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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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Traveling Death Salesman

I can’t sleep.
Or, I can
and did
for three hours
but I continue waking
into a Stephen King nightmare
too real to ignore
because I feel isolated
in this quagmire
of hopeless history.

In this my collective nightmare,
President Trump goes to Saudi Arabia
like Mr. Smith goes to Washington,
bold as an August justice day,
to sell 110 billion dollars of U.S. manufactured ballistics
in this heart of Middle East thirst
for violence–
like selling dope to jonesing crack addicts.

This deal is signed in the blood of our children
then celebrated in full glare of multi media spotlights
with blood dripping off our chins
and hands.
This is a really sweet success
for climate health and freedom fighters
and, oh yes,
our wealthy industrious friends
who rake in their riches
on the strong back
of capitalism’s vaguely cannibalistic WinLose addictions.

This nightmare continues on to Israel
where Jewish leaders wait
until our blood-stained ambassador
of international arm-sales corruption
turns his back
before at last declaring their alarm,
echoed at his next stop
in the Vatican
where even this home of history’s Crusades
finds such dark triumphalism
a bit too treacherously much.

Yet, as often as I awake within this bloodshed bacchanal
blaring with unseemly deep night trumpets
I also wake to total BusinessAsUsual silence
here in this U.S. home.

Here it feels alien accepted
that this is whom we have near bloodlessly become,
crack and frack and oil addicts
selling our preferred markets of death
in exchange for oil
or cash,
our democratically held self-esteem so low
we cannot remember our lowest common denominator
used to be a shared multiculturing Golden Rule.

We have better stuff to sell
for hope of light
not deadly despair.

So here I sit
in the middle of this night’s terrifying domestic silence,
wide awake with guilt
about such dark leadership
we have loosed in a troubling Earth
longing for even just one drop of climate sanity.

110 billion dollars re-invested.
Ours
to grease these well oiled wheels
of military industrializing tycoons
even General President Eisenhower
warned us against.

I guess healing our planet
and our extending brother-sister relationships
will have to wait
until all our guns
and oil,
bombs
and hate,
soldiers
and their innocent children
are gracelessly gone.

I doubt that dawn will ever come again,
yet worry what new macabre celebrations
in vampire cannibalistic capitalism
may appear across our morning screens,
knocking on and out and through our back doors
while our children sleep
in too short innocence.

110 billion for nihilistic death and terror sales
and not one entrepreneurial peep in protest
of sacrilegious prancing.
It is this screaming silence of abject immoral despair
that continues awaking me,
hoping I might see midnight lights
of kindred nightmare souls
haunted by such dark blood business
baldly broadcast as if to help us better sleep.

I toss and turn alone
while other childlike immigrants on Earth
sleep through 110 billion bloody nightmares.

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Re-Ligionic Adventure

To remain neutral on our moving train

help me know which way we’re spinning,

how fast,

when we might slow down,

how much,

to sustain polycultured rich neutrality.

 

How do I sleep

while SuperEgo-logic Earth Day

longs and trains for here in now?

 

Stuck in nightmare time too fast,

stride too slow

unable to will-force our faster pace

or slow-growth race,

but both together falling

leaps reopen terrified

reassuring wakefulness,

in sleep I can be you and there

while longing here

belonging both as SuperEgo We.

 

Hey!

Ground of All Being!

Elder cellular horsepower!

Wake up!… Scream!

your ultraviolet pitch

and flow-echo waves,

rebound this Dense Dark Mirror Message:

 

We would be more humane

to dinosaur-whisper amongst ourselves

diversely radiant Golden Ecologics,

empathic SuperEgo

EarthTribe Originating Call:

 

Let our nutrient horsepower free,

flow animate leg-kicking stories,

hibernating through Yinnish Winter’s advent,

to graze through Spring,

and Yang prance Summer’s maturation dance,

to harvest Fallen permaculture compost

winnowing while predicting cooperative apple commodities

luscious pregnant seed:

 

Spring forth to ride and run this SuperEco Train,

Boddhisatva Warriors of EarthTribe Peace!

 

Hey!

Ground of Regenerate Power!

Regravitate our octave prime-color Paradise!

 

Namaste, Balanced Mind.

Active karma empowering

Eternal Diastatic Time

for Climax Global Community

within, as without,

without, as within,

coincidentally converging landscapes

riding SuperEco’s Beloved Peace Train.

 

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Red Sky At Night…

Once upon a nightime grim

all creatures of Earth dreamed

our Mother was not enough for everyone,

just “me.”

 

This collective nightmare thunderously rolled out

dark implications:

Earth is insufficient for our needs!

We live in Closed Systems of immunity,

heading toward decay!

EarthTribe is not enough to sustain all this life!

I am not enough, yet!

I do not have enough, yet!

When someone grabs from me

they steal from my self-identity!

Grab back!

When someone strikes and hits to hurt,

is mean to those I care about,

I hit back!

with self-righteous flashing anger,

equity and integrity mere dormant values.

They must learn

or I may perish!

 

With such dark dreams

our primal twins,

Yang and Yin,

thrashed about in tangled sheets

each unaware of Other’s parallel flight

within this blue-black brackish night,

til Yang whacked Yin upside the head

completely unaware of how this would unfold.

So Yin hit back in fright

and soon this ruckus raised a violent alarm

among their household, neighbors, Tribe.

This outrage spread

sweeping across land and oceans

then back again to where it all began

until exhausted and dark bruised

all earthbound life fell down unconscious.

 

Within this loss of self-defense,

our open-handed peaceful nest,

dawn quietly crept toward abundant light

for all to feel and hear and touch

her sobbing singing warming beauty.

Scent of sun-baked cotton sheets

invites Yin’s eyes to uncover sight

of radiant light

abundantly growing nutrient wealth,

a yeasty compost sustaining interweaving life,

incarnating karmic response to each species’ evolving wants

and worthy hope.

 

As her awareness of Earth’s vast creation

lit her eyes of self-discovery

dawn’s diastasis filled hearts and minds

of all coincidental early risers.

We woke uncovered to discover immensity of life

and color swarming far beyond our needs,

nutrients absorbed for taste, and touch, and scent, and sound,

and sight, freely accessed to fit each synchronic need,

each longing to belong,

each Self fading into and out of Other,

sufficient place for each species’ time and space.

Last night’s primal screams of insufficiency replaced

by dawn’s ecology of karmic grace.

 

Yang woke alarmed at loss of cover.

His arms flew out to hide his fall

from dawn’s radical gift of generosity

and harmonic praxis.

And, in so doing, he hit Yin’s head.

This blow did smart

but seeded tears of redeemer healing.

Yin justly smiled and absorbed around

reminding Yang she is his graceful mentor

interpreting his dreams.

 

She sang with harmony enveloping unredeemed dissonance and disease,

hope for suffering and insanity’s dark lessons,

dawn’s well-lit vocation for us all

softly individuating within Earth’s optimizing life,

all brittle boundaries of mutual immunity

relaxing into resonance.

 

In this Transition Time from dark competing violence,

we remain cooperatively nested within Earth’s well-being,

so, dear Yang,

return toward redemptive rest,

regenerating memory seeds,

stringing songs dancing back,

back to stardust’s Ecologic Elders.

 

Fear and violence display synaptically sharp;

competitive “Loser!” economies;

love’s justice peace remains buoyant, resilient, robustly evolving

cooperating mutual winner revolution

away from red skies of mourning.

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