I still want to save the world
That is in part my privilege,
And responsibility,
And realizing in part that means
Saving the world too from me,
And my first world habits
–My waste, my want, my consumption,
I need no cape for my cause,
That would only hold me back,
Catch me up,
And add to the consumptive practices
I am in part fighting,
Flood waters may recede,
With damage done,
Yet the hard intersectional work of clean up and prevention never ends.
Tag: Poetry
The Ache I Savor
The warmth melts
And opens up in me
Thoughts, emotions
I try to hold back,
But I cannot,
The want is an ache I savor,
For it is as close as I can get
to feeling your touch
Your Meaning*
You.
You are.
Your existence is not meaningless,
It has had meaning before you could ever even know,
Your actual meaning you may never fully know,
But it is there,
Others see it,
moreover feel it,
Even at a distance,
We know,
it is fully embracing,
There is more,
More meant for you,
Even when times seem endlessly void,
There is an outlet, a point, a goal,
Perhaps you have hints of it,
Or perhaps it is around a bend,
But this is not all,
Your hardship is not pointless,
You are maturing,
into the being you were meant to ripen into,
Your purpose,
your purposes may not be obvious,
now or ever to you,
Persevere,
There is a point,
There is meaning,
There is good
In the fact that
you Live.
- Written for A.M.
6 Word Stories: Loving
Their love survives: Hamilton to Angelica.
Waste waves call them to action.
New, searching for her right place.
Midnight poet can’t hold herself back.
Love that transcends time and space.
A decade gone still can’t forget.
Memories still haunt the beloved living.
Suit Up!
It’s coming, the end.
And everyone sees it,
Watches it, as our planet dies,
She’s dying a slow and painful death,
And the end is teased out,
By hope of green consumption,
But it takes from the top to make this work,
So we give up,
And get another plastic cup,
A straw,
A bag,
because we are just one,
But therein lies the illusion,
That keeps us slaves
To the industries
That profit off this death,
We are one,
And one, and one, and one, and…
Adding up to make a difference,
We are no more beaches, oceans, waves of our toxic, slow degradation,
No more breaths and bites of plastic,
No more soil contaminated by Fossil fuel,
No more leaded and flammable drinking water, poisoning our bodies and minds,
We are caught in a global bystander effect,
Waiting for the Lorax to return,
Without first planting the seed,
We are waiting for a fire department in a burning house,
Not realizing we are the fire department,
It is less, to be more,
It is activism, demanding more,
It is speaking out,
It is cleaning house,
It is preserving,
It is bearing witness to the floods, the cyclones, the tsunamis, monsoons, the hurricanes, tornados, and seeing them for what they are,
Earth is not mad,
She is hemorrhaging,
And it is on us to stop it from worsening,
The house is on fire,
The house is on fire,
The house is on fire!
–suit up!
Vernal Equinox
The Vernal Equinox came in,
Like a slow waking from an overslept night,
Yawning and wiping dew from tired eyes,
Then with a silent reminder,
A sudden surprise,
Remembering the bloom that is beginning,
The time for her to start,
Slowly she tends to the matters at hand,
Heists the sun up,
Making light brighter,
Making warmth,
Making days longer,
Sends forth for the birds,
the slumbering bear,
Whispers to buds hiding just below,
Wake my dear children,
And come out of the snow
She of Letters 