How many ghosts have humans caused
in the last hundred years?
I ponder, gazing at the ceiling
at 2 a.m., the time when inner ghosts
walk the halls of mind and memory,
when pillows grow too flat and sheets
too warm, yet an outflung leg chills,
finding no comfortable temperature
in which to traverse the night.
Across the sky of mind, polar bears crawl,
skin and bone, across the melting taiga;
wolves emerge, confused, into an urban
landscape, as we encroach further and further
into their homeland. Birds fall from the sky;
grey whales beach themselves, their death songs
mournful, pitiful; they look into our eyes,
seeking help, but we have none to give.
We are too late. This, the source of our grief.
I have heard of octopi walking out of the sea
to die onland. Forever I will remember
Tahlequah, carrying her dead calf
on her nose for seventeen days of mourning.
Takaya, beloved wolf, shot dead
by a hunter; so many furry creatures
shot, caught in traps, or poisoned.
So much death and suffering;
the wonder is we ever manage
a whole night's sleep.
Now covid has come for us.
There is no shortage of ghosts
with which to confer
about sitting on the very lip
of the precipice.
We are all in line for the ferryman,
who has been showing up
so often his arms must be
getting tired.
What can I do in the meantime?
I'm saving trees, speaking for trees,
planting trees.
I'm cleaning litter off beaches.
Reduce, reduce, reduce,
and then recycle.
I write to my elected officials,
village, provincial, federal,
urging urgent action.
Representatives know that
one letter represents a hundred voters
who feel the same but never write
the letter. Letters have impact.
Votes have more. Vote well.
Mostly, I just love the earth:
the morning sky, the forest
and the shore, the animals
in my world (and the wild).
I love the sky, greeting it
each day with gratitude.
Still here! I smile. Thank you!
smug as a raven, happy as
a shore-running dog.
There is so much beauty to love
even when the big picture
shows how much is wrong.
I have to believe there is a picture
bigger still, when humanity may yet
make that sudden leap
of consciousness and connection,
recognizing we are each just
one more animal
in the chain of life, no more
and, certainly, no less.
But the fate of all the rest
is in our hands.
Deep karma.
for Brendan at earthweal where we are contemplating the Already Dead
My first comment disappeared. I completely agree with everything you've said here. We can't give up.
ReplyDeleteSuzanne of Mapping Uncertainty
Some quit when things seem impossible. And then there are those of us who take a step at a time to make things better; enjoying the view as we go. I liked to think our poetry reflects some of that beauty.
ReplyDeleteA contemplative poem, Sherry, with which I identify. It’s always early morning when we are woken by those important questions, those ‘inner ghosts [that]
ReplyDeletewalk the halls of mind and memory’, and you’ve captured it painfully well in ‘pillows grow too flat and sheets
too warm, yet an outflung leg chills,
finding no comfortable temperature
in which to traverse the night’.
I am deeply touched by the images of polar bears crawling ‘skin and bone, across the melting taiga’, the wolves, birds, whales – the sad state of this planet. You are right to wonder that we ever manage a whole night's sleep. But there are those that do while continuing to pollute the planet while the people who can’t do all they can to save our planet.
Despite the ghosts, some of which didn't have to be, there IS still so much beauty to love...and for which we can be thankful. But as you concluded, the fate of so many is in our hands. May we be wise.
ReplyDeleteEverything you describe is the truth. Not enough people care to do anything about it though. You're right, it needs legislation because otherwise, most of us will just shed a tear and pile of the supermarket trolley with the same killers.
ReplyDelete"Still here! I smile. Thank you!
ReplyDeletesmug as a raven, happy as
a shore-running dog."
Such strong images of happy as well as of tragic. This is my new favorite of yours, opening Pandora's box to find the hope still inside. Letting hope thrive.
The zombie alertness of insomnia is an already-dead state, unable to rest, sifting the ashes of an earth we love so much. It really costs to have a heart, these days. But a conscience may be the only true shelter in such storms, holding fast to a truth ... Keep it going, friend. - Brendan
ReplyDeleteThank you! yes that is a fine start to any day. And let us do something so the earth can answer back in kind.
ReplyDeleteOh Sherry, I really felt your words here:
ReplyDelete'they look into our eyes,
seeking help, but we have none to give.
We are too late. This, the source of our grief.'
I was feeling very upset about the whole situation until a friend pointed out that it's important not to give up hope. We have caused this situation and now we need to do something about it.
Your last line gave me chills. I wonder if we humans do indeed already have a target on our chests, and are already dead. In some ways some of us are. We ignore the signs, we take this earth for granted and we seek other planets to pollute and perhaps destroy too.
ReplyDeleteYou had me from the title - excellent musing and meditation Sherry. Peace.
ReplyDelete