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I used to know an old lady (and I'm one now!) who said "Just toss me on the compost heap" which I like. I do practice Tibetan Buddhism, but I don't think their way is legal here...much more useful to toss some food than a box of ashes, though...
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Posted in reply to the post by Timothy Gega:
This short National Geographic video shows some of the difficulties created by "sky burials" in Tibet.
https://youtu.be/BreEms4m_6U
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Posted in reply to the post by Timothy Gega:
Had not read the poem but saw all the comments coming in.
It is indeed a sublime poem.
The Parsis in India (and I think Zoroastrians in Iran, if there are any left), also practice leaving the body exposed at the Tower of Silence, to be devoured by crows or vultures. Currently, I just discovered, a problem...not enough vultures any longer in Mumbai:
https://www.theguardian.com/cities/2...ers-of-silence
American Tune
Many's the time I've been mistaken and many times
confused.
Yes, and often felt forsaken and certainly misused.
But I'm all right, I'm all right, I'm just weary to my
bones.
Still, you don’t expect to be bright and bon vivant so
far away from home, so far away from home.
And I don't know a soul who's not been battered I
don't have a friend who feels at ease.
I don't know a dream that's not been shattered or
driven to its knees.
But it's all right, it's all right, for we've lived so
well so long.
Still, when I think of the road we're traveling on, I
wonder what went wrong, I can't help but wonder what
went wrong.
And I dreamed I was dying.
I dreamed that my soul rose unexpectedly and looking
back down at me smiled reassuringly, and I dreamed I
was flying.
And high above my eyes could clearly see the Statue of
Liberty sailing away to sea, and I dreamed I was
flying.
And we come on the ship they call the Mayflower, we
come on the ship that sailed the moon.
We come in the age's most uncertain hour and sing an
American tune
oh, but it’s all right, it's all right, it's all
right, you can't be forever blessed.
Still, tomorrow's going to be another working day and
I'm trying to get some rest, that's all I'm trying is
to get some rest.
- Paul Simon
Even today it's the same old news, every man singing the Americana Blues.Quote:
Posted in reply to the post by Larry Robinson:
The minerals in those ashes may very well become nutrients for a butterfly…and we all know how one butterfly can change everything.
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Posted in reply to the post by Sara S:
A great poem and a great song.
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Posted in reply to the post by Larry Robinson:
A Descending Poem
The simple fact is that life
with all its convolutions, paradoxes and ironies,
ambiguities and buggering endless pairs of opposites,
is pretty bizarre
much of the time.
Was it Beckett who wrote,
“I can’t go on. I’ll go on”?
And Frida said, “I hope the ending
is joyous, and I hope
never to return.”
And yet some stupid Hindu sage
said the fond memory
of a blade of grass
was enough to pull us back
for another incarnation.
Ya think the cards are stacked?
Cuz I’ve been pretty fond
of the occasional blade of grass.
Or sun pillar, or meteor shower.
Or baby’s toes.
And then there was Rosencrantz
who said—when he was still standing
on the scaffold, “I dunno. I’m
relieved actually.”
So this is a descending poem:
down and around, down and around.
How far down do you
have to go before you
can start back up?
Carlyle described
The Everlasting No
The Center of Indifference
The Everlasting Yea.
On the cross, did Jesus
think fondly of a blade of grass?
Is the Everlasting Yea simply
a glorious acceptance
of the whole steaming enchilada?
The entire, unendurable, all-encompassing enchilada?
I’m thinking going down
is easier than going up.
Before the arc of my life ends
I hope I get at least a taste
of the ascent, the fruits of one’s labors.
Timing is everything
and Vonnegut said
“God never wrote
a good play in His life.”
But I’d give a lot
for a taste
of the ascent.
Wait a minute—
how much, I wonder.
Maybe I better pin my hopes
on grace.
Pythagorus said,
“Ye write and have written down
for posterity how this
most precious tree is planted,
and how he that eats of its fruits
shall hunger no more.”
Pooh, on the other hand,
said the first thing he thinks
every morning is
“What’s for breakfast?”
- Kerry Lichlyter
Ya know ya gotta love the whole enchilada. (Chocolate helps.)Quote:
Posted in reply to the post by Larry Robinson:
Greg Sarris also appreciates vultures, including their tender loving, which he and I have both had the honor of witnessing.
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Posted in reply to the post by Timothy Gega:
I wrote a poem about the Vulture in 2010 called, "Jesus tossing me Butterflies, " which I'll post when I can.Quote:
Posted in reply to the post by sandoak:
ARTICLES OF FAITH
Faith is a priceless treasure which some would invest in money and power, seeking private gain. Others of us invest in a vision of a world which may yet come to be: a world of justice, peace and beauty. We place our faith in life itself.
We Believe
That life is infinitely creative, resourceful, reliable and ultimately good.
That human beings are an expression of that life force and, as such, are creative, resourceful, reliable and fundamentally good.
That all life is inextricably connected - what happens to any of us happens to all of us.
That evil exists as a potential in all human beings and it derives from the illusion that we are separate from each other and from the fountain of life.
That evil cannot be vanquished by force of arms or by fear. It can only be conquered by love.
In the power of love and direct non-violent action to
transform institutions, social systems and the human heart.
That the arc of human history moves toward democracy, justice and an appreciation for our wondrous multiplicity of expression.
That it is the right of all people to enjoy life, liberty and the security of person; to be treated equally under the law; to enjoy freedom of thought, conscience and religion; to free expression and association; to have free access to clean water and air.
That it is possible for all human beings to be free from economic want and poverty and to live with dignity.
That peace among and within nations is only possible when these rights are assured to everyone.
That the most fundamental responsibility of government is to ensure the health and well-being of the land and of all its inhabitants.
That individual rights and must be balanced with responsibility for the well-being of the community.
That the success and survival of our civilization and, possibly, that of the human race are in increasing jeopardy because of our commitment to an unsustainable pattern of resource consumption, particularly our dependence upon fossil fuels.
That while our planet’s physical resources are finite, the resources of love and imagination are without end.
That it is indeed possible to create a society which lives sustainably and harmoniously within the parameters of our planetary life support systems.
That we have a responsibility to live in such a way that we do not diminish the opportunity for future generations to enjoy the same quality of life which we enjoy.
That a human birth is a precious gift that is accompanied by a responsibility to act with generosity, sensitivity and compassion for all living beings.
In doing our best to leave a better world for our children.
That all people, individually and collectively, are capable of learning from their mistakes.
That life inherently includes suffering, but we have a responsibility as members of the human family to do what we can to ease that suffering and to structure our social institutions in such a way as to minimize unnecessary suffering due to poverty, disease, war, injustice and environmental degradation.
That joy is also an inherent feature of life and it is possible to participate joyfully in the suffering of the world.
That each and every life has inherent value and is worthy of respect.
In poetry, art, music, dancing and the spirit of play.
In the power of truth.
That at the heart of all things is an ineffable mystery worthy of awe and wonder.
It is this faith which informs, guides and sustains our work in the world.
- Larry Robinson
__________________
This has been my experience also. The book, "Think and Grow Rich," (Napoleon Hill, 1937) has the best definition of "faith" that I've ever seen. Thank you Larry Robinson.Quote:
Posted in reply to the post by Larry Robinson:
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Posted in reply to the post by Larry Robinson:
Tossing me Butterflies
The Red Hawk flutters in front of my eyes,
My heart is lit up with joyful sighs.
The White Egret passes quietly on high,
Reminds me that the angels are nigh.
The Blue jays nagging in their devotion,
Their tune expressing every emotion.
The Vultures soar in graceful refrain,
Their message sent from a higher plain.
But I just listen to their replies,
Because, that’s just Jesus tossing me Butterflies.
By: Tim Gega
©2011 Alpha Moonprayers
Rise and Fall
Let go of fear
and rest in that which is.
For peace, like love,
comes to those who allow it.
Let go of fear
and rest in stillness.
Watch the breath rise...
and fall.
Watch the tide rise...
and fall.
Watch towers rise...
and fall.
Watch walls rise...
and fall.
Watch statues rise...
and fall.
Watch empires rise...
and fall.
Watch the breath rise...
and fall.
Let go of fear
and rest in the arms
of the One
who has always held you,
the One who holds
atoms and empires
and oceans and stars.
Let go of fear
and watch what happens next.
- Larry Robinson
There are those who are trying to set fire to the world,
we are in danger,
there is time only to work slowly,
there is no time not to love.
- Deena Metzger
Proclamation
Whereas the world is a house on fire;
Whereas the nations are filled with shouting;
Whereas hope seems small, sometimes
a single bird on a wire
left by migration behind.
Whereas kindness is seldom in the news
and peace an abstraction
while war is real;
Whereas words are all I have;
Whereas my life is short;
Whereas I am afraid;
Whereas I am free –despite all
fire and anger and fear;
Be it therefore resolved a song
shall be my calling – a song
not yet made shall be vocation
and peaceful words the work
of my remaining days.
- Kim Stafford
All My News
1.
I was not meant
to be renown
in the present
market town,
but in the future
some may find
what might be used
to change a mind
from slaughter
in the name of peace
to honouring
complexities,
and thus influence
politics
with deeper balance
deeper checks.
2.
Look on low
look on high,
see with Love’s
inhuman eye
not only charge
of opposites
(the broken heart
the healing fix),
but what engenders
every turn—
the leader on her
knees will learn.
And he who’s sick
with heavy thought
will cherish it
and fold his cot.
3.
Do not decode
these cries of mine—
They are the road,
and not the sign.
Nor deconstruct
my drugless high—
I’m sober but
I like to fly.
The quickened with
my open talk,
you need not pick
the ancient lock.
4.
Mystery now,
and now Revealed
I bend to Thee
my will to yield,
and whisper here
my gratitude
for every tear
of restless mood;
Who lets me breach
the walls of time
so I could touch
the ones to come
with wisdom that
my parents spoke
(established on an
anecdote),
and shorthand of
the unborn mind
with graceful effort
all combined.
5.
Undeciphered
let my song
rewire circuits
wired wrong,
and with my jingle
in your brain,
allow the Bridge
to arch again.
- Leonard Cohen
Loved this poet. RIP Mr Cohen, RIPQuote:
Posted in reply to the post by Larry Robinson:
Leonard left us his soulful words and imagery of life deeply lived. ... He must have inhaled Tuesday's breath of remorse and somberly exhaled a gravelly goodbye.
" ... but in the future
some may find what might be used
to change a mind."
"Long after I am gone you might hear from me again."
Amen
Jean
So much amazing poetry has been posted to Wacco these last few days. Thank you all. Last evening I got to here some fine local poets reading their works at the Grange Book Fair. Lovely to sit in a small circle and share. Tonight I'm heading out to hear Katherine Hastings read from her latest book. Starting at 7 at the Occidental Center for the Arts. Come on down. Lilith
Katherine Hastings poetry just now was amazing, too. Esp. liked her title poem "Stein and Shakespeare Walked Into a Bar."
And she closed with Maya Angelou's poem "And Still I Rise" which reminded me of this one I wrote for the last presidential inauguration in 2012. Thought I'd be penning one for the first woman this time but......
STILL RISING
Yeah, I know he’s not the guy
we hoped for
when he offered us such hope.
Yeah, I know he’s done
a lot of stuff
we thought he wouldn’t
a lot of stuff
he knows he shouldn’t.
But—still—when I see him standing there
tall, dark, and handsome
with Michelle beside him—
great-great-granddaughter of slaves--
tall, beautiful, and even darker.
When I see them
standing there—
smiling and exultant—
I can’t help feeling proud
proud of him and her
of all of us who helped put them there—
after the shame and stain upon our country
of hundreds of years
of slavery, murder, rape
and abuse of all sorts.
To me, when I see them standing there
they embody the poetry of Maya Angelou
whose voice--
taken from her by horror as a girl
taken back in triumph as a woman--
the Maya Angelou who gave us this,
“You may write me down in history
with your twisted bitter lies,
you may trod me in the very dirt—
but still, like dust—I rise.
“Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave
I am the dream and the hope of the slave
I rise, I rise, I rise.”
And that is what I sometimes see
when I see that elegant black couple
standing there before me.
And when I think of my own childhood
with the shame I carry from growing up
unprotesting
in a segregated South
blissfully unaware
of the cruelty and injustice
that was being lived
through all around me
and later—when I became aware—
doing only small bits
here and there to make it better.
And now, now
I see Barack and Michelle standing there
and again in the words of Maya Angelou
I know that
“History despite its wrenching pain
cannot be unlived
but if faced with courage
need not be lived again.”
Sure, we can despair
that we didn’t get
all that we hoped for
dreamed of
when--with the hard work of thousands of us
black and brown and white together--
he won that election
four years ago.
Or we can carry this further
and insist
that it is not enough
to get these two as symbols
of the final end of slavery, segregation and degradation
in this “home of the free and the brave”
now we have to work even harder
to get the real thing.
Lilith Rogers
July 4th, 2012
Anthem
The birds they sang
at the break of day
Start again
I heard them say
Don't dwell on what
has passed away
or what is yet to be.
Ah the wars they will
be fought again
The holy dove
She will be caught again
bought and sold
and bought again
the dove is never free.
Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in.
We asked for signs
the signs were sent:
the birth betrayed
the marriage spent
Yeah the widowhood
of every government --
signs for all to see.
I can't run no more
with that lawless crowd
while the killers in high places
say their prayers out loud.
But they've summoned, they've summoned up
a thundercloud
and they're going to hear from me.
Ring the bells that still can ring ...
You can add up the parts
but you won't have the sum
You can strike up the march,
there is no drum
Every heart, every heart
to love will come
but like a refugee.
Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in.
Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in.
That's how the light gets in.
That's how the light gets in.
- Leonard Cohen
The times are too critical to indulge in despair or cynicism or pessimism.
Now, more than ever, we must muster all the creativity, compassion and courage we can.
Yesterday, (11/11/16) marked the 5th Anniversary of the New Age of Aquarius. Leonard Cohen was speaking to this mission and message.Quote:
Posted in reply to the post by Larry Robinson:
The sphere is in the collection of the Palace of the legion of Honor, the bell is in the memorial garden at Princeton University where toshiko taught. Fitting companions to Cohen's poem.
When despair grows in me
and I wake in the middle of the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting for their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
- Wendell Berry
Posted in reply to the post by Larry Robinson:
(from despair, grief, fear, the ugliness in the human news)-"-For a time." (And these small periods of respite then fortify me to go back out into the human world and try my best to "do as much good as I can, wherever I can, for as long as I can"--Hillary Rodham's mantra. (You too?)
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Posted in reply to the post by Larry Robinson:
This mantra is the soul's purpose, it's in our DNA to do but we have forgotten how and why. This is the Mission to Teach or Learn.Quote:
Posted in reply to the post by BothSidesNow:
My friends, let's grow up.
Let's stop pretending we don't know the deal here.
Or if we truly haven't noticed, let's wake up and notice.
Look: Everything that can be lost, will be lost.
It's simple - how could we have missed it for so long?
Let's grieve our losses fully, like human ripe beings.
But please, let's not be so shocked by them.
Let's not act so betrayed,
As though life had broken her secret promise to us.
Impermanence is life's only promise to us,
And she keeps it with ruthless impeccability.
To a child, she seems cruel, but she is only wild,
And her compassion exquisitely precise.
Brilliantly penetrating, luminous with truth,
She strips away the unreal to show us the real.
This is the true ride - let's give ourselves to it!
Let's stop making deals for a safe passage -
There isn't one anyway, and the cost is too high.
We are not children anymore.
The true human adult gives everything for what cannot be lost.
Let's dance the wild dance of no hope.
- Jennifer Wellwood
(Now let's see what I can do with it...
put it on my fridge, for one; but THAT'S not enough! How do you internalize something, for real, and then live it!! (when you've already been trying to do that? Well, there's a crack in everything. Let's hope some light can get in!
I text my friend, I'm going
To buy a gun. Will you
Teach me how to shoot?
What do I want? To protect
All the young—and older—black men,
The refugees who have no home
To go home to, the men in turbans,
The women in veils, Esperanza's children,
Her grandchildren, my best friend
Who is gay, my grandson who is sensitive
And bullied. I am afraid.
Yesterday, I was determined, lifted
Up by the certainty that resistance
Will strengthen us.
Two days ago, I was hollowed out,
Sucker-punched and dazed. Death
Showed up in my dreams.
Today, a French friend, born in Baghdad
Bought me a coffee, commiserated
And acknowledged that it wasn't just
My country, but it seemed madness
Had invaded his, too.
I awaken from fear
To find sorrow as my path
Today. Not hopelessness
Which makes all things possible,
But mourning that invites me in,
Sets the table and tells me
Don't abandon yourself
Fighting fear with fear.
Hold tight to your heart
That tells you no end
Justifies violent means.
You are the daughter of eternity
And no gun will protect you
From the life you were given
To live.
- Rebecca del Rio
Posted in reply to the post by Larry Robinson:
How many turn back toward dreams and magic, how many
children
Run home to Mother Church, Father State,
To find in their arms the delicious warmth and folding of souls.
The age weakens and settles home toward old ways.
An age of renascent faith: Christ said, Marx wrote, Hitler says,
And though it seems absurd we believe.
Sad children, yes. It is lonely to be adult, you need a father.
With a little practice you'll believe anything.
Faith returns, beautiful, terrible, ridiculous,
And men are willing to die and kill for their faith.
Soon come the wars of religion; centuries have passed
Since the air so trembled with intense faith and hatred.
Soon, perhaps, whoever wants to live harmlessly
Must find a cave in the mountain or build a cell
Of the red desert rock under dry junipers,
And avoid men, live with more kindly wolves
And luckier ravens, waiting for the end of the age.
Hermit from stone cell
Gazing with great stunned eyes,
What extravagant miracle
Has amazed them with light,
What visions, what crazy glory, what wings?
I see the sun set and rise
And the beautiful desert sand
And the stars at night,
The incredible magnificence of things.
I the last living man
That sees the real earth and skies,
Actual life and real death.
The others are all prophets and believers
Delirious with fevers of faith.
- Robinson Jeffers
No words this morning.
A poem mute.
The silence between the notes.
And then notes.
Listen, that bird is saying
Freedom.
Join me.
Truth is in my wordless throat.
The message is some deed.
The mighty ocean turns into frail foam.
on the apprehending sand
and one power
turns into another,
becomes another,
drops into another.
Like adolescence it comes
without a word
of instruction.
If understanding is maybe
not lodged within,
be sand.
One day,
one day,
you shall be
castles.
- Bruce Moody
Quote:
Posted in reply to the post by Larry Robinson:
My cat washes
with her left paw,
there will be another war.
For I have observed
that whenever she washes
with her left paw
international tension grows
considerably.
How can she possibly keep her eye
on all the five continents?
Could it be
that in her pupils
that Pythia now resides
who has the power
to predict
the whole of history
without a full-stop or comma?
It’s enough to make me howl
when I think that I
and the Heaven with its souls I have
shouldered
in the last resort
depend
on the whims of a cat.
Go and catch mice,
don’t unleash
more world wars,
damned
lazybones!
- Marin Sorescu
And when they bombed other people’s houses, we
protested
but not enough, we opposed them but not
enough. I was
in my bed, around my bed America
was falling: invisible house by invisible house by invisible house.
I took a chair outside and watched the sun.
In the sixth month
of a disastrous reign in the house of money
in the street of money in the city of money in the country of money,
our great country of money, we (forgive us)
lived happily during the war.
- Ilya Kaminsky
Posted in reply to the post by Larry Robinson:
Ecology is a love story.
A play scripted between the sunlight’s tender dappling on the forest floor,
The elegant drapery of the vines that climb a cliff face,
The tickle of the squirrels and birds
Holding society in the tree tops
And the sultry sway of the purple kelp the otters cannot resist.
The touch of life on life met in the tension
Between unshaking trust and heartbreaking vulnerability
Is a kiss of light and love and heat
And earth.
It is fierce and sweet
And rages with the same passion.
It births a wild rose.
And in naming you
I grasp and find there are no completions,
Nothing in straight lines
Only affection,
Reaching,
Reading the gestures
That spread everywhere.
- Nora Bateson
In my secret life, I stand tall,
And taller, too, as each day goes by.
And yet, I also stand alone,
Devoid of touch, or true companionship.
At the same time, it leads me to see
There is nothing strange about that.
So incredibly much of my life, as a whole,
Is a life lived with no one else around.
In my secret life, I unlock doors of perception,
And question the foundation of all that you know,
And smile again and again, in surprise and satisfaction,
To realize I wasn’t really standing on that ground, anyway.
Yet, my secret life precisely does ground me,
Though, it seems, in a land so far away, that
As yet, there is no available transportation
For anyone else to get there,
Or even send a letter, or a message,
Or even make a call.
In my secret life, I am vulnerable to disbelief,
Sensitive to harshness, yet determined to stand for who I am,
And to say the words that come out of my mouth.
I am vulnerable to yearning, to simple love, and touch,
And to a generous smile, and curious eye.
- Jon Jackson
Today the bright mid-day sun warms : trees ablaze in colored splendor,
fiery reds and yellows ochers, shedding leaves of sienna and vermillion,
spent and crisp, exuberant, in death. A grey squirrel bounds up a maple,
an invisible Raven scolds somewhere high in the canopy.
On a ridge just North, the broad stand of conifers serrate an azure sky, stately in their robes of green.
Long horse-tail cirrus flare out from the West, announcing the promise of first rain .
Here I am reminded the earth still turns, morning to night, the seasons come and go
n their ageless ways; stars yet spin in the boundless vault of space;
somewhere around the globe, unseen volcanic forces churn deep in the planet’s core, primed for release.
Change and continuity. Ebb and flow. Renewal. Should not this be enough?
After all, the Great Mother insists on balance, correcting as needed here and there,
cradling all life in Her devoted domain:
even her colossal storms, unconcerned for our welfare, wash clean.
My one comfort:: I can go to my grave knowing She will never abandon her post.
Hers is law and simple truth: everything happens because everything else happens.
Surely, ithen, it is time to savor this walk, on a day like this one, breathing in the gifts of our home,
and allow the soul to fill with gratitude.
How utterly absurd our importance appears: only by a divine gift, a microsecond measured by the eons.
Here on this planet, a miracle born of violent cosmos and billions of years, with titanic collisions
bearing just the right measure of happy accidents. Patience of an inhuman kind to confound our petty desires.
What can I make of this tumult and chaos, disappointment, fears and anguish?
Surely, it is a time to allow one’s attention to reach outward and up. To abandon one’s wits to awe, to only witness.
So then: Follow Her lead. I must walk in balance. Walk in balance.
Walk in balance here on the thin skin of her extravagantly generous body, honoring
the bones of our ancestors calling us from underneath our feet,.
Dare to be at peace now:
for even a short walk, and embrace this time, this path, this life, this place.
- LK Potts
I stand in the whispering grass,
watching the mountains crouch
under their burden of sky.
The morning sun glides above the peaks
and the field is suddenly flooded
with turquoise light. A flock of red wings rise,
After a sleepless night, worrying about the world
I stand in the whispering grass,
watching the mountains crouch
under their burden of sky.
The morning sun glides above the peaks
and the field is suddenly flooded
with turquoise light. A flock of red wings rise,
they turn together like a page of poetry.
I read between the lines
realize I am lonely, and afraid.
I worry about the wars, the weather,
the end of our beautiful, broken world.
I see the way we can harden our hearts
when fear is what moves us.
Now a marsh hawk cruises the yellow reeds, she dives swiftly
and some soft-furred creature's life is over.
For each of us, hauling our basket of dreams,
it is only one breath, one breath,
that divides this world, and the next.
What is there to do then but give thanks,
Offer praise and gratitude for the sweetness we're allotted,
Fling open our burning hearts, and help each other.
Elaine Sutton
they turn together like a page of poetry.
I read between the lines
realize I am lonely, and afraid.
I worry about the wars, the weather,
the end of our beautiful, broken world.
I see the way we can harden our hearts
when fear is what moves us.
Now a marsh hawk cruises the yellow reeds, she dives swiftly
and some soft-furred creature's life is over.
For each of us, hauling our basket of dreams,
it is only one breath, one breath,
that divides this world, and the next.
What is there to do then but give thanks,
Offer praise and gratitude for the sweetness we're allotted,
Fling open our burning hearts, and help each other.
Elaine Sutton
The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live.
The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the table. So it has been since creation, and it will go on.
We chase chickens or dogs away from it. Babies teethe at the corners. They scrape their knees under it.
It is here that children are given instructions on what it means to be human. We make men at it, we make women.
At this table we gossip, recall enemies and the ghosts of lovers.
Our dreams drink coffee with us as they put their arms around our children. They laugh with us at our poor falling-down selves and as we put ourselves back together once again at the table.
This table has been a house in the rain, an umbrella in the sun.
Wars have begun and ended at this table. It is a place to hide in the shadow of terror. A place to celebrate the terrible victory.
We have given birth on this table, and have prepared our parents for burial here.
At this table we sing with joy, with sorrow. We pray of suffering and remorse. We give thanks.
Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table, while we are laughing and crying, eating of the last sweet bite.
- Joy Harjo
Posted in reply to the post by Larry Robinson:
Among wilting flowers
legumes and fruits
the little ones
busily twitter
skirt and scoot
about this season
of seeds
signaling it is nearing Thanksgiving.
Breath
of eucalyptus
inhales
while blue jay
hoarsely proclaims—
It's always
thanksgiving.
- Raphael Block
for the Standing Rock Sioux and allies protesting the Dakota Access Pipeline set to run through their tribal lands
Countrymen, we have reneged on agreements,
retreated from treaties.
Now we try cheating on physics
which insists: seawaters will rise, coastlines
dissolve, ice caps melt.
At my safe distance, I conjure
the young, the native, the brave
whose faith the path of the pipeline dishonors.
Whose lakes and rivers we may foul.
The protesters brace for water cannons in 20 degrees.
Still, on behalf of us all, they stare down monster storms,
tear gas in their eyes.
Safe at my supper,
I send them this message of thanks.
- Phyllis Meshulam