Riding My Bus of Dreams

If the wet gray skies
are getting you down,
and the rain is trickling
under your coat, down
the back of your neck,
if there is too much
Christmas to buy
and not enough dollars,
if some of your loved ones
are far away,
and too many Christmases
have passed,
with too many faces
no longer around the table,
if love never arrived,
at least not in the form
you had expected it,
take a little time to
Occupy the Blues.

Go ahead.
Feel it all and,
if you're strong enough,
widen your vision
to encompass
all of the unwanted,
abandoned animals
who will spend Christmas
in the SPCA,
or the creatures
who live their whole lives
in cages,
waiting to cross our tables,
or the wild ones displaced
from their habitats,
then picked off when they "encroach"
on "Man's" Territory.

Are you depressed enough yet?

Just watch the news.
I know. I don't do it often,
and each time I do
I remember why.
The humans may be
even worse off
than the animals
in so many places.
And for certain,
the environment
is in complete distress.

But I'm riding my Bus of Dreams
down the gray, rain-drenched streets
through the worst part of town -
where the disenfranchised
eke out their bare existence.
They remind me I have so much
to be grateful for.

I see them carrying
their small packages home
with gladness in their hearts
to make a small Christmas
with their loved ones.
We all dream
the same dreams.
We all love to give.

When my heart aches
for humanity,
for this suffering
and unbalanced planet,
for the 99%,
for the melting at the Poles,

I remember that
even in its distress,
Mother Earth continues
to love us,
to provide for us,
to sustain us.

She wakes up every morning
beautiful.
She presents us
with her best sunrises
and sunsets,
her bluest skies,
her fluffiest clouds,

her necessary rain.

When I see her resilience,
I roll up my sleeves
and get ready to
begin again.

I decide to Re-Occupy Hope.

for Gabriella's prompt at dVerse: City Songs.

Non-Human Rights

cognizance media photo of Ta'Kaiya Blaney,

young First Nations environmental activist

The wild things have gathered in council,
a council for all beings,
to confer about the state of things on the land.

Ms Mountain Goat speaks first.
Those who tromp in heavy boots
through our forest
talk about their rights: human rights,
the right to own what can never be owned,
the rights of the multinationals 
to rape and pillage and pay nothing back,
the right to work, the right to hold money 
as their God,
as if they are the only ones who have rights.
What about non-human rights?

The animals all nod and murmur.
Mr Bear moves to the center of the circle.
What about our rights? he asks pleasantly,
dipping his paw into a honeypot, then licking.
I have a harder time each winter 
finding a quiet spot to rest.
The Mrs has a terrible time 
keeping the youngsters safe
Everywhere are the big machines, 
the grappleyarders, destroying our habitat,
and the metal creatures on rubber feet 
that kill so many -human and non-human alike-
on the highways.

Yes! non-human rights! 
how do we make them hear us?
All of the animals are animated, and chattering.

This is when the Standing People,
the Talking Trees, who have been listening, 
finally speak:
Our numbers are diminishing and, 
along with us, our tree wisdom,
and the ecosystems which help all to live.
The oceans are filling with their garbage.
The air is filling with their polluted smoke.
The earth is warming from 
their addiction to fossil fuel.
They do not realize - though it is clear to see -
that they will choke to death, or drown,
or burn
alongside the rest of us.

The critters exchange glances.
Tall Tree has spoken truth.

Who will take this message to their leaders? 
asks Rabbit.

It will be a child, for only a child has eyes 
clear enough to see,  replies Tree.

                             *****          *****          ******

Susan's prompt at Mid Week Motif is human rights. This caused me to think about non-human rights, which are rarely considered.

The Bear of My Being

nationalgeographic.com

The great bear of my being

has gone into hibernation

turning its back on the grey skies,

grey rain, grey world, 

yards running with mud, 

ditches and creeks teeming with rushing water.

A great blast is heard from the hills,

where ancient trees are being 

felled and shipped away

at such a great rate 

the wildlife are dispossessed,

drifting into our yards, onto our roads, 

in peril for lack of habitat.

I am helpless to remedy any of it,

beyond sending a prayer of pain and empathy

to a suffering planet and 

the humans and non-humans

who find it increasingly difficult to live

upon its surface.

We are just past the full moon in Gemini 

- the Cold Moon.

The greyscape  hid it from view.

The fog hunkered down over the fields,

mist dripped down the arms of Grandfather Cedar

and tangled in the snarls of Old Man's Beard.

Salal became platters of sparkling dewdrops for fairies,

who do not mind the rain.

And already solstice is on its way.

Slowly the planet is tipping us

ever towards the light and,

with that brightness, the white swan of our being

will rise its arched neck into the hope

of another shimmering spring.

The cycle keeps us moving forward.

The light keeps us looking up.

The news on the television is still winter-grey.

My spirit turns away, seeking, instead,

stories and songs of transcendence.

In the transformation of consciousness,

I place my faltering trust and my diminishing hope

that this planet will awaken in time.

Yet I must believe, in order to live.

May it be world-wide. 

May it be breath-taking.

May it be soon.

On Raven's Wings

tumblr.com

I send my dreams on raven's wings

over the mountains and to the sea.

I send my dreams on raven's wings -

what answer will come back to me?

Through the pass and along the shore,

where my footprints are no more,

into the gold of the setting sun - 

bless the path of this lonely one.

My soul's song rides the Westerly,

atop the wild and white-maned wave,

where once I set my spirit free,

with trusting heart, and mettle brave.

Speak to my spirit that yearns sky-bound,

words that will lift me from the ground.

Skybird, sing me a traveling song.

Sing me back where I belong.

The Path of Peace

Kobani in Northern Syria

photo credit: photojournalist Jake Simkin, 

NBC News

The path to peace is strewn with rubble,
kettle boil and cauldron bubble.
I shall not hate, is what he cried
the day bombs fell and his daughters died.

If he can walk the path of peace
when all his world was turned to tears,
I can do no less than he,
to try to shift our spirits free.

The bombs rain down.
The stone walls tremble.

Edges blur, boundaries dissemble.
Suffering brings us to our knees,
heaven indifferent to our pleas.

Prayers and cries rise to the heavens,

who cannot arbitrate our screams.
Angels turn sadly away:
"They created a nightmare of their dreams."

Humans long for peace
as the parched earth burns.

Serene, the pale blue cosmos turns.

Susan's prompt at Mid Week Motif , over at Poets United, is to do with bombs, days of infamy, turning points. My thoughts have run the gamut: Pearl Harbor, Hiroshima and Nagasaki, the Cold War, the Cuban missile crisis. But also that turning point, the day the Berlin Wall came down, which I did not think would happen in my lifetime. Which shows that it is possible for a peoples' desire for justice and freedom - for peace -  to change those in power.

President Obama said, in 2013 in Berlin, "No wall can stand against the yearning for justice, the yearnings for freedom, the yearnings for peace that burns in the human heart."

Dr. Izzeldin Abuelaish, author of the book I Shall Not Hate, was the first Palestinian doctor to receive a staff position at an Israeli hospital, where he treated both Israeli and Palestinian patients. When three of his daughters were killed by Israeli tank fire in their home in Gaza, he vowed "I Shall Not Hate". He continued his humanitarian work on both sides of the border. This is the greatness of the human spirit. The same humanity that breeds hatred, extremism and sectarian violence is capable of transcending circumstance and ideology to inhabit higher ground.

Gratitude

Grateful for the rain
because it isnt snow,
the horses huddling 
under the lean-to grateful, too,
and for the grey skies
even though they are not blue,
that cover this peaceful day
born this morning, fresh and new.

For the daughter who calls with joy
about her rescued pup,
the other one who calls in tears
because her strength's used up,
though no one will be gathering
round the table here this year,
grateful phones keep us connected,
that we all have ears to hear.

Grateful for the forest, 
grateful for the sea,
grateful for the universe 
that brought your love to me,
grateful for the wolf-Pup
who still lives in my heart, 
grateful that our spirits 
will never be apart.

The beauty of the earth
that lightens every day - It's not the wildness of the beach,
but it's what's within my reach.

Winter

Dawn

I put on the day

like a prayer shawl

and count my beads

of gratitude.

We had our first fall of snow, and everything is so beautiful outside, I can only repeat these words, written a few years back on a similarly snowy morning, to describe the way the beauty makes me feel.

Happy Winter, everyone!