‘that is just the way it is…’
I watch you say…through my native eyes
Just a private conversation with kindness and hate
How long before…
‘that is just the way it is…abates?’
A generous thief…this loathing
But when all is said and not done…
I say to hate, it does not pay to live like that…
With both feet in the past
Such a trampoline of sandy, ill begotten, virtues, bounce up to greet my gritty feet.
And, it is a long road to greet…the others!
The others…like me.
So…I trade mountains for the buttery aroma of all the half shells along north beach.
Just scantily clad friends in need of retreat.
There is no need to beware of differences…between pride or right or wrong.
The Queens and bears and otters who came before me allow for no spite.
Within the dunes, no titles, labels or names.
As the sun also sets…we are all the same.
A woman’s Body at auction!
She too is not only herself—she is the teeming mother of mothers;
She is the bearer of them that shall grow and be mates to the mothers.
Have you ever loved the Body of a woman?
Have you ever loved the Body of a man?
Your father—where is your father?
Your mother—is she living? have you been much with her? and has she been much with you?
—Do you not see that these are exactly the same to all, in all nations and times, all over the earth?
If any thing is sacred, the human body is sacred,
And the glory and sweet of a man, is the token of manhood untainted;
And in man or woman, a clean, strong, firm-fibred body, is beautiful as the most beautiful face.
Have you seen the fool that corrupted his own live body? or the fool that corrupted her own live body?
For they do not conceal themselves, and cannot conceal themselves.
Little by little our rights are being exported to other countries. Countries we, as Americans, touted as, backwater, backwoods and backwards. Pro Choice? Pro Life? Pro…Do the Next Right Thing…is ebbing away.
So, you take a woman’s right to choose away? So, you take gay rights away? So, you take the environment away? Bit by bit, little pieces of Me/US gone!
Detention without Provocation
Surveillance Society ( a rapid expansion of data collection, storage, tracking, and mining)
I am not prepping for ‘doomsday’ but…I am concerned about the state of living in America.
We have memorized America,
how it was born and who we have been and where.
In ceremonies and silence we say the words,
telling the stories, singing the old songs.
We like the places they take us. Mostly we do.
The great and all the anonymous dead are there.
We know the sound of all the sounds we brought.
The rich taste of it is on our tongues.
But where are we going to be, and why, and who?
The disenfranchised dead want to know.
We mean to be the people we meant to be,
to keep on going where we meant to go.
But how do we fashion the future? Who can say how
except in the minds of those who will call it Now?
The children. The children. And how does our garden grow?
With waving hands—oh, rarely in a row—
and flowering faces. And brambles, that we can no longer allow.
Who were many people coming together
cannot become one people falling apart.
Who dreamed for every child an even chance
cannot let luck alone turn doorknobs or not.
Whose law was never so much of the hand as the head
cannot let chaos make its way to the heart.
Who have seen learning struggle from teacher to child
cannot let ignorance spread itself like rot.
We know what we have done and what we have said,
and how we have grown, degree by slow degree,
believing ourselves toward all we have tried to become—
just and compassionate, equal, able, and free.
All this in the hands of children, eyes already set
on a land we never can visit—it isn’t there yet—
but looking through their eyes, we can see
what our long gift to them may come to be.
If we can truly remember, they will not forget.