Thursday, January 10, 2019

This Poem is a Tired Grandmother




This poem is a grandmother
whose soul has grown weary.
This poem has seen too many
children dying.
This poem is thirsty
for a song of hope.

This poem is a heart that once held
hope as wide and blue as the sky
and as deep as the sea.
This poem once believed
we were better than we currently are.
This poem once dreamed
we would figure out how to live
on this beautiful planet,
with each other and all the other creatures,
in time.
This poem is losing hope.
This poem is a grandmother
whose soul has grown weary.

This poem is a grandmother
who turns on the news
to find children dying, everywhere:
Jakelin, Felipe, Talequah's calf,
Syrian children, starving children,
children shot in classrooms,
while adults cling to their guns
as an inalienable right.
(It is alien, all right.)
This grandma remembers a time
of childhood innocence and safety.
Where has it gone, and why?
This poem has seen too many
children dying.

This grandmother misses the time
when she could look up at the sky
and feel much was right with the world.
This grandmother misses leaders
who had the best interests of the country
at heart,
who had not sold their souls
to money and corporations,
men with clear eyes, and vision,
and an attitude of service,
who could speak in full sentences
and were not clearly deranged.
The dead-eyed and soulless are leading us
over the edge of the cliff, clutching money
to their hollow chests as they fall.
Children lecture us at the UN,
showing more wisdom and maturity
than their elders.
This grandmother needs inspiration,
needs to hear the voices
of women and grandmothers, rising.
She needs to see patriarchy fall.
She needs the transformation of consciousness
to happen soon,
while there is still an earth to save,
for "what we save, saves us".
This poem is desperately thirsty
for a song of hope.

This poem is waiting
for the grandmothers to rise
all over the world.




for my Thursday prompt at Real Toads: What We Save, Saves Us : to pen a poem of social commentary. There is so much needing to be saved. Including us. I'm looking forward to the Women's March on January 19. Hear us roar!

Right now, we have Standing Rock shaping up in northern B.C., where the Wet'sowet'en people are protecting their traditional lands and water from the inroads of the CoastalGasline fracking  pipeline, which would devastate the little territory they have left. RCMP responded by climbing their barricades and arresting peaceful protectors. As always, government backs corporate interests, against the First Peoples of this land.

I am using Hannah Gosselin's Boomerang Metaphor form, that she introduced at Toads in 2014. My next prompt at Toads will re-introduce this form, and I am hoping Hannah may even make an appearance. Stay tuned!


15 comments:

  1. This comment has been removed by the author.

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  2. A beautiful, powerful poem!!! Each word rings true, as true as a clear bell on a cold winter morning. Will spring come, or are we stuck in "winter" and the "ignorance of man" forever?

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  3. Sherry, as I read this, am fighting to stop the tears that are flowing down my face. Too often, we feel helpless, when faced with situations like this. May your poem be, the starting point for revolutionary change for the better.

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  4. This grandmother says yes, oh yes.

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  5. From one grandmother to another, I’m right with you!

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  6. The greed of mankind is unbelievable as all indicators of disaster and the health and safety of the Earth and its inhabitants are ignored just to fill the pockets of the rich even more. As we've indicated before we probably won't witness the disaster that is coming but our children and grandchildren will.

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  7. It would have been wrong not to write the tired grandmother poem, because deep grief comes with the full heart package. I think of the good woman I know in AA who watched her son drink himself to death -- nothing she could have done to spare him, though she tried everything -- months later she said that, that a recovered and loving life means you get a full heart (and whether you like it or not). How else can we stay open and receiving and saying yes? So the the tearstorm here we share with you, hand you a hankie for a decent blow and wait for your next gift of poetry to the world!

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    1. Wow, thank you, Brendan. Yes, full hearts are heavy with pain. No escape.

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  8. This grandmother needs inspiration,
    needs to hear the voices
    of women and grandmothers, rising.

    In this, I will join the grandmothers.

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  9. I'm an aunt, though people my age are grandmothers. I read both political sides and see some of these things from a different angle than NBC presents. I still cried real tears for the children... "too many children dying."

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  10. Truly outstanding, Sherry. Fantastic use of Hannah's form.

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  11. You wrote pretty, Grandma
    I like the words you said
    I too have those feelings
    This poem is a Grandpa
    Waiting for renewal

    I remember doing a "This poem is a" back a long while ago, July 19, 2014, for Hannah also. I think you missed it or it was too corny for you to leave a comment.
    ..

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    1. https://jimmiehov6.blogspot.com/2014/07/blog-post_19.html?m=1
      ..

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