for my prompt at earthweal: Wild Hearts Can't Be Broken. But there are times when it feels like they can.
Monday, February 28, 2022
Sunday, February 27, 2022
The walls are weeping tears
and then bombs.
This is where I came in.
How can this
Yet somewhere, in the forest,
salmonberry are blooming
so pink and sweet,
and a wolf paces softly
down to the water
to lap a drink.
I have seen too much
that was never in my dreams.
My heart is weary
from holding all the pain.
in spite of us,
the cherry tree is budding,
and soon it will be covered
in white blossoms
Saturday, February 26, 2022
of tending a peaceful heart.
to get it right.
Friday, February 25, 2022
Has anyone counted the stars, the constellations,
the black holes? How many countries are we?
How many will we be after invasion?
How many thousands of Russians now stand
in the streets, risking arrest to say "no war" -
war waged against their neighbours and
family members just miles away?
How many Ukraine citizens are now
bearing arms to defend their country?
(What kind of world have we made
when citizens have to fight their own wars
out of other nations' fear a madman
will start nuclear war?)
In my village, we are counting the trees
that come down, and the ones that are left.
We count the number of residents in need of housing,
so much greater than the number of residences
available to house them. How many homeless
in a world-class tourist destination?
No use counting waves. I just measure my breath
to their ebb and their flow, till everything
quiets and slows, and allows me to carry
the weight in my head of a daughter not well
and a country invaded, people on the screen
crying, distraught, the pets they bring with them,
the many more left behind, alone in terror;
and the old people, too frail to leave their buildings,
so they sit and count bombs falling,
hoping their building will be spared.
How hard we try to make sense of the world,
take inventory, try to fit everything
into its proper place. Too many things just
don't fit any more. They say God knows
every sparrow's fall. She must be busy now,
counting and counting the hairs upon terrified heads,
as the world approaches the lip
of unthinkable spiralling madness.
Inspired by The God of Numbers by Denusha Lameris of Wild Writing
Shared with earthweal's open link
Monday, February 21, 2022
I ask the Unlistening Ear of world leaders:
can you hear the cries of the wild ones
who have lost their forest homes?
or the humans, now climate refugees,
on the move after war, and famine,
floods and wildfire?
Did your heart ache when you saw
kangaroos and koalas with burning skin,
running to we humans for help?
Do you understand that
the beyond-human realm
has feelings too?
I live midway between
despair and hope,
between a cackle and a howl.
My heart paces falling forests,
swims with the whales
in warming, rising and
Five years left to lower emissions,
they say, yet nothing changes.
Leaders set ten year goals
in a five year crisis,
so someone else can deal
with this thorny problem.
(Slow down all the clocks.
Speed up our evolution,
transform our environmental consciousness.)
She asked me where I see myself
in ten years. I live by rising seas,
in an old growth forest that is being clearcut,
with summer heat domes and the threat
of wildfire in a rainforest.
In ten years I will most certainly
be underground. My grave, it seems,
will be floating underwater.
I will be one with the sea at last.
I will be One with Everything.
For today my sad refrain is
for Ingrid at earthweal: The Global Assembly, our concerns about the climate crisis, and how we are impacted where we live.
Impacting life in B.C.:
*Only 1% left of old growth in B.C., and it is still being clearcut. Locally, trees are coming down for housing because we are too many. Provincially, it is coming down for corporate greed, aided and abetted by talk and log politicians.
*I live on a coastline, with the threat of tsunamis, and rising sea levels.
*In summer, we now experience heat domes and the threat of wildfire - in a rainforest! The climate has changed drastically in the last 30 years.
*B.C. already has climate refugees from several towns laid waste first, by wildfires and then flooding.
*Climate refugees are struggling to survive across the globe.
And nothing changes. Nothing changes. Nothing changes.
Friday, February 18, 2022
Tuesday, February 15, 2022
as the current caught him,
me getting ready to
in this world.
in the back room
too tired at day's end.
meant to be done.
as spring tiptoes in,
in the yard. I love
would I feel so whole, so free,
Inspired by "Things I Didn't Know I Loved" by Nazim Hikmet
Monday, February 14, 2022
Sunday, February 13, 2022
the memoir untouched
the pantry not tidied
the floor unwashed
the bathroom not cleaned
I turned off the news
sat outside in the sun as spring
tiptoed into the yard
tiny crocuses stretching
fragile new blooms
walked the beach
patted a puppy
and fed her a treat
picked up some dressing
at the CoOp
for the salad I will eat
listened to some tunes
that took me back
to when the earth and I
counted my blessings
in certainty that
Wednesday, February 9, 2022
We're not writing anthologies here,
we're living our memoir.
It's Wednesday. The recycling
gets picked up today.
Also on my To Do list:
keep track of my blood pressure,
which is too high. (No wonder:
have you watched the news lately?)
And write. Every morning.
This writing-thing I do is my medicine;
it helps me bear the truth (and bear witness
to the truth) of this slipping-down life.
Last night, lying awake, I contemplated
the anarchists in the "freedom convoy",
the rise of fascism across the globe,
Russia lining up its militia
on the Ukraine border,
cruelty - to animals and people -
so pervasive I wonder what kind of
species we have become,
and whether maybe the climate crisis
will help solve the problem of us
for all other living things.
Re-set the clock, I beg
The Unhearing Ear. Take us back
to when life seemed simpler, kinder,
(perhaps because I was too busy
raising kids to watch the news.)
This poem is my medicine.
It helps me to bear the truth
of this slipping-down life.
Meanwhile, it's Wednesday,
and my blue box of recyclables
is sitting on the curb.
Wild Writing inspired by "We're Not Writing Anthologies Here" by Maya Stein. Shared with earthweal's open link.
Monday, February 7, 2022
Saturday, February 5, 2022
off the side of the trailer
to make ends
While it left me
I don't regret a single thing.
and a person just can't live
Friday, February 4, 2022
Wednesday, February 2, 2022
demanding "freedom from tyranny"
otherwise known as health mandates
designed to keep us safe.
They carry upside down Canadian flags,
Nazi and white supremacist flags
and dance on the grave of the unknown soldier,
hang placards and upside down flags on
the Terry Fox statue, talk about their freedoms
while trampling on and preventing
their fellow citizens from exercising ours.
The west is facing off against Russia
and soon we might have more to worry about
than whether we like masks and vaccinations
and health mandates or not.
and what extreme events we will live through
My village is moving through its usual routine.
The Parks people are adding topsoil
to community gardens, plying their rakes
and hoes and shovels with enthusiasm.
Light is coming earlier and staying later,
and a new puppy with blue eyes
took a treat from my fingers
with great interest, one small new being
slowly discovering a whole big world
of interesting smells and sensations.
(May he be safe. May his so vulnerable
and precious life be blessed.)
and I will make it through the distressing news,
deplorable human behaviour, and
the resulting state of the world
that we are, together and individually,
co-creating. (May we be safe. May our
and Mother Earth's so vulnerable
and precious lives be blessed.)
Tuesday, February 1, 2022
the walls of patriarchy are crumbling.
Under midnight stars,
at the 11th hour on Planet Earth,
we contemplate what new thing
may emerge from the ruins
of human conquest.
Wise goddesses are waiting
in the wings, ready to forge a trail
through the bracken
back to the Old Ways:
ways of life, not death.
to follow them and learn their ways.
As we earthlings awaken
and walk the path
of transformation and restoration,
the Black Snake will dry up
and fade away.
Green life and all animals
Mother Earth and all her creatures
will breathe clean air
she always dreams