Refuge of fled Olympians and earth-forsaking men. Where next, then, great Apollo? Where next, oh billionaires? I’d rather take the subway home— this earth was never theirs.
Tag: earth
Legacy.
If we are all to die
the cornfields left quite cornless
the wheat-fields, withered, dry
the oceans without fishes
the waterline too high
if we too are just drifters
we are subject to the tides
can be drowned beneath the waters
as tempers and temperatures rise
if we are to go under
then first let’s reach the skies
let us bathe in truest moonlight
hear the sweetest lullabies
let us drift in currents wondrous
let us dance together tight
let us say we won’t go quietly
let us say we lived our lives
but in the noise still listen
still learn to read the signs
still stop to think and keep our heads
heed the worries of the night
stop to listen to our children
because they are getting wise
we said they were the future
they've seen right through that lie
we said children are the future
so let us, please, just try!
to understand that we are
as much the free, as much the truly wild
as fishes in the waters
as birds on brilliant skies
as mushrooms blooming nightly
as winging butterflies
as great old eucalyptus
as flower, stem, and vine
and let us please remember
that we are all to die
and children are the future
please let us only try!
to leave the oceans cleaner
to leave the jungles high
to leave the doorways open
to leave the windows wide
let us read the books and write them
keep true memory live
let us hope that there’s forgiveness
that there’s an afterlife
let us hope some higher spirit
has kindness on its mind
hope we haven’t quite lost contact
lost grip, lost voice, lost sight
when we forgot that we’re earth’s children
we lost our power, lost our right
to tell the future’s children
that we know better than the light
know why it breaks in early morning
better than the night-stars bright
that we know better than this planet
because we have our satellites
have worlds here in our pockets
have access day and night
to endless lies or knowledge
to living byte-by-byte
we’ve forgotten it’s not normal
to find love by swiping right
forgotten how to speak the truth
without hatred, without spite
forgotten fear begets regret
fosters war, and famine, flight
forgotten that we all are one
that we needn’t take a side
we needn’t call each other, other
choose only left or right
we needn’t think we are alone
needn’t think in terms of might
then maybe, only maybe
we’ll find safety in the golden flickered light
of fire and easy company
find what our DNA desires
find common pain, and common scars
from common wounds of life
and from those bonds, build something
that makes our time worthwhile.
Garden.
We wove some magic here.
Deckled trees with fairy dust—
the figments of our imaginations drew lines
between the sky
between the leaves
between the earth.
A white butterfly
—wandered, onward, captain of our fairy band—
buffeted by the breeze
took flight
and glittered flicking wings
into the sunlight.
He was like our memory
—allied and squandered to the air—
a captain captive to the passing currents
at rest on tides of drifting listlessness
buoyed on waves of sound—loud
reverbed from the earth itself
and beneath the ground dispersed to nothing but vibrations.
Caws of magpie on the branches of trees
beyond the fence-lines
called insistent, echoed
and, in flight, drew ever more away.
We left a fish adrift on the wall
—light-flicker, silver scales in the sun—
to tinker with our senses
breaking beams against one another in refraction
into parts.
We played colour against cousin
and deployed in every gesture of design
a symmetry of power in all things that’s mirrored
in perfection
by the most broken shook-up thoughts of early morning
when night’s break seems to slumber
beyond the restless sleepless soul.
Little carrions of life
—bearing sunshine as they went
light caught white upon their tiny wings—
darted, tumbled, climbed and flew
their circus one of circles through the sky
an endless repetition of their patterns
that went on gently till the nightfall.
We saw every tiny thing alight
—their edges made their edges
and at once made melting edge-to-edge—
their glimmered rims glimpsed through lashes
looked-at sideways
caught in sketches from the doorways
of the moments
only half-here and half-now.
Sky-shimmers, the lineaments
copied in colour to our files and stored in footloose memory
to make the fodder of our dreams
when distorted
cards shuffled
and re-drawn upon the pages of imagination sleeping.
We weave some magic here
sleeping awake
in day-dreaming
in slow reading
of the air.
Magical: Day One 