Tag Archives: pollution

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First Presidential Alert

I got my first Presidential Alert today
Did you
too?

It was alarming
near the middle of the afternoon
to receive this reminder,
He’s still President?
Watch out!

As a candidate
he promised us he would do nothing
to improve our weather
and, in fact,
would strongly support Business As Usual
so we could plan on even more severe subclimates
of internal and external pathology.

Severe Presidential Alerts
are alarming
but probably necessary acknowledgement
the WhiteHouse denies human contribution
to causing severe climatic harm
and thereby perhaps avoid expensive global reparations,
responsible repairs
reforesting
un-desertification liabilities,
reinvestments in health care giving
and receiving with all mattered lives

Now shattered by severe climate necessities
of Presidential Alerts

Watch out!
Patriarchal grabbing and extracting,
squeezing and penetrating pain
at Presidential work
against health and love
of future sacred mattered Lives,
of Earth herself.

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Rose City

I live in a rose-tinted town
bowing mainly to White Western skies
bleached of blue blooded color
but also of dire Eastern dawns
with smoky red skies,
warning farmers and gardeners
taking and giving nutritional cover
under bad-blooded weather
on our way to further apart.

I live in a NorthEastern place
replete with geriatric grace
yet less mindful of holistic medicines
less conscious through holy meditations
less wholesome
with cooperative administrations
of home
and families
and neighborhoods
as wholesome 7-Generation multihoods.

I live in a public space
directed by private embrace
toward trusting love of all four directions
all eight lifetime resurrections

From infant to child,
child to pre-teen,
pubescent to late adolescent,
where U.S. culture seems to be LeftBrain stuck,
between delayed adolescents and too young adults,
young adults toward mature polyculturists
voters listening to WiseElder leaders,
WiseElder leaders
longing to conjoin CoMessiahs
and Bodhisattva Warriors
and PolyCulturing Yogis
and MultiCulturing EarthScientists
and PolyPhonically inclined EarthArtists
and PolyPathic EarthEducators and Mentors.

Researchers and Designers
of full-octaved trust,
if for no positively healthy reason,
to avoid hatreds of anti-trust
and ambivalent angers
seeking secular mistrust
and equivalent fears
finding infinite misery
pathologies.

I live in a rose-scented town
where three polluted rivers conjoin
worshipped by LastNative gamblers
reweaving our vapid ritual bows
within all four fractal revolving dimensions.

I live in a rose-fading town
aging while watching southwestern drought,
at risk of growing coastal
as Northern blizzards of chaos
compete with Southern hurricanes and tornadoes
of flooding tsunamic complexity.

I live in a rose memory town
filled with ghosts of LeftBrain dominant climatic pathology
rising up to restore RightBrain with Left
peace from within,
settling down to withstand
capital punishments
ego-justified retributions
without rose-tinted glasses.

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The Senior Center

The Senior Center was a beehive of active waiting
to die.

Bingo
but not ballroom dancing.

Knitting
but not garden expansions.

Physical therapy
but not yoga
and not chi gong,
much less mindful meditations
sung in four part harmony.

The new guy,
just growing into sixty-five,
asked them
How would we like to be remembered
one hundred years from now?

That doesn’t seem likely,
I know,
but perhaps more likely together
than playing Solitaire
side by side.

I would like to be remembered
as healers of The River
said a somber SeptemberGenerian woman
surrounded by ancient lady friends.

No one needed to ask why.
We all knew
what was coming downriver
for future regenerations
of thirsty toxined minds
with biodiverse bodies.

And so we found younger allies
who owned property along The River,
beginning with the railroad company,
and the Mohegans
and the Pequots,
where a Senior knew a Senior
with a well-placed daughter,
and sometimes a son
of unusual cooperative and long-term focus.

Together we planted firs
and cedars along polluted and denuded banks,
for future generations to manage,
harvest for housing
and furniture
and fiber
and possibly even coffins
waiting for memories of polluted rivers
to die.

That was one hundred years ago
we started
in this regenerative Senior Center,
and still going strong
as each year
a new incoming class
of those who finally reached sixty-five
joined our river healing project,
more recently also producing fruit trees
and berries,
flax
and hemp,
mushrooms
and nuts
and sweetgrass baskets
woven by SeptemberGenerians.

Women and a few surviving men
and some more in-between
smiling together
at the round cedar table in the back,
remembering Elder healers
of our barren land
and naked River.

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