Powerful image from the post by Wepna Loneagle
at Grandmothers Circle the Earth
No copyright infringement intended
Do you know
(or turn your head away
in denial from the fact)
that the planet is burning?
Just this side of the apocalypse,
can our words and our voices
help create change?
Or are we simply chronicling
the demise of a civilization
that did not learn
how to be civil?
Well.
This never started out to be
an uplifting poem.
We wake up
(in every sense) each morning
(in every sense) each morning
with a broken heart.
We decide: turn on the news
or live with yesterday's ache?
or live with yesterday's ache?
What can a poem do, you ask?
It allows my heart to bleed tears
on paper,
so the top of my head doesn’t blow off
in the grief
of watching so much of
all that I love
disappear in the flames.But.
I need to believe
our hearts, our thoughts, our words
have power.
They can touch other hearts.
They can change minds.
I need to have hope,
against all mounting evidence
to the contrary,
we can still
save our lives.
Not a cheery poem. For Anmol's great prompt at Real Toads: to write a poem in the style of Ferlinghetti with the title "Poetry As - " As Ferlinghetti was a poet after my own heart, who used his art as activism, this poem popped out rather easily.
Ah, I so admire that you touched on poetry as a means of activism — this is so very significant and stands true for all forms of art. Your words paint a desolate picture for sure but their calming endurance provides a certain hope too (perhaps we need to keep that alive for as long as we can). So very evocative, Sherry! I am glad that you went in this direction with the prompt. :-)
ReplyDeleteYou save mine every time I visit your site. Its the only pulpit we have sometimes and you my dear, use it very well. Loved it!!
ReplyDeleteWhat lovely comments. Thank you, kind sirs. You made me smile. Yes, we have to hang onto hope.
ReplyDeleteThank goodness there are people like you who write against the injustice done to our planet every day.
ReplyDeleteLove the line: ...so the top of my head doesn't blow off...
ReplyDeleteNot the same as blowing your mind, which I've done plenty of.
As we look back over history, I think the role of poets has been well established. Pen is mightier than the sword, though you can stick yourself with either one if you're not careful. I love the fire that you bring to this, Sherry!
Yes...just plain good stuff. Sometimes the anger can sharpen those words, penetrating hearts too long lived in chosen ignorance.
ReplyDeleteElizabeth
https://soulsmusic.wordpress.com/2019/04/16/echo/
They say every summer now there will be fewer and fewer days in which people can work outside. Yet we must remain hopeful. Trying to keep my head on as Trump brings another swamp monster into the EPA.
ReplyDeleteYes, let us bleed into poetry to open eyes
ReplyDeleteHang tough, Sherry. We are not taking care of what a great planet we have, it is crying itself to doom.
ReplyDelete..
Sounds like you and I are swimming in the same shrinking pond, Sherry. Your emotion and balance of hope and despair is commendable. These lines are killer:
ReplyDeleteOr are we simply chronicling
the demise of a civilization
that did not learn
how to be civil?
ah Sherry, will we dumb humans ever figure out that words matter...
ReplyDeleteNot cheery, Sherry, but true. I love the lines:
ReplyDelete‘We wake up
(in every sense) each morning
with a broken heart’
and
‘It allows my heart to bleed tears
on paper,
so the top of my head doesn’t blow off'.
May I echo every word!
ReplyDeleteOh this tugs strongly upon my heart, Sherry especially these lines: " We wake up (in every sense) each morning
ReplyDeletewith a broken heart. We decide: turn on the news or live with yesterday's ache?"
It's true..we wake up every morning with a broken heart and the more information we get the worse that ache becomes.
ReplyDeleteI am not so sure...for we all walk together to the same destination....we have fouled our nest, and haven't much to show, except destruction. We are not long out of the cave, and haven't much time to learn.
ReplyDeleteWhat can a poem do, you ask?
ReplyDeleteIt allows my heart to bleed tears
on paper...
I read once that tears are words that need to be written.. I get that from your poem.
If only those who need it most would listen to this instead of the sound of their V8 engines.
ReplyDeleteThis poem is proof of the strength that can live in a gentle heart.
ReplyDeleteI stand and applaud the truth here, Sherry.
ReplyDelete