Going Rogue

source

They say Andromeda has moved
farther away from the Milky Way.
Perhaps they heard there is a planet
going rogue down here,
and put safe distance between us.

Scientists have realized the humans here
seem unable to understand
the simple science of climate change,
of finding cleaner, greener ways
to reduce greenhouse gas emissions.
They are working on Plan B:
how to block the sun from space
to reduce the temperature on earth.
Talk about doing things the hard way.
We are ever slow to learn.

When we look outward to the power of ten,
we are one tiny speck
in an infinity of universes.
When we go inward to the scope of ten,
we find amazing mini-universes within.

To connect the dots and save our world,
we must make our leaders understand
every atom is connected
to every other.
And every human and wild creature
is our sister, mother,  father, brother.


for Physics With Bjorn at Real Toads.

I can't get over it. Harvard scientists are working on an experiment  to limit how much sunlight reaches earth to curb global warming. Imagine the expense, when what is needed is clear, and in our power to do : reduce  carbon emissions significantly, replace dependency on oil with clean energy - abundantly available from natural sources, and a source of jobs for millions as we make the switch - and plant millions of trees that absorb carbon, rather than chopping them down. [Shocking news: it takes trees 25 years old and older to absorb carbon. It takes 269 small trees to absorb the carbon of one mature tree. And the mature trees are going down faster than we can keep track, even here in the Biosphere where I live, one of the last old growth forests remaining, in an area that was supposed to be protected.]

The frustration is that such things must be legislated. Leaders would rather be re-elected and rich, than do what is right for the planet. Huge corporations need to pay carbon taxes, as well as be financially responsible for cleaning up the devastation they cause the planet. As individuals, our power lies in voicing our demands for this to happen, and by VOTING for those who have a climate change platform.

Twelve years till it is too late to significantly impact climate change is not very long. The floods in the midwest,  forest fires,  extreme weather events, tell us we are already in crisis. Extremely frustrating, the avoidance dance our supposed "leaders" do.

The reference to the power of ten is from a film I saw years ago that took the viewer outward from ground zero  ten times into space, and then from the skin to ten times inward....universes large and small in both directions. An amazement, how everything is connected, and how few people understand this. Thankfully, more of us are waking up. Especially the young, who are my hope and my heroes.

This Poem is a Wild Woman

Collage made for me by Steve,

the Unknown Gnome

now in the spirit world.

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  Raven,
the howl of 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 was written in May 2016, when I was living inland, longing for the sea. It reminds me that when one hangs onto a dream with determination, it can come true. In my lifetime, not just once, but twice. I am blessed.

In Love With the Wild

I walk in solitary bliss, in  love

with the sky and the song of the sea.

Beaming at every rock and tree,

I feel love smiling back at me.

Wall of cedar out my window,

golden-greening in the sun,

beckons me forth into the morning,

and the sunny day begun.

Nature's gifts lie all around us.

Walk in wonder like a child.

Solitude is never lonely,

when you're in love with the wild.

for Sumana's prompt at Midweek Motif: Solitude

SONG OF THE FROGS

Port Albion just before sunset

Song of the frogs

in the fading light

soft fade the hills

in the falling night

God touching earth

with a gentle might

and all is beauty

within my sight

Soft falls the light

on garden walls

a rose-hued mountain

as night's curtain falls

a froggy symphony

serenades the night sky

and grateful, grateful,

grateful,

I.

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

ODE TO A HERON

Graceful heron

swooping across

the evening sky

like a pteradactyl,

Prehistoric bird

perched

on a treetop,

my heart swoops

with you,

then stills,

standing beside

the silent pond,

waiting for the night

to settle

around us both

as softly

as feathers.

***

These poems were written in 1999, when I lived, for a few months, in tiny rooms in Port Albion,  a small community outside Ucluelet, where Pup ran wild. We were joyous. We lived by this pond at the foot of a mountain, which turned rosy pink every afternoon before sunset. Our next move was heartbreaking, away from the west coast, inland to Port Alberni, where we mourned together our lost wilderness.

Sharing this with the Poetry Pantry at Poets United.

Rise

My Grandma and her horse, Monte

Note the wheel from the horse and buggy 

in the background.

No cars back then, in my Grandma's life.
They rode everywhere on horseback
or with horse and buggy.

"Be still.....you are the result of the love of thousands."
Linda Hogan

"The day the power of love overcomes the love of power, the world will know peace."
Mahatma Gandhi

I come from a long line

of strong, cackling women.

Each of us in turn has been 

captured, contained, caged,

silenced, oppressed, 

beaten and betrayed.

(- the open door of the cage,

the fear of flying,

the final desperate leap

when out we flew -)

Be brave, young women and,

more than that,

be determined, persistent, 

with your eyes on the her-izon.

Speak your truth.

You come from the love of thousands.

Your ancestors surround you,

whispering encouragement 

in your ear.

Our oppressors may beat us down

for a time,

but forever and forever

we will

Rise.

for Susan's Midweek Motif: Empowerment

SMALL BIRD

source

Small bird,

you flew down

to the lower limbs

of this old tree,

to encourage

my stumbling walk

through this forest

of darkness.

From branch to branch

you hop,

warbling encouragement

as I pass through this world,

so beautiful,

yet

so full of pain and guns, 

greed and madness,

a garden turned graveyard,

filled with the wailing songs

of a million mothers.

I will follow you,

small bird,

the whole day long.

You are symbol of

all that I cherish;

your bright feathers

light my way.

Your song sings hope

to my tired heart.

I am glad, small bird,

that, from above,

you see only the beauty,

feel only the love.

for The  Sunday   Muse,  a bit late. Just heard of the shooting in the Netherlands. No end to the madness. All automatic weapons should be banned everywhere. When will enough be enough? Sharing also with the Tuesday Platform at Real Toads.

meditation on green

the color of life, of growth,

tall, spindly pine

draped in old man's beard

a thousand fern fronds

under whose umbrella

twin blooms

small as a baby's tears

peek pertly

jagged stump

covered in soft thick moss

framed by tall cedars

among whose lofty branches

songbirds flit

their trill echoing

across the sleepy forest

winding trails

through the silence

paths springy, living

underfoot

where we walk

heads thrown back

-alive!-

one with the ferns the fronds the trees

their height that teaches us to strive

the sky

a compass for

all our flighty dreams

clouds drifting by

one breath two breaths

leafy breath

and human sigh

birdsong

ringing through

the silent canopy

piercing me through

with each piercing

I'm made new

becoming

becalming

forest floor alive

under our

live feet

step so lightly

don't crush the mosses!

fairies drinking dewdrops

from the white bell-shaped blossoms

frogs in the skunk cabbage

yellow jonquils

line the deadened pond

the forest holds its breath

and waits

it waits

'til we are gone

One from 2001, to be shared with the Poetry Pantry at Poets United, where we have good reading every Sunday morning. Come join us.