonline.com]

For the Poets United prompt: lemons

Life has been
so
extremely

 generous

at bringing me

lemons,
(I've driven
a few of them;
I divorced
another),

that

 I have

gotten

very darned good

at making

lemonade.

photo by Stephanie M.

Winter Beach

When you are

in love with place,

the winds

blow love your way.

Every day

begins and ends

with pure

contentment.

The white, soft sand

blesses

the bottoms

of your feet,

and the dune grass

burns golden

in the amber light

just before dark,

when the sun

goes down.

Your heart

takes flight

on every

eagle's wing,

when you are

in love with place,

and it knows

your name.

My first wordle - 15 words used out of 30.

Another Day on Planet Earth

[Daughter-in-law Zenny, Jon's wife,  with my son Jeff

in Cathedral Grove outside of Port. Photo by Jon Merk]

Hi kids,
Walking Miss Jasmine this morning, I could hear:
a sleepy rooster,
the gobble-cry of a raven,
junkos at the feeder,
the piercing scold of a bluejay,
a flock of Canada geese
honking their way past.

The horse whickered as I went by - wondering if I might have a stray carrot or two.

The few houses on the street were all quiet and sleepy, people just stirring about getting their morning tea. I headed straight for the kettle when we got back in. Iso love mornings.

The cars, of course, were zooming along Beaver Creek, in a big rush to grab coffee on the way to work.

I am going to Faiza's this morning. Her support hours have been cut, due to government assessment of what this 80 year old, exhausted, sole caregiver (who has mobility issues of her own) for her barely-mobile husband requires in the way of help. So frustrating. I likely will wind up doing the same amount, because she requires it, but for half the pay. Meanwhile the "Home Support" people come three times daily, for a very much higher hourly rate, to take a prepared bowl of soup out of the fridge, nuke it, and give it to Bill. They are "not allowed" to clean anything - that's what I'm for.

Bureaucracy is as unhelpful and as far removed from the problems on the ground as ever.

Jasmine slipped and went down on her injured leg a week ago and did some damage. The vet thinks it is just severe inflammation, but I suspect perhaps she may stay lame, as this time it isnt responding to rest and anti-inflammatories. Poor girl has been so patient through her boring recovery. Surgery was in November and we are still in early stage recovery. (Hey, I sound like AA!)

I am doing better in my grieving over Pup. His death really shook me. But I suspect it was more than his death. He was so tied into my wilderness heart and our years in Tofino, that it reawakened my grief over losing that place. I never really allowed myself to grieve it at the time. Grief has a way of catching up with us. And there have been a lot of losses in my life, as in most peoples' lives.

I still have my moments, and sometimes get blind-sided for an hour or an afternoon. But I am  feeling stronger. It is all part of the deal - love hurts, but we cant say no to it when it comes. Especially when it comes in the form of a wild little wolf puppy with a very huge spirit!

[Zenny at Lake Louise outside of Banff. Photo by Jon Merk]

My adorable daughter-in-law Zenny is arriving tonight for a visit. I am excited! We are going to have some serious Chick time. And we will go to the beach. She lives inland now and longs for the ocean as I do. One beach walk in the near future will do a lot to set my soul right.

One more day alive on planet earth - each day a gift, whatever it brings. Now that time is more finite, I know just how precious each day is.

Enjoy this Wednesday, my friends!

Skyscape

[image from valdosta.edu]

Night sky

mysterious
unfathomable

limitless
transcendant
celestial firmament

a million

possible

universes

shining

through millennia

upon

wayfarers

like me,

each of us

looking up

pondering

your mystery,
your beauty,
down
through
the everness
of time.....
eternal
skyscape

Recalled to Life

[image from robertarood.wordpress.com]

Written for the prompt: Recalled to Life

In childhood,

gentle heart

shattered by violence

and drunkeness,

retreating

into numbness,

making my way

through,

certainly at risk

of making

a too-soon marriage

to escape,

hoping

to create

a home.

Marriage

was a cage

so small,

it took

a jackhammer

and sheer

desperation

to blow

my way out.

But

before

my spirit

even

had time to rise,

a vulture arrived,

and I was

his prey.

This time,

my heart

retreated

into the

frozen wasteland

of a Siberian

winter.

No one

 - but no one -

other than

my kids

was going to

get back in.

Then, one day

in summer,

I walked in the door

of a coffeehouse

full of gentle folk,

beings who

lived

gently

on the earth,

whom I had known

were out there

somewhere,

for whom

I had been

searching

for so long.

I knew

right away

that I was home.

But it took some time

to relearn trust.

I read The Desiderata,

crying

as I read the words:

"You are a child

of the universe.

No less than the moon

and the stars,

you have

a right

to be here."

I had not

known that.

The gentle, loving people

 accepted me.

They gave me space

just to be.

They did not

push.

They let me

feel safe.

In the warmth

of their sunlight,

the wasteland

slowly

began to melt.

My petals

began,

rather painfully,

to unfurl.

I began

to grow,

and then,

in time,

to glow.

My life-song

began

to sing

again.

Hope

had arrived,

and dreams,

and so much

laughter.

From the sad

and

painful past,

from abuse,

degradation

and betrayal,

from the imprisonment

of my spirit

to full and

glorious flight,

I was,

from that time forward,

recalled to life.

In some other life.......

[image from nationalgeographic.com]

In some other life,

I've been a Buddhist,
meditating in a stone shelter
high on the
sheer rock face
of the Himalayas.
I know this,
because
my heart is pulled
there.

I feel
I must
 have lived
once
in an ashram
in India,
loving
all the colors
of the market,
and the joy
in peoples' eyes,
bathing
my face
in the Ganges,
setting
my loved one
aflame
at the water's edge.

Far back,
my wolf woman wisdom
tells me,
I was
burned at the stake
as a witch,
for my woman's
knowing,
and men's fear
of my powers.

In a thatched hut
on the African velde,
I raised
dark-eyed children,
and communed
with a wise old
elephant
who kept
my secrets.

Once,
in waking dream,
I had a vision
of
row upon row
of blanket-wrapped
dead-eyed women,
weaving through
the bitter cold
of a Gulag
morning.
I can still
see them,
in my mind's eye,
and remember the chill
with which
I knew
I had been there.

If we believe
we might sometime
have been
both the abused animal
and the abuser,
the beaten child
and the batterer,
the mother,
the daughter,
the father,
the son,
then our hearts
can begin
to understand
we all are capable
of loving,
also
of harming,
of being
both oppressor
and
 oppressed.

Maybe,
this way,
we can
replace
judgement
with compassion,
"difference"
with brotherhood,
with sisterhood.
Maybe then
we'll understand,
on this planetary home,
we're all
sisters
under the skin.
We are
all kin.

Who's Awesome?? YOU are!

[image from the internet]

When I started this blog, at the encouragement of a friend and fellow poet,

I had four followers: my friend, and a couple of family members.

To my amazement, I now see I have 94 followers.

It absolutely knocks me out that

people all over this old planet are reading my words,

and leaving me lovely heartwarming comments.

I just wanted to say:

you make me happy!

Thank you so much!

You are awesome,

and I appreciate

each and every one of you.

In Some Parallel Universe.........

[photo by Stephanie M.]

In some parallel universe,

I am living in

a small one-room

rough cedar cabin

at the edge of the sea,

sitting blissfully

on the porch

in the sun,

drinking tea,

and being lulled

by the lovely

sursurration

of the waves

and the call of the gulls

instead of...........

what I'm doing

now.

Dreaming of the Himalayas

[images from teameverestthemovie.com]

Last night I watched the most remarkable documentary, about a team of people with serious disabilities - five in wheelchairs, other challenges, including a man a prosthetic leg - who, with a team of  Sherpas and support people, trekked for 21 days through the Himalayas. It is called Team Everest, A Himalayan Journey. There is spectacular footage of the beauty of that harsh and rugged landscape. It was wonderful to watch, as a part of my heart belongs in the Himalayas. (With my karma, I expect I'd be one of the Sherpas, carrying a body larger than my own up a steep cliff, hee hee! I so relate!)

 

The people with disabilities made the trek to fulfil their dreams, and to prove that their disabilities could not prevent them from reaching the heights: "No limits!" I was amazed as I watched their journey. They endured  the most difficult circumstances any human being can encounter, life-threatening for trekkers in sound physical condition. And they achieved their goal, being the largest group of people with disabilities to reach Mount Everest Base Camp.

But it was the Sherpas whom I saw to be the real heroes, for they pushed, pulled and dragged the trekkers, and often carried them on their backs, for the entire expedition. I watched in astonishment as a small Sherpa bent his back, while on the woven basket  attached to his forehead, a heavy North American body, sometimes still in his wheelchair, was loaded onto him. He would carry the person for about twenty minutes, and then another Sherpa would take his place.

The terrain was rough, rocky and difficult, even in the villages they passed through. Not one inch of the journey was easy. Often there was slippery oozing mud, sometimes ice. And, always, the next footstep was onto rough, unstable and shifting terrain where at any moment any one of them might fall onto hard rock or even over the edge of a precipice, and vanish forever.

It is one of the most incredible journeys I have ever witnessed. I cannot imagine it. My favorite scene is at the end, when the group reaches base camp, against all odds, and the Sherpas joyously break into song and dance inside the communal tent.

Human beings are amazing creatures. This journey certainly made walking through a Canadian winter, in my comfy trailer, with heat, running water, and comfort at every turn, feel like a walk in the park:)

Blast from the Past

[One Stop Poetry has posted a fun prompt: to go back to the beginning and post our earliest poems.
I started writing poetry in 1960, at age 14. The words poured through me like I was doing automatic writing. I have no idea where they came from, but they poured forth like a fountain, and were as angst-ridden as most teen poetry is. I often wrote feverishly through class, and the teachers overlooked my inattention, since I seemed unable to stop. Here are two poems from 1961, when I was 15.]

We walk in half-steps.
Let my kindred spirit
(submerged within
the masked
and groping present)
Grasp hands; as giants fleeing
before the wind,
Let us find Truth:
the depth of life's
real beauty;
Or wander into spring
on trembling willow-whispers;
Or waft with summer's
mellow tranquillity.
Let us claim stark beauty
unadorned: a naked tree
Pointing a time-bent bough,
a rain-wet street and,
After dark, a haunting melody
that softly fades
And dies away.

***      ****       ***      ****     ***
The dusk offers its sacrifice
to the gods
of the turbulent fountains.
A faint star gleams.
A token dream
sings through
the misty mountains.
The clouds part:
Dusk presents its face-
day's grim reward for dying.
A whisper echoes
o'er green meadows:
tear-stained peace
which follows crying.
The melancholy theme
of night begins
its song of sadness.
A memory rides
on wings of might
in a breeze's burlesque;
the madness
of untended,
searing pain
inspires
a yearning
in the breast,
and the heart requites
love's bitt'rest thoughts
in wild unrest.
A shadow falls.
Dusk's gray defeat
of day deserts
to Night
with its parade
of haunted dreams,
tear-streaked
before the sight.

Flight

[photographersgallery.com]

One needs

the inspiration

and

the transcendant

loftiness

of flight,

to elevate

the spirit

on this old

earth-bound

planet.

Consider the lily

[image from google - the lily-of-the-valley is the kind of lily I see most often in my part of the world]

The prompt at Poets United Thursday Think Tank yesterday was "Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow". Yesterday we had a snowstorm, and today the earth is encrusted in ice. So this is what came through :

I consider the lily:

deep underground,

with a small pick-axe,

muttering.

She is 

trying to

chip away at

the frozen hardpan

above,

grumbling about 

the sheer impossibility

of ever emerging

from this

icy tunnel,

where the ground

will not yield,

where nothing

assists

her passage

into the sun.

I identify.

Late winter

can feel like this,

to a lily,

to a hungry crow,

to a tired human

afraid to open

the oil bill.

Like the lily,

we all await

just a little

"give" in the earth,

so we can

get some purchase on

our passage,

slip

one more time

above

the frozen hardpan

and into

the light and warmth

of one more spring.

Yard Dog

You were a wild

wolf puppy,

gamboling along

the beach

in your early years,

free and joyous,

a wild creature

under the sun.

in your middle years,

away from

the wild places

we loved,

we daily sought

the river

and the tamer

forest trails,

your ears and nose

alert

for critters

in the bush.

Every afternoon,

your nose

would follow

the rich smells

of the forest floor,

and you would bathe

in river, creek or lake,

one with the wild

in shorter increments,

that allowed us

to survive

our incarceration.

In your elder years,

as your legs

and back gave out,

our walks

were fewer

and shorter

but you lived for

those times,

at lake and river,

times when

the old wild light

came back into

your eyes.

In your huge

wild yard,

you reigned

supreme.

You ruled

the street,

lying up

by the fence,

where you

could mark

all passings

of car, or dog,

or horse

with your

loud imperious

barking:

Who passes

through

my territory?

Your yard

has been

so empty

without you.

I look at it,

and am bereft.

But just lately,

Jasmine

has been

acting excited,

all along

the fence,

poking her nose

through the slats,

wagging her tail,

as she did

when you

touched noses

in the final days

before your death.

And I am

wondering:

are you back?

Did your spirit

come home

to the only home

you knew?

I had pictured you

running

free and joyous

once again

along the beach.

But your spirit

and mine

were so

strongly linked,

it makes sense

that you'd

come home

to be

with me,

in your yard,

where you

reigned supreme

and were

king of the street,

Spirit Dog,

forever

my defender,

Wolf Pup,

forever

in my heart.