Ancient Forest Alliance
photographer TJ Watt
When the earth and I were young,
I heard it singing, joyous and free,
in the warblings of birds,
the heartbeat of ancient trees,
the wild call of the wolf,
in eagle-cries at dawn.
When I listen for it now,
the song is nearly gone.
My heart goes quiet with the grief
of Gaia's struggle to survive
our relentless encroachment
into every hidden corner
of Mother Earth, giving nothing,
taking everything of worth.
Bravely, as the seas and tundra warm,
she still hums her ageless melody,
birds still build their nests in hopes
their young will live their season out;
animals and humans are born,
following the primal urge,
summer follows winter,
in an endless surge, leaves unfurl,
everything alive is striving to survive
in this wild and peopled world.
How does a poet find a poem
in all the struggle? How find the words
midst the grief of all the dying?
My heart goes silent as I watch
a world in pain and crying.
Hope replaced by melancholy,
I Become the Observer,
not quite resigned to
the error of our human folly.
In all that feels so wrong,
it is too dark to find a song.
The lilt and flow
that my words used to know
goes still, Mother Earth's weeping
the new song, echoed in my heart;
I hear lamenting everywhere
I go.
for Brendan at earthweal: the challenge of a poet writing sufficiently unto the moment. The enormity of what is happening is such that my words no longer lilt and swirl, but plod, grief-stricken and aghast. I struggle to put my pain into words at how completely wrong everything is. How badly we need leaders of vision to lead us out of this mess. How unfortunate we are with the ones we have now.
Sherry this just might be your piece de resistance amidst your prolific collection of poetry. You mix a sad beauty with a truth we can all sense, if not fully conceptualize. As poets we continue to explore the meaning of the reality of our times.
ReplyDeleteTruly lovel work Sherry.
Very tough response. I just hate to think we're drowning, but maybe if there isn't a sufficient human response any more there can be no sufficient poetry. We get grief songs, then silence. - B
ReplyDelete'How does a poet find a poem
ReplyDeletein all the struggle?'
That is certainly the all-absorbing question of the hour. I certainly related to your words in this piece, Sherry.
I feel your sorrow. Your beautiful poem reads and both song and lament.
ReplyDeleteI feel like that sometimes too but, despite appearances, I believe this precious Earth will survive. Maybe the people won't though - sometimes it seems to me that we a kind of pandemic ourselves.
Suzanne of Mapping Uncertainty.
this makes me wonder if we should think like rocks. if clouds and trees have languages, perhaps we can learn something from rocks, too - patience and endurance ~
ReplyDeleteA grief-filled song indeed, Sherry. The humans who are destroying the earth are selectively deaf to its song, they just don’t want to listen because they are only concerned with themselves. No kindness or empathy with anything or anyone. These lines made me shed a tear:
ReplyDelete‘Bravely, as the seas and tundra warm,
she still hums her ageless melody,
birds still build their nests in hopes
their young will live their season out’
and
‘In all that feels so wrong,
it is too dark to find a song.’
But you do keep singing...more than a sufficiency.
ReplyDeleteIndeed, how does a poet find a poem!!
ReplyDeleteIf nothing else, you are bearing witness, reporting from the frontline. I hope the song can return, maybe with different words, but still a song.
ReplyDeleteA moving lament, Sherry. I think you have found the words.
ReplyDeleteJIM
Yes. A beautiful lament.
ReplyDelete