If We Knew Then.........

Parksville, Vancouver Island

Did we understand,

when we agreed to inhabit these bodies

and grow our souls,

when we consented

to coming to earth at this time,

that we were coming to behold

and give testimony,

to give voice to the voiceless,

to stand against injustice in solidarity,

to bear witness and to mourn?

Did we know it would break our hearts

a hundred times a week,

that we would grieve so many losses,

start over so many times?

Did we know we would be strong enough?

We accepted the  earthly body,

whatever the cost.

Because we either remembered,

or were given a glimpse of

the sheer, breathtaking beauty of this world,

how it shines.

We would do it all again

for the sheer joy

of watching tendrils of clouds 

kiss a mountaintop,

the everlasting beauty 

of the silver shining sea,

for the exhilaration of falling in love,

the joy of bringing forth our children,

for the privilege of old age, 

and peacefulness,

for the love of blue sky and birdsong,

and sunsets,

and a brand new day starting over 

every morning.

And if we get the chance,

to do it all again,

we'll say "yes!"

so we can love it all,

in all its pain and glory,

just one more time.

This poem is my response to Rebecca Del Rio's poem, "The Pact", featured in Larry Robinson's Poem of the Day. She wrote that "it was broken before we arrived, the pact with life". That our work, immersed in mourning, is to turn loss into love. That resonated with me........ It made me think about all the horrible things we hear about daily, that have been getting me down, and yet how beautiful, still, this planet is, what a gift these lives of ours are. 

Charlie the Seagull

advanceair.net

In those days, an old seagull named Charlie,

came to his perch on the porch

every mealtime,

waiting for scraps from the children's plates.

He was a bit ragged around the edges,

a hardscrabble old mariner.

If I were slow in bringing out his meal,

he aimed his gaze at me,

and I hurried up.

Down below, the waves lapped

peacefully and rhythmically

on the shore.

The sound gave me comfort.

Upstairs, was the store

where I earned our living,

dawn to midnight.

Another ragged around the edges male

made brief appearances,

to palm money from the till

and go out drinking.

All that winter, his anger seethed.

All that winter,

as my baby grew in my belly,

I worked and worried.

In the summer, he closed the store

"for renovations", and  took us

to my mother's house.

Within weeks, the store burned down.

When there was no insurance money paid,

due to the suspicious nature of the fire,

he was on his way.

I often wonder where

old Charlie the seagull went,

when his perch was gone

and I wasn't there to feed him.

I never wondered much

about the man.

for Sumana's prompt at Midweek Motif: Birds

Once in a Blue Moon

Once in a blue moon

Wild Woman remembers

the man who was playing the lead

in his own bad movie

and whom she for a brief time believed

was all that he was not.

Then she goes

"Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!",

gives her head a shake

at her former gullibility,

and carries on with starring

in her own movie.

The Animals of Fort Mac

This is one dog who got out ~

on a plane out of Fort McMurray,

where the wildfires rage on

 photo by Derek Allen

The bears are coming down from the mountains,

into the town. They have nowhere else to go.

In the subdivisions, through the smoke and flames,

people can hear dogs barking frantically,

animals left behind in the haste of fleeing.

100 animals were abandoned at a boarding kennel,

when an evacuation order came with no time to spare.

Dogs bark in cars abandoned

by the side of the road,

as the flames come closer and the people flee.

But Fort Mac is rallying.

There are shelters to care for abandoned animals,

rescue groups searching for 

the lost and missing fur babies left behind.

Many of them will be rescued.

For many others, it is too late.

They haunt my dreams

and break my heart.

God bless those who don't forget the animals,

at such a time.

God bless the Fort McMurray Animal Rescue group, and the rescue groups all across Alberta, who are uniting to help the terrified critters of Fort McMurray:
Fort McMurray Fire Emergency Animal Assistance


source: Metro News

Riversong

Stamp Falls

Sing me a song of river, green and wild,

as it makes its steadfast journey to the sea.

With its beauty I'm enchanted and beguiled.

The wildlands is where my spirit feels most free.

As it makes its steadfast journey to the sea,

sing to me with Raven's husky gobble-cry.

In the wildlands, where my spirit feels most free,

the Old Trees listen to my whispered sigh.

Sing to me with Raven's husky gobble-cry,

with grak! of heron, hoot of sleepy owl.

As the Old Trees listen to my whispered sigh,

sing me eagle's shriek and Old Wolf's howl. 

With krak! of heron, hoot of sleepy owl,

all is beauty. I'm enchanted and beguiled.

Sing me eagle's shriek and Old Wolf's howl.

Sing me a song of river, green and wild.

A pantoum for Hannah's prompt at Real Toads: Transforming With Nature's Wonders. And shared with the Poetry Pantry at Poets United.

Not On the Evening News

Steve Jurvetson photo

We won't see it on the evening news,
corporately controlled,
because corporations are not about justice.
They are about profit.
And profit requires an unaware population.

So we won't see on the news
that rivers catch on fire from fracking,
which releases methane into the water,
which can then be set alight.

Ruling powers suppress clean energy inventions,
have done for decades,
fight tooth and claw to maintain
dependence on oil,
cite "the economy",
hope we don't figure out
we don't need oil at all.
Why aren't governments leading
the switch to clean energy,
which would provide
millions of jobs world-wide,
plus give the planet (and us)
a fighting chance?

It isn't on the news that tigers,
(an endangered species),
are "farmed" to make alcohol,
their bones marinated in rice wine
for eager connoisseurs.
They don't want us to know
there are now more farmed tigers
than tigers in the wild,
4000 farmed,
3300 in the wild,
not many, either way.

Does anyone tell the starlet
that an ostrich died
so she could walk the red carpet
with her designer bag?

The big secret not many speak of is
that our immense, beautiful Mother Ocean
is dying: from our dumping, our plastics,
our effluent, pollution, radioactive waste.
Dying from our assumption
that there will always be More,
that our need  (our greed) is paramount.

Has humanity abandoned spaceship earth,
that only human want has any worth?

And, still, it can get worse.

There is a man
who makes my hair stand on end
every time he speaks.
If the unthinkable happens,
and he's the one in charge,
we will truly be up Shit Creek.
And he will be the guy
holding the match.


source: ForceChange.com

energy suppression cases: rense.com

A rant, after reading about the rivers, the tigers and the ostriches yesterday morning. For Susan's prompt at Midweek Motif: Secrecy. There is so much the general public doesn't know - that corporations (and governments ruled by corporations) don't want us to know, that I could go on and on.  But this is enough to ponder, for today.

This Poem Is a Wild Woman

This wonderful picture of Wild Woman

was created for me by Ellen Wilson of Ella's Edge

This poem is a wild woman,
knocking down invisible inner walls,
the better to observe the sky of mind.
This poem is agitated,
the inner wild a climate of unrest
when too far away from the untamed places.
Attuned to the call of the Raven,
the howl of the wolf,
this town full of monster trucks and logging rigs
assaults her senses, she feeling
as alien as a cougar
inexplicably materializing
on a sidewalk in the middle
of this grey little industry town.


Where is her soul’s home?
Deep, deep, in the wild places
where only the creatures live.
Sorceress of the midnight moon,
follower of the shaman’s path,
she drums a primal beat
that speaks “Home! Home!”
with a stick carved from her breastbone,
chants incantations to earth, air, water, fire,
prays her spirit guides will lead her well,
back to the ocean’s roar and the forest’s
sacred, hidden trails.


While waiting, Wild Woman
makes her escape in a poem:
sings to the trees, communes
with restless spirits, ululates with owls,
flies up and away over the mountain pass
every morning, every eventide,
to where the wild things are,
always and forever, forever and always,
a lover of rainforest and ocean-song,
she knows where she belongs.

Confined, her spirit finds no rest
away from her soul’s home.
Wild Woman restlessly circles and turns,
within the inner landscape,
like a too-large dog circling a too-small bed,
trying to make what does not fit, fit,
too tight the wrappings that keep her
from flying free,
for she has always been a seeker,
now hoping to find, one last time,
what has for so long been sought.

This poem was written in March, following the instructions of my friend Elizabeth Crawford of Soul's Music , as featured in our chat at Poets United.