Tag Archives: New England

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Dear New with Old England

Dear Local Boards of EcoSchool Education,
Departments of Environmentally Protected Walkable Transportation,
Cooperatively Maintaining Public-Private Works
and STEAM Play
and WinWin GreenGames,
Hysterical Historical Associations,
Social Work Departments of Climate Restorative Therapy,
and Public Health-Wealth Departments:

Did you leave anyone out dear?

Just the usual lower non-elite 10 to 50 percent
still graduating from WinLose counter-evolutionary
Right Might Fights
secularized deductive-only school.

You mean LeftBrain
Business As Ego Terrifying schools?

I’m not sure, really.
I never fully experienced
an urban capital-infested
RightWing militarizing
WinLose patriarchal
anti-WinWin matriarchal
BadFaith school.

Because you choose to see YangHere
with YinNow,
within breathed out
as manna ingested
co-invested eco-in.

Bread womb of life inside memories
as breath of matriotic love
outside images.

Anyway,
please continue with your Letter to English Editors
of Town Bulletins, dear.
Although why you need to write everything outloud
in strings of regenerative ecologic
while inside singing and dancing in matriotic octaves
is so much spiral dynamics transporting
and more fun,
I cannot polyphonically imagine.

OK, continuing–
Most of our composting neighborhoods
arose before oil and gas burners
mechanized transportation
for both domestic song and dance tranquility
and international militarized terror.

For this epic creolizing-colonizing reason,
we could enjoy a deeper learning opera network,
polypathically useful operations
for polyculturing healthy highways
and byways.

For economic co-invested reasons
we could choose more walkable
and bike-enabling neighborhoods,
more child and extended family friendly.

We could affordably choose
some narrower edible chestnut tree-lined lanes,
intersecting frequently
in community cooperative gardening squares
and WinWin organic Green triangles
and peace restorative pentagons

Rather than continuing to choose
last gasps
of a more drive-thru-able
stinky mechanical WinLose devolving city.

For political and social communication reasons,
we might better cooperatively own and manage
convenient and safer,
better nurtured pedestrian
street transporters
with warmer and cooler
and more therapeutic communicating destinations
nearby.

For good faith reasons
we could choose natural neighborhood homeo-nonpathological drugstores,
more outdoor ecoschools
and after-school Green STEM projects
and Green STEAM repurposing arts
and reforesting sciences,
more organic and locally-grown grocery stores
and nutritionally walkable transporting ecosystems.

For good health reasons
we could cooperatively choose
to place,
adjacent to bad breath congesting highways
leading out to bioregionally giant
polluted feeder interstates,
cooperative ecoschool
and goodfaith community gardening grids
of humane-breathable streets
for solar electric streetcars,
bikeways,
ample horse-powered bark and repurposed chip,
stone and hand-made brick ways
to make our healthy peddled and walked
therapeutic rounds.

We could choose transport and communication channels
flowering with urban reforesting projects and policies
and planting/harvesting co-investment procedures
for eco-cooperative living,
smart deep growing therapeutic residents
with repurposing life vocations
in local downtown ZeroZone permaculturing centers,
eco-centric port authorities
for feeding healthy mouths
like our Sacred Thames River
flowing outstream
to Atlantic
and Pacific,
Indian and Northern

WiseElder surfing Seas,
seasons New Moon drenched in dualdark Soul
and FullMoon pulled toward
climate ecotherapies.

We could choose
to guard against merely drive-thruable cities
against double-binding future-past
eco-walking climate ego-change
for reducing waste fueled overconsumption.

We need not always choose
individual ownership of mechanized technologies
over cooperatively enabling
diverse and re-acclimating resilient respiratory response
to future indoor-outdoor climate pathologies.

We could choose to not suck in
further competitive WinLose public-private investments
for monoculturing solutions
far short of polycultural deep sacred-secular learning
resonant resident resolutions.

We could choose
co-arising secular Left and sacred Right
ecological-theological healthy initiatives
to reforest
New and Old England’s most resonant
historical resilience.

Too many words, dear.

How many
too many?

Go for ZeroZone eruption
into Wondrous Beauty
and Secular Awe.

I was.
I did.
I am.

Well then,
great and beautiful transition done, honey.
Now who are we?
And where are we cooperatively becoming?

You are insatiable.

Only with co-arising you,
dearest.

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Rivers of Degrading Memory

Once upon a time
I was merely prescient
in the genes and blood
and air and water
and other ingestions
of our ancestors.

Among these were Elders
who may have stopped along the banks
of the Connecticut and Hudson Rivers
to drink from their sacred streaming source
and fish
and camp under maples and oaks nearby.

When these elders come within prescient me
to see these same rivers now,
perhaps from nearly the same spot,
now an eight-lane concrete highway
for transporting faster capital-invested competitions
lacking sufficient slow river-time for healthy redevelopment,
together we hear and smell,
but dare not taste
nor feel compelled to feel
cool once-clear bathing and drinking water
as when we were here
back in the day
and nights of great river love
and life,
happiness and vocationing prosperity
with plenty of clean and delicious water
and fresh fragrantly invigorating breezes of quiet joy
with pine needles needless
under sometimes naked running feet.

But we,
my generation
and that before
and before
back discontinuously through industrializing
and commodifying
and commercializing
and capitalizing degenerations,
we are now trying to remind ourselves
that what we currently must not drink
or even taste,
probably don’t want to touch
much less smell
and even less actually jump into it
and all the broken glass
and rusted car parts
embedded in its toxic death bed,
this is what we must accept as our new normal.

This unraveling of my Elders’ rivers
to the point of toxic exhaustion
is my expected price of admission
to all my New England happy birthdays
for continuing prosperity
and freedom and dignity for all,
except the rivers
and the air
and those they feed,
and the pine needle kindling
that remembers our Elders to this day,
back when we were more cooperatively invested
in asking and responding to
Why can’t we all just get along
together?

Rather than compete for how rationally
we could tear apart
memories of Elders
first seeing and hearing and smelling
promising prescient delights
of bountiful Hudson
and Connecticut Rivers
still healthy flowing
for and with and of and in their great grandkids.

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Tidal Rivers of Identity

This place
New England space
meets inside without
building forest skill character
wild native nakedness merged with puritan souls
enslaved by dark-skinning self-immolating magic
aboriginal roots of satiating suffered bliss,
Yankee hearts with naive freedoms
to imagine golden ages
accessible to each and all
huddling in fertile Enlightenment passion pastures
within nature’s coredemptive surf-songed light.

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Shoveling I-Cycles

He said he planned to freeze to death.

Did he mean to have his body frozen?
Stored to hatch again later,
leftovers out of time’s deep freezer of waiting.

No, not that.
He responds with undeniable dismissal,
this would not be his investment in future plans.

I hope and believe that I will choose
when to freeze my death.

I remember his hope
stepping out into Connecticut’s perfect nor’eastern,
stern at onslaught,
like pilgrims and nearby islands of granite
states and histories,
but then dragging more gracefully out
into lacey fluff
floating toward quintessential kitschey views
framed from inside
by silent flickering orange light
of coal black constitutional wood stove
New England casual propriety,
radiating dry welcome warmth,
but with appropriate restraint,
while I remember to step
onto my snow covered front porch,
evenly blanketed front to back,
as if devoid of shingled Cape Cod roof.

This would be a good New Connected way too die.
Shoveling snow in paradise
evening’s post-storm quiet,
waiting for far off snow blowers
to finally rest.

Without anger or disappointment.
How could we become a better time and place
to re-enter timeless freedom of empathic light?
Fearless deep enriching flight
into nesting night
of death’s diastatic elational surprise,
floating out as in
to continue WinWin play
as recreating love-life
by day
and regenerating CoLover’s Love of love ourselves
each climaxing full-moon night,
speaking trough nor’easter’ wind
of light redemption
and bright winged mythic co-reception.

If I were of his fearless content mind
to fade in frosty sublime light,
now would be my time
to threshold off
into enculturing adventures
of co-relational Earthen Love,
holding off my WinWin Climax re-transformation
until this night’s threshold,
freezing away from carnating restraint
of graceless angry fear of lively shadows
and losing ego’s permacultured golden age
to flow into disincarnate freedom
full as loving tic elating grace,
recomposing Earth’s Tribal Golden Embryo,
a grand transitional opera
in four snow-bound limbs
of crystal-frosted dancing light
elating pure true resonance.

He planned to freeze his death
to love Earth’s Paradise,
echoing co-radical Presence.

My warmth becomes distracting
to this Bodhisattva Revolution
into cosmic-conscious decomposition
of Gaia’s delicious musical comedy
sung full-timed operatic pretension
until cold brings time’s threshold
storm inviting steadier-state contemplation,
love Beloved freezing Presence,
free at last to climax multicultural Elation.

Funny, now, to remember
his pre-climatic drama,
requiring death
to embrace love’s timelessly available freedom,
when each breath grows sacrament
baptizing love’s diastatic promise,
then purging Passion Stories back out
to feed Earth’s ravenous trees of upside-down wisdom.

It’s all so intensely rich and deep,
frosty,
shoveling snow,
remembering a friend
who chose to freeze his living
to enjoy a dancing Full Moon dying
to become his already present EcoArising Presence.

CoMessiah breathing in Connecticut’s normative normal
natural business
nor’eastern Paradise Transition,
shoveling deeply within
newly laid embryonic blanketing womb
tomb.

I hope our kids won’t worry or ever fear
that we’ve chosen frozen to death out here
over all our over-heated operatic flame
of life in quiet reConnecting home.

He said he planned to freeze to death
to sit with passionate Earth’s Tribe,
co-rising Time’s elating love,
CoPresent.

Even so,
I hope he misses me
as I miss him.

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