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Feeling Old and Lost

I noticed just yesterday
while glowering about something else
now already
once again
forgotten…

I seem to have lost my good-sensed humor
along my stumbling
isolating internal say

Toward this red STOP! sign
searching for a different way

To find a new Earth center
for healing active hope,

To sing new scales of joyful
sad sharp focus

Performed more locally
and possibly reformed less reflectively
mesmerized by fame’s monopolistic grope.

This new reselective time
Less silently reserved
Less anxiously depressed
Less repressively suppressed.

Each morning’s dawn warning
to worship at new altars

Renewing robust octaves of communion
encompassing organic green nutrition

To redesign all creatures here below
more positive above
good-humored love
with timeless passions
hilariously sensed together
yet tragically shoved
apart.

If I were not so sweet sixteen
prepared to restart home’s immigration scene
again for my first time,
what would I rechoose to do
becoming compassion’s singing rally
with rainbow hearted allies?

If I were thirty-three,
my age of messianic crossfire
for all to red angry
horrifying see,
what would I choose to resurrect again?

And why would this revoiced
rechoiced healthier community
support potentiating integrity
with more robust good humor
this well-timed passed over
and back around
on sacred wellbeing ground?

If I were twice
my god’s reflective age
revived,
what would we joyously choose
to re-member
as half-life good golden sense
for revolving salvation’s humor?

For this tragic comedy
of tumorous migration
anxiously anticipating
integrity’s full ZeroScores
restoring just right species

All together one predation
praying for exterior relations
more integral summations
than humorless,
silent rumorless
quiet aging absence
of eternal sad-paced mercy,

At least sufficient for noticing,
just yesteryear
while glowering about something else
now already strange sadly queer,
once again forgotten.

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Aging in a Curious Age

As I age in place
into awareness of replaceability
I bow to humbling curiosity,

Whether more anxious
or anticipating,
I remain conflicted

About predicting
a win/win global healthy climate
sustainable outcome

In which my own anthroprivileged species
grows in ecological curiosity
and theological humility

Enough for winning healthy Earth
restoring justice,

A peaceful paradise of curious promise
for resiliently wealthy
multicultural ecofeminists

AND our leftbrain dominant
StraightWhiteMale capital growing fragile
and increasingly suicidal Allies

Or will this Great Green Transition
end and recycle back again
a healthier peace and justice Earth
devoid of inhumane
predative
overpopulated rabid hetero-unsapient pests?

While this winEarth/loseAnthros
heart-stopping vision fails to mention
all the further kinship species
we have already helped exterminate
and will continue to take out with us,

Still
stunned
shunned
I remain quietly hopeful
that a seventh great extinction
might never come to be
before Second Comings

Of Edenic Civility
bereft of straight either/or lined
leftbrain dominant distractions

Extractions
from right interdependent circling
spiraling feeling
lack of historical multicultural traction
for healthy democratic energy
empowering flow
and enlightened nature/spirit MultiSpecies

Worshipping
polyculturing sensory resonant pleasures
of resilient health wealthy climate paradise

Recovering
old aging wonder,
humbling
and still actively curious
how EarthMother healthy ends

And rebegins
re-ligions wealthily ever after
with Yang empowering
Yintegral enlightening balance,

Either both/and way,
humane-divine hybrid consciousness
of
merely sublime natural
sensory aware spirits,

Breaths of incoming
outgoing life
as love
regeneratively prevails.

And yet
I cannot resist some attachment,
as I limp toward my own ego-recentering
ultra-nonviolet
compassioning horizon,

Rooting for this new global age
of Green Cooperative EcoFeminists
already leading our nonviolent communion
toward a resiliently restorative EarthJustice Way,

A curious winning for AnthroTribe
also winning Earth GreenPeace
to health/wealth Thrive.

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Uncategorized

RockAway Baby

Rock away baby
in your tree top,
When Earth winds blow
our cradle can’t stop

And all Her Queen’s horses
and all old bald white men
can’t put Her regathered
together again.

Her wounds raise our stories
of struggle and sin,
our strengths are new songs
about old wounds gone wrong.

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Uncategorized

Slow Grown Grace

Poetry
like unpartnered,
unteamed,
slow dancing

However rhythmically precise,
concisely devised

Does not dance well
in a highly competitive
youth-oriented
commercial entertainment market

But,
does better
in cooperative venue voices,
disproportionately enthused by ancient women
investing in large-print choices,

Preferring off-line accessibility,
and not too expensive!

More deeply embedded
in soulful
left and right co-empathic
slow grown engagement.

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Visiting the Buddha

We were visited by a baby
yesterday.

It felt good to bow
into her glittery brown eye level,

To speak of whatever came to mind
which was mostly about her truth
and blossoming beauty

Knowing she would not judge
and would listen
patiently
as long as I might care
to continue our song
of aging story.

Her response,
to continue sleeping
or to smile
while feeling
feeding eye to eye
mutual warmth

This is what I remember
wanting most
to speak about,

To remember
on this Memorial Day

Visited not yet by a victim
of war
but by a wise innocent
for peace.

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The Rabbi’s Awesome Mother

She associated awe with unvoiced age.

Her son often enthused
about awesome tech-paced change,
empowering opportunity,
but, for her,
youth is an age for voicing wonder
as elders remember awesome quiet connection
back with memoried Time.

She found elder awe memories,
structures,
originating imprints,
in trees from humble
yet awesome nuts and seeds,
formed back in timeless forests

Where nutritional root systems
meet yang-strong trunks,
boldly growing toward sunlight,
flirting quietly with moonlight’s fertility
starring light shining our way
from how many awesome staring years ago?

Now enlightening her empowered wonder
about this sensory sexiness
of trunks on root systems
so old she can’t quite recall

How could time carve hoary beds
with rivers of resilient water
flowing down Time’s journey
from wondrously young
toward awesome complex landscapes
of connection
re-connection
volition
revolution
solution
resolution
passion
co-passionate secular communication,
sacred communion.

Maybe if she goes on wondrous line
and writes about these awesome Times
they will become both more musically beautiful
and reconstructed true,

More passionately ageing together
with respect for Earth’s revolving
gorgeous flowing wisdom
and joy for multi-sectored
strong true handsome.

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AzaRiah’s Earth Requiem

He was too old
to speak of active hope
for ancient creamy dreams
not yet boldly told

Inviting curious homeless nomads
to imagine what we could become
if we were not yet brazenly born
into this time of tragic burning,
flooding,
predicting hunger,
thirst
and coastal drowning nakedness.

Into this epic brown despair
AzaRiah was innocently born
within fading red shadows
of a crumbling
patriarchal
white cathedral.

She never knew an old Golden Era
of endless capital expansion
and monopolistic worship
defying GoldenRules
applied to those like her,
the least and blackest last
of Earth’s Golden SpaceTime Ratio.

AzaRiah’s stormy education
had no LeftBrain Ego v NotEco luxury
to ponder why 2D full moons
are also 4D revolving half-lit norms,

Why spatial nomials
predict temporal bilateral binomials,

Why positive polypaths
predict not not negative
polyphonic ultra-nonviolence,

Why binary Zero
fulfilling One bipolar Zone
predicts double-binary 0/1
wave-linear dipolar co-arising
win/win DNA resplendent Tone,

Why fractal-structured regenerativity
nativity predicts octave spiraling scales
of resonant
resilient non-degenerativity.

She was much too busy
singing with hurricane winds,
listening for flaming conflagrations
of reactionary hate,
inviting still small ecofeminist circles
to dance again with GrandMother Moon
in compassion’s silent storms,
self and other recreating
perpetual healthcare perception
reception

Belonging in grateful silence
where her grandfathers
spoke with terrified tears
of Earth’s great loud longing.

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Green Sanctuary Propositions

Who are you most longing to become?

How we answer this is different for an ancient rooted tree
than for a recent immigrant
searching for a niche of stable self-sufficiency.

Who we already have become together
feels more important to thriving groves of WiseElders
than to adolescent immigrants
actively learning creolizing bilingual skills
still coming together for survival.

So too, offering Sanctuary,
becoming Sanctuary,
inviting Sanctuary,
is rooted in Green complex nutrients
for feeding
and warm wet watering
whispering easier
cozier
more accessible nutrients
for everyone–
but especially appreciated
by more recent emigrants
to a new garden of hospitality,
of multicultural cooperation,
of shared cooperative residence
and patterns of safe,
sometimes exciting, new transport
toward healthiest wealth.

A gardener’s intent
to both offer and share sanctuary
may provoke well-nurtured gratitude
in a recent annual immigrant,
but a more sleepy and self-satisfied entitlement
in mature seniority of perennials,

Yet, primordially feeling and speaking,
we are all immigrants newly becoming together
with each new dawn,
and determined to cooperatively rest
in grateful dreams
with each renewing dusk.

Who are we most belonging
by becoming Green Sanctuary
together?

Some guilds of mutual interest
and investment
invite growing a cooperative sanctuary for food,

Other teams choose cooperatively owned and managed shelter,
gardens,
farms,
transporting cars and trucks
and bikes and horses,

Others focus on cooperatively owned and managed soil,
observing that democratically co-invested compost,
like capital,
recalls healthy savings in a nutritional bank
for cooperative food constituents.

And so it went,
whether Republican or Democrat,
Libertarian or Green,
Who we want to become together
is more cooperatively resilient,
more robustly compassionate
and co-empowering,
so less aloof
alone
smug and self-satisfied
about our competitive win/lose economic
and partisan histories of colonization;

When, truth become remembered,
we are all reborn naked
and needy
immigrants.

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Mother’s Mother

My mother’s mother and I were very close.
We needed each other
in diversely validating ways.

She needed to know
experience
hear and see and feel and touch
a healthier love of mutual regard
than she felt she achieved
with any of her three daughters.

I needed to feel
I was some loved adult’s most significant event,
most vulnerable and transparent grace
for who I felt and knew I was
yet to gay become
without any need to change
what I could not internally rearrange.

When I was a senior in high school
this grandmother became sick with cancer
and depression,
mortal doubts and fear.

I knew this
not because I had visited her
but because my parents
and aunts
whispered their hopelessness
before repeatedly reminding me,
There is nothing I can do
to help her
or prepare myself
for such great loss,
perhaps less great,
more relief,
for them.

But they were wrong.
Wrong about my grandmother.
Wrong about me.
Wrong about us, together.

I knew her favorite hymns.
I was her favorite voice.
We needed no other instruments,
percussive or lyrical.
We had enough time
to revisit our music lessons,
Lyrics are tools for young friendship
Not weapons against old enemies.

Precious Lord
take my hand,
Lead me on
when I can’t stand.
I am tired,
I am weak,
I am worn.
Through these trials,
Through this storm,
Lead me on
Precious Lord.

And so we sang
and so I danced
and told her favorite story
of beds too hard,
of friends too soft,
and a child who sings just might

Of Earth too hot
and river beds too soft
and motherlands too cold
and us, now growing distant,
yet singing this last time
just right.

 

 

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Nursing Home Rapper

In the multi-racial nursing home
to bent and broken bodies
in broken bent back wheelchairs
longing to free roam,
said the black lives matter rapper:

When your woman leaves you,
and your man is gone
without a reason
or a fare thee swell season,
Getting mad at life
ain’t so deadly wrong

You go ahead!
Let’s get angry.
That’s your right.
Let’s swing this fight!

Take your meds,
the ones prescribed
And not those others
Steal your might.

Eat something right
and drink your water,
Go on outside
and play spin the bottle
and see some sight
that helps you maybe feel more right.

Find your music.
Tunes long tried
You’ve memorized
Until they had to die inside.

And when you’re tired
you sleep,
Take a nap
Join those voices
heard long gone before,
Who never knew
you lost most choices

To want to wait,
to stay awake.
Don’t want to miss
what might not happen
without your last blessed kiss.

But don’t worry
We got this,
what you’ve not yet used up

It’s not a lot
but I promise you
Although we’re young
and only think we’re smart,
We’ll do our best,
We’ll take our part

To forward march
to your grandkids
at least as much
as you’ve left us,
a little parched.

That ain’t much
but it’s my promise
To share your music,
To take our rest
when it’s our time
to worry less
about who sleep takes
than who’s just pretending
to stay wide awake
for further mending.

You go ahead!
Let’s not get hungry
We’re inside right,
so let’s end this trite
and tired unsightly
RightWing fight!

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