Today I Pity the Gods

IMG_6667Today I pity the gods
and pure spirits
in their unearthly realms
without ferns or figs or falling rain

or autumn’s aroma
among the oak-laurel lane

I mourn for what they
don’t even know
they don’t know
like the hint of salt on the scent of the sea
or the impossible colors
of the walnut tree

How sad they will never taste a wild blackberry
purchased with fingers stained
juice streaming down their chin
with a grin

what could their wings mean
without blue skies
compared to doves
and diving falcons?

angelic skin without knowledge of the caresses of warm wind or warmer women?

Can their heart flutter like a bush bird
upon a lover’s utterance?

what bleak void must their eyes
gaze out upon
that holds no horizon
overflowing with peach and promise
what could mark the
span of their days
in dreadful sunless time?

how lonely must they be
without the immeasurable elation
and unfathomable despair
of the human heart
to keep them company?

bereft of both beauty and terror
of what, truly, could they be in awe?

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Pull Down Your Dams

Kuch_Dam_in_QuettaWho put those dams up
on the river of your soul?

doesn’t matter
they must come down
by any means necessary

you must know that your watershed is
fresh love
nourishing
not just you
but all of us
downstream

don’t let those who don’t know
pour waste into your river
or let the silt build up

don’t worry about those other rivers
they’re doing their own thing

the dams will fall, eventually, of course
as all things do
but you might nudge them along
chipping away at the widening cracks

or might I recommend
strategically placed dynamite
in a grand and dazzling demolition

it has the advantage of being
furious fun — a blessed boldness

but whatever way,
take those godforsaken dams down
and let your waters flow

if you’re on your way to the sea
then damn it,
go to the sea

 

I Go To the Sea to Scream

oceanI go to the sea to scream

one of those ‘from the bottom of my ocean gut twisted red with rage’ sorta screams

a deep heartache ‘WTF is going on!?’ kinda wail

a belly full of ‘when are these goddamn killings gonna stop?’

a ‘great barrier reef is dying we’ve killed the bones of the sea’ sorta grief

a ‘plastic and wire in the stomachs of fish/birds/turtles/whales more plastic than fish’ kinda shout

I climb hand over fist
to the nearest mountain pass
when I need to roar

a ‘I can’t take this madmax bullshit any more’ type of roar
a ‘pound my fists against the granite bloody knuckles’ sorta howl
a ‘I can’t believe this shit is still happening’ kinda bark that will bite your head right off
a ‘they cut every last tree every goddamn one who the hell does that?!’ sorta cry

I go to a poem to rage
you can put anything down
on the page

like a ‘when are we gonna learn?!’ kinda rage
my ‘head spinning in disbelief’ kinda rage
a ‘why we poisoning our air/water/soil/bodies/minds and can’t stop?’ kinda bellow

and sometimes, when I’m roared out
eyes weary with tears
I go deep into the forest
in that dark green deep silence

whispering ‘what are we gonna do?’

and that great growl in my gut
becomes a hibernating bear snoring
like a slow trickle
from the peaceful creek
emerging from deep time

and I hear

a ‘come back to me’ sorta whisper
a ‘it’s late, but not too late’ kinda whisper
a ‘slow down, listen, and fall into my arms
I’ve been waiting for you all’
kinda whisper

Today in Fall Foraging News

IMG_6546So many treasures today:

72 walnuts (and a gorgeous red leaf Walnut tree)
Two tarps for winterizing
a giant Monterey pine cone as big as my head
a creek still flowing
an apple tree by the old fire station
a milk crate
coyote scat
a maple bush (that’s what I call it)
an Alameda striped racer snake
a new secret spot under….(wait, I can’t say)
a Mir-hug
a katieface
and 4-5 poems, some of them keepers

Mary Oliver’s Truancy

FullSizeRender[1]Only record she ever broke was
for skipping school
because the Ohio hills had more to teach her than her teachers
Or her broken home
red rage running
from her dark family of things
to which she didn’t belong

Wandering the forest with Whitman
in her knapsack
hunting fish and clams
berries and words
She traveled to the moon and back
with her pencil
HER one wild and precious life

Giving the world 50,000 words
foraged from the landscape
lining the pockets of hungry souls

We now have a thousand mornings
of wild geese
and big-eyed grasshoppers
calling our soft animal bodies home
loving
on bright summer days
because of Mary Oliver’s truancy