I maintain that there is a desperate social need for the creative behavior of creative individuals…
In a time when knowledge, constructive and destructive, is advancing by the most incredible leaps and bounds into a fantastic atomic age, genuinely creative adaptation seems to represent the only possibility that we can keep abreast of the kaleidoscopic change in this world….
Unless we can make new and original adaptations to our environment as rapidly as our science can change the environment, our culture will perish…
Not only the individual and group tensions but international annihilation will be the price we pay for lack of creativity.
Carl Rogers, Humanist, 1973
The good, the bad, the beautiful and the ugly. The age of perpetual need lay at our feet. The good earth, in retreat.
My looks have hardened over time. But not so much that I still cannot see we are killing the forests…for a tree.
As snow melts away toward another day.
It is hard cajoling…ignorance out of the way.
So much more than, poetry that litters the land.
Repercussions that will out live ‘what we have come to understand.’
An elder once disposed upon me. An ominous premonition:
“I will not live long enough to witness climatic chaos. And, I am very thankful for that.”
Reflecting back to that cynical conceit. From a man…with affect so flat.
Just one thought…
‘It is often bumbling errors that turn into trashy fact.’
Ashes of particles, light as the air I breathe.
Just a matter of human debris.
How could any of this rationale be anything but our own destiny?
For all we know, dreams that got away.
And, no amount of substance will make them stay.
Windows we once believed to be clear as day?
Simply fixed particles, for an imaged display.
Basic explanations to love’s effort…that will go about…its own way.
I have tried to reason away the care you give me.
Offered up logical examples for our bliss.
Yet, there always remained a nonsensical skylight’s array to why WE exist.
I am not a poet…but I play one through my words.
Alas, all that I can come up with is
an absolute loving a vagabond…
still strikes me of being a notion that is absurd.