Thu, 23 Apr 2026 19:55:23 +0200 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/ en-EN contact@hearthis.at contact@hearthis.at https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/ https://img.hearthis.at/3/1/5/_/uploads/dummy/user/w1400_h1400_q70_ptrue_v2_----cropped_user_00513.png no no https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/0001-wuwt-effort/ 11637471 no no Wed, 01 Jan 2025 22:20:50 +0100 2025-01-01T22:20:50+01:00 8:01 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/gyorgyi-voros-forest-orison/ 1047126 no no Tue, 23 Aug 2016 11:08:58 +0200 2016-08-23T11:08:58+02:00 2:42 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/letitia-elizabeth-landon-the-oak/ 1047127 no no Sat, 18 Jun 2016 08:04:14 +0200 2016-06-18T08:04:14+02:00 3:37 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/jack-collom-ecology/ 1047128 no no Mon, 04 Apr 2016 09:40:00 +0200 2016-04-04T09:40:00+02:00 2:32 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/bob-finkbine-bury-my-heart/ 1047130 no no Tue, 29 Mar 2016 21:51:55 +0200 2016-03-29T21:51:55+02:00 2:49 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/jenny-mcbride-for-the-coneflowers/ 1047131 no no Mon, 21 Mar 2016 01:22:39 +0100 2016-03-21T01:22:39+01:00 2:29 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/emily-dickinson-nature-is-what-we-see/ 1047132 no no Mon, 14 Mar 2016 23:28:19 +0100 2016-03-14T23:28:19+01:00 2:37 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/alex-a-night-aside-the-duckabush-river/ 1047133 no no Fri, 04 Mar 2016 22:38:25 +0100 2016-03-04T22:38:25+01:00 4:29 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/mary-oliver-the-summer-day/ 1047134 no no Sat, 27 Feb 2016 09:22:45 +0100 2016-02-27T09:22:45+01:00 2:56 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/janet-lowe-a-conversation-with-ed-abbey/ 1047135 no no Sat, 02 Jan 2016 08:51:13 +0100 2016-01-02T08:51:13+01:00 6:24 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/mary-de-la-valette-entering-nature/ 1047136 no no Sun, 10 May 2015 08:53:16 +0200 2015-05-10T08:53:16+02:00 3:07 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/tom-hirons-sometimes-a-wild-god/ 1047137 no no Tue, 17 Mar 2015 10:00:25 +0100 2015-03-17T10:00:25+01:00 6:45 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/sid-bridges-our-hubris-extinctions/ 1047138 no no Tue, 10 Mar 2015 23:52:56 +0100 2015-03-10T23:52:56+01:00 3:44 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/philip-levine-our-valley/ 1047139 no no Sun, 01 Mar 2015 09:48:38 +0100 2015-03-01T09:48:38+01:00 3:20 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/wendell-berry-sycamore/ 1047140 no no Tue, 02 Dec 2014 23:59:50 +0100 2014-12-02T23:59:50+01:00 2:33 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/steve-toth-animal-magnetism/ 1047142 no no Tue, 02 Dec 2014 23:54:17 +0100 2014-12-02T23:54:17+01:00 1:51 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/morgan-farley-clearing/ 1047143 no no Tue, 02 Dec 2014 23:50:20 +0100 2014-12-02T23:50:20+01:00 6:21 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/marisa-de-los-santos-oil/ 1047144 no no Tue, 02 Dec 2014 23:46:56 +0100 2014-12-02T23:46:56+01:00 4:55 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/rayn-roberts-secrets-from-mountains-above-nagoya/ 1047145 no no Tue, 02 Dec 2014 23:31:05 +0100 2014-12-02T23:31:05+01:00 2:46 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/amanda-leigh-maloney-a-strange-poem/ there's a dark field where the wind blows constantly
There's a sun, but the sun is dim, weak.
There's no life - except - a little creature crawls through the fields
with a little voice
nobody can hear
it's calling out, please! can you hear me? how did i get here!
it's come from somewhere else.
how did you get here, little thing?
what do you want here?
i watch you, as the sky,
the empty air, no breath.
no life.
but you.
what are you?
]]> there's a dark field where the wind blows constantly
There's a sun, but the sun is dim, weak.
There's no life - except - a little creature crawls through the fields
with a little voice
nobody can hear
it's calling out, please! can you hear me? how did i get here!
it's come from somewhere else.
how did you get here, little thing?
what do you want here?
i watch you, as the sky,
the empty air, no breath.
no life.
but you.
what are you?
]]> 1047146 no no Mon, 01 Dec 2014 09:14:50 +0100 2014-12-01T09:14:50+01:00 1:54 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/susan-mccampbell-ring-covemallard/
Cove/Mallard

Yesterday these forests were crimson pink
through the smoke of summer fires
(as if the very air were bleeding here);
today i stand soaking wet
looking thru rain-smeared glasses
sweaty from dancing with thunder;

Drumming tumbles with guitar, banjo & oboe
between Grand fir, bear grass
& sweet purpling huckleberries.
The tapping of the rain
comforts me. Reminds me of earlier,
down the hill where they're cutting

when i wrapped my arms halfway 'round
a doomed grandmother pine at dawn
--and, crying, i prayed for her deliverance.

14 VIII 94

Susan McCampbell Ring
June-July 1998 Earth First!]]>
Cove/Mallard

Yesterday these forests were crimson pink
through the smoke of summer fires
(as if the very air were bleeding here);
today i stand soaking wet
looking thru rain-smeared glasses
sweaty from dancing with thunder;

Drumming tumbles with guitar, banjo & oboe
between Grand fir, bear grass
& sweet purpling huckleberries.
The tapping of the rain
comforts me. Reminds me of earlier,
down the hill where they're cutting

when i wrapped my arms halfway 'round
a doomed grandmother pine at dawn
--and, crying, i prayed for her deliverance.

14 VIII 94

Susan McCampbell Ring
June-July 1998 Earth First!]]> 1047147 no no Mon, 01 Dec 2014 08:57:14 +0100 2014-12-01T08:57:14+01:00 2:22 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/steve-toth-mother-nature/
The morning's stillness is snapped
The doe stops grazing
& facing the direction
the sound came from
snaps to attention
Ears up eyes piercing
as a coyote steps into the open
The doe snorts
a few times then charges
The Coyote turns on the speed
looking back almost longingly
for a moment
just before entering the woods
Only a mountain lion
or a black bear
would do anything
but clear out
when she's like this.

Something about a fawn
gives a doe
a special supply of fearlessness
]]>
The morning's stillness is snapped
The doe stops grazing
& facing the direction
the sound came from
snaps to attention
Ears up eyes piercing
as a coyote steps into the open
The doe snorts
a few times then charges
The Coyote turns on the speed
looking back almost longingly
for a moment
just before entering the woods
Only a mountain lion
or a black bear
would do anything
but clear out
when she's like this.

Something about a fawn
gives a doe
a special supply of fearlessness
]]> 1047148 no no Mon, 01 Dec 2014 08:22:52 +0100 2014-12-01T08:22:52+01:00 4:04 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/gary-mennie-skylands/
Sky vistas merge with the land,
In the translucent greenbrier shoots of spring,
In the soft metallic glint of still ponds,
In the green galaxies of dandelions pressing through
dark matter of earth,
In the tears of dew trickling in silent crystal drops,
In the facial windows of mind-looking creatures,
In the hovering fogs of hot humid nights,
In the star-like blooming flowers in rainbowed clusters,
In the twisting swirl of leaves swiftly spiraling,
In the snowy billowed seeds of cottonwood scattering
in cloud-like drifts,
In the scale-like cirrus arrangements of shells on
the shoreline,
In the wind-like whistling song of the starling perched,
In the golden yellow flashing light of fireflies,
In the vast panoramic corridors of consciousness,
Sky vistas, land vistas, mind vistas,
Merging at the crossroads of this moment.


Gary Mennie
3/97


Gary Mennié is a native folk poet of Central New Jersey. He is the author of Growing Moments, a journal of philosophical poems reflecting a unique, eclectic blend of radical, iconoclastic, and rebellious views of the modern world, woven within a deep spiritual, compassionate awareness of our wild and mystical journey with nature]]>
Sky vistas merge with the land,
In the translucent greenbrier shoots of spring,
In the soft metallic glint of still ponds,
In the green galaxies of dandelions pressing through
dark matter of earth,
In the tears of dew trickling in silent crystal drops,
In the facial windows of mind-looking creatures,
In the hovering fogs of hot humid nights,
In the star-like blooming flowers in rainbowed clusters,
In the twisting swirl of leaves swiftly spiraling,
In the snowy billowed seeds of cottonwood scattering
in cloud-like drifts,
In the scale-like cirrus arrangements of shells on
the shoreline,
In the wind-like whistling song of the starling perched,
In the golden yellow flashing light of fireflies,
In the vast panoramic corridors of consciousness,
Sky vistas, land vistas, mind vistas,
Merging at the crossroads of this moment.


Gary Mennie
3/97


Gary Mennié is a native folk poet of Central New Jersey. He is the author of Growing Moments, a journal of philosophical poems reflecting a unique, eclectic blend of radical, iconoclastic, and rebellious views of the modern world, woven within a deep spiritual, compassionate awareness of our wild and mystical journey with nature]]> 1047149 no no Mon, 01 Dec 2014 08:08:33 +0100 2014-12-01T08:08:33+01:00 2:55 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/mary-oliver-kingfisher/ 1047150 no no Thu, 20 Nov 2014 05:39:44 +0100 2014-11-20T05:39:44+01:00 2:28 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/nanao-sakaki-break-the-mirror/ 1047151 no no Thu, 20 Nov 2014 05:24:35 +0100 2014-11-20T05:24:35+01:00 2:54 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/john-haines-legend-of-paper-plates/ 1047152 no no Tue, 04 Nov 2014 04:06:24 +0100 2014-11-04T04:06:24+01:00 5:29 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/mary-oliver-wild-geese/
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.]]>
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.]]> 1047153 no no Sun, 12 Oct 2014 05:55:25 +0200 2014-10-12T05:55:25+02:00 4:09 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/paul-richards-what-do-you-do-you-do-for-a-living/ 1047154 no no Mon, 06 Oct 2014 21:47:11 +0200 2014-10-06T21:47:11+02:00 3:36 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/jenny-mcbride-waiting-while-mountains-purple/ 1047155 no no Mon, 22 Sep 2014 05:39:33 +0200 2014-09-22T05:39:33+02:00 5:18 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/gary-lawless-caribouddhism/ 1047156 no no Thu, 04 Sep 2014 05:43:12 +0200 2014-09-04T05:43:12+02:00 4:12 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/gary-lawless-terra-nova/ 1047157 no no Thu, 04 Sep 2014 05:20:11 +0200 2014-09-04T05:20:11+02:00 4:05 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/stan-wilson-fresh-air-snorin/ 1047158 no no Sun, 24 Aug 2014 08:09:00 +0200 2014-08-24T08:09:00+02:00 5:29 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/stan-wilson-fresh-air-snoring/ 1047159 no no Sun, 24 Aug 2014 06:42:49 +0200 2014-08-24T06:42:49+02:00 2:13 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/sid-bridges-techno-civilization/ 1047160 no no Sun, 24 Aug 2014 00:41:51 +0200 2014-08-24T00:41:51+02:00 4:39 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/dh-lawrence-snake/ 1047161 no no Mon, 28 Jul 2014 05:58:13 +0200 2014-07-28T05:58:13+02:00 7:05 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/karen-coulter-in-arms-of-the-earth/ 1047162 no no Tue, 15 Jul 2014 11:15:35 +0200 2014-07-15T11:15:35+02:00 6:27 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/billy-collins-butterfly-effect/ 1047163 no no Fri, 16 May 2014 01:18:23 +0200 2014-05-16T01:18:23+02:00 3:21 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/lynn-jacobs-not-so-long-ago/ 1047164 no no Tue, 13 May 2014 02:52:44 +0200 2014-05-13T02:52:44+02:00 3:12 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/joey-racano-krill-kids/ 1047165 no no Wed, 30 Apr 2014 22:38:41 +0200 2014-04-30T22:38:41+02:00 3:35 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/dennis-fritzinger-crow-mind/ 1047166 no no Sun, 20 Apr 2014 02:26:28 +0200 2014-04-20T02:26:28+02:00 2:40 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/wordsworth-daffodils/ 1047167 no no Tue, 15 Apr 2014 11:36:31 +0200 2014-04-15T11:36:31+02:00 2:19 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/dick-barnes-bagdad-chase-road/ 1047168 no no Fri, 04 Apr 2014 02:42:00 +0200 2014-04-04T02:42:00+02:00 4:53 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/gary-snyder-gratitude/ 1047169 no no Fri, 04 Apr 2014 01:30:50 +0200 2014-04-04T01:30:50+02:00 4:12 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/jaen-sydney-mountaintop-removal/ 1047171 no no Sun, 23 Feb 2014 22:50:36 +0100 2014-02-23T22:50:36+01:00 2:19 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/roman-sanchez-buffalo-poem/ 1047172 no no Sat, 15 Feb 2014 09:28:51 +0100 2014-02-15T09:28:51+01:00 3:28 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/murmuration-deanetr-dolphins-whales/ 1047174 no no Sat, 15 Feb 2014 08:08:41 +0100 2014-02-15T08:08:41+01:00 4:18 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/john-clare-the-fallen-elm/ 1047175 no no Thu, 30 Jan 2014 07:26:32 +0100 2014-01-30T07:26:32+01:00 7:24 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/reg-saner-how-laws-of-physics-love-chocolate/ 1047176 no no Sun, 19 Jan 2014 09:52:49 +0100 2014-01-19T09:52:49+01:00 9:00 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/karen-coulter-big-seated-mountain/ 1047177 no no Wed, 15 Jan 2014 09:12:39 +0100 2014-01-15T09:12:39+01:00 4:48 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/stanley-kunitz-hornworm/ 1047178 no no Fri, 10 Jan 2014 10:24:07 +0100 2014-01-10T10:24:07+01:00 5:54 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/joel-hammer-migrations/ 1047179 no no Mon, 30 Dec 2013 23:59:59 +0100 2013-12-30T23:59:59+01:00 3:19 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/jenny-mcbride-twig-stove/ 1047180 no no Tue, 24 Dec 2013 09:23:51 +0100 2013-12-24T09:23:51+01:00 5:55 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mailman-ocean/ 1047181 no no Mon, 16 Dec 2013 02:29:25 +0100 2013-12-16T02:29:25+01:00 3:26 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/loren-eisely-the-snowstorm/ 1047182 no no Sat, 14 Dec 2013 01:26:23 +0100 2013-12-14T01:26:23+01:00 5:29 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/rebecca-swan-i-know-you-wild-skykomish/ 1047183 no no Thu, 12 Dec 2013 03:28:11 +0100 2013-12-12T03:28:11+01:00 5:02 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/chantal-baobab/ 1047184 no no Sat, 07 Dec 2013 09:36:23 +0100 2013-12-07T09:36:23+01:00 3:49 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/alex-a-night-aside-the-duckabush-river-aZH/ 1047185 no no Wed, 27 Nov 2013 05:45:51 +0100 2013-11-27T05:45:51+01:00 2:49 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/carl-sandburg-wilderness/ 1047186 no no Fri, 22 Nov 2013 02:03:27 +0100 2013-11-22T02:03:27+01:00 6:22 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/gary-snyder-piute-creek/ 1047187 no no Wed, 20 Nov 2013 04:45:59 +0100 2013-11-20T04:45:59+01:00 7:37 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/andrei-voznesensky-beavers/ 1047189 no no Thu, 14 Nov 2013 03:04:04 +0100 2013-11-14T03:04:04+01:00 5:44 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/lone-cone-seeing-bear/ 1047190 no no Wed, 06 Nov 2013 21:29:54 +0100 2013-11-06T21:29:54+01:00 5:57 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/karla-linn-merrifield-the-real-florida-flora-and-fauna-sutra/ 1047191 no no Tue, 05 Nov 2013 02:56:47 +0100 2013-11-05T02:56:47+01:00 5:22 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/loren-eisely-timberline/ 1047192 no no Fri, 01 Nov 2013 10:56:51 +0100 2013-11-01T10:56:51+01:00 5:02 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/michael-adams-canis-latrans/ 1047193 no no Sun, 27 Oct 2013 09:48:47 +0100 2013-10-27T09:48:47+01:00 3:50 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/dennis-fritzinger-back-scratch-bears/ 1047194 no no Thu, 24 Oct 2013 10:31:40 +0200 2013-10-24T10:31:40+02:00 7:57 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/gary-snyder-prayer-for-the-great-family/ 1047195 no no Thu, 24 Oct 2013 09:52:50 +0200 2013-10-24T09:52:50+02:00 4:10 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/jenny-mcbride-carol/ 1047196 no no Tue, 22 Oct 2013 03:21:45 +0200 2013-10-22T03:21:45+02:00 5:23 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/grafta-joseph-bruchac-birdfoots-grampa/ 1047197 no no Sun, 06 Oct 2013 11:26:29 +0200 2013-10-06T11:26:29+02:00 2:10 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/mark-williams-wolves-for-life/ 1047199 no no Thu, 12 Sep 2013 01:37:09 +0200 2013-09-12T01:37:09+02:00 4:03 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/seamus-heaney-saint-kevin-blackbird/
http://armedwithvisions.com/2013/09/03/seamus-heaney-saint-kevin-blackbird/]]>
http://armedwithvisions.com/2013/09/03/seamus-heaney-saint-kevin-blackbird/]]> 1047200 no no Tue, 03 Sep 2013 09:10:55 +0200 2013-09-03T09:10:55+02:00 4:33 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/dennis-fritzinger-my-people/ 1047201 no no Sun, 25 Aug 2013 08:42:19 +0200 2013-08-25T08:42:19+02:00 4:15 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/wing-beats-turtle-oregon-bancha/ 1047202 no no Wed, 14 Aug 2013 01:44:59 +0200 2013-08-14T01:44:59+02:00 2:40 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-steven-graves-james-dickey-the-heaven-of-animals/ 1047203 no no Mon, 05 Aug 2013 05:46:24 +0200 2013-08-05T05:46:24+02:00 2:55 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-don-walsh-definitions/ 1047204 no no Sat, 27 Jul 2013 23:58:47 +0200 2013-07-27T23:58:47+02:00 2:18 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/echoes-of-silence-wing-beats-sean-carr-coastal-remains/ 1047205 no no Fri, 26 Jul 2013 01:24:19 +0200 2013-07-26T01:24:19+02:00 5:45 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/wing-beats-mary-oliver-the-summer-day/ 1047206 no no Sun, 21 Jul 2013 08:05:57 +0200 2013-07-21T08:05:57+02:00 5:15 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-stevengraves-bill-yake-slough-decay-and-the-odor-of-soil/ 1047207 no no Tue, 16 Jul 2013 23:42:33 +0200 2013-07-16T23:42:33+02:00 3:46 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-steven-graves-jenny-mcbride-nature-is-dying/ 1047208 no no Mon, 15 Jul 2013 23:23:23 +0200 2013-07-15T23:23:23+02:00 3:15 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/wing-beats-annie-boutelle-the-rapture-of-the-bees/ 1047209 no no Sat, 13 Jul 2013 23:42:44 +0200 2013-07-13T23:42:44+02:00 3:48 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-steven-graves-mockingbird-reincarnation/ 1047210 no no Wed, 10 Jul 2013 10:13:23 +0200 2013-07-10T10:13:23+02:00 3:18 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-steven-graves-steve-toth-coyote/ 1047211 no no Sat, 06 Jul 2013 06:50:38 +0200 2013-07-06T06:50:38+02:00 4:25 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-joe-lamb-vanitas/ 1047212 no no Sat, 06 Jul 2013 06:26:34 +0200 2013-07-06T06:26:34+02:00 2:52 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/elbows-akimbo-difficult-face-1988/ 1047213 no no Tue, 02 Jul 2013 23:43:46 +0200 2013-07-02T23:43:46+02:00 7:35 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-diana-rosalind-trimble-mavis-muller-agave-i-gave/ 1047215 no no Tue, 02 Jul 2013 13:25:18 +0200 2013-07-02T13:25:18+02:00 9:55 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/senescence-instrumental/ 1047216 no no Tue, 02 Jul 2013 10:04:43 +0200 2013-07-02T10:04:43+02:00 2:15 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-steven-graves-sue-ring-de-rosset-mother-earth-her-witness/ 1047217 no no Sun, 23 Jun 2013 09:02:43 +0200 2013-06-23T09:02:43+02:00 3:17 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/senescence-dennis-fritzinger-imagination/ 1047218 no no Sun, 23 Jun 2013 07:33:57 +0200 2013-06-23T07:33:57+02:00 2:04 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/senescence-darryl-echt-activist-in-tent-defines-self/ 1047219 no no Fri, 21 Jun 2013 21:02:26 +0200 2013-06-21T21:02:26+02:00 1:56 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/murmuration-wally-swist-the-owl/ 1047220 no no Fri, 14 Jun 2013 01:22:48 +0200 2013-06-14T01:22:48+02:00 2:47 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-sheko-alnoby-wally-swist-the-owl/ 1047221 no no Fri, 14 Jun 2013 01:13:13 +0200 2013-06-14T01:13:13+02:00 2:45 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-steven-graves-3-poems/ 1047222 no no Fri, 07 Jun 2013 23:00:37 +0200 2013-06-07T23:00:37+02:00 8:43 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-steven-graves-christina-wulf-boundaries-borders-terrapin/ 1047223 no no Thu, 06 Jun 2013 01:44:38 +0200 2013-06-06T01:44:38+02:00 4:44 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-steven-graves-darryl-echt-walking-french-creek/ 1047225 no no Mon, 03 Jun 2013 06:18:22 +0200 2013-06-03T06:18:22+02:00 5:29 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-nature-sounds-dennis-maloney-the-morning/ 1047226 no no Thu, 30 May 2013 00:07:03 +0200 2013-05-30T00:07:03+02:00 2:33 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-glacier-lily-little-slocan-river/ 1047227 no no Fri, 24 May 2013 10:14:12 +0200 2013-05-24T10:14:12+02:00 2:44 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-gary-lawless-treat-each-bear/ 1047228 no no Sat, 18 May 2013 08:55:34 +0200 2013-05-18T08:55:34+02:00 2:19 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-jenny-mcbride-in-the-wild/
]]>
]]> 1047229 no no Fri, 17 May 2013 09:10:00 +0200 2013-05-17T09:10:00+02:00 2:53 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-gary-snyder-john-muir-on-mt-ritter/ 1047230 no no Thu, 09 May 2013 05:24:56 +0200 2013-05-09T05:24:56+02:00 3:07 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-sherman-alexie-crow-testament/ 1047231 no no Tue, 07 May 2013 20:54:07 +0200 2013-05-07T20:54:07+02:00 3:42 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-ant-sounds-phillip-appleman-the-ant/ 1047232 no no Mon, 06 May 2013 04:07:32 +0200 2013-05-06T04:07:32+02:00 3:02 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-theodore-roethke-being-not-doing/ 1047233 no no Thu, 02 May 2013 06:31:11 +0200 2013-05-02T06:31:11+02:00 2:37 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/murmuration-ken-turner-nuhhey-lake/ 1047234 no no Mon, 29 Apr 2013 23:13:22 +0200 2013-04-29T23:13:22+02:00 4:07 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/murmuration-burdman-craig-oare-shortcut/ ]]> ]]> 1047235 no no Fri, 19 Apr 2013 07:29:41 +0200 2013-04-19T07:29:41+02:00 4:01 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-steven-graves-joy-harjo-equinox/ 1047236 no no Mon, 15 Apr 2013 01:29:09 +0200 2013-04-15T01:29:09+02:00 1:43 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-dennis-fritzinger-pirate-whaling-in-73/
Whales and Victor Jara courtesy of YouTube: http://youtu.be/en8yqVxuT-U and http://youtu.be/xo2bVbDtiX8]]>
Whales and Victor Jara courtesy of YouTube: http://youtu.be/en8yqVxuT-U and http://youtu.be/xo2bVbDtiX8]]> 1047237 no no Sat, 13 Apr 2013 10:33:42 +0200 2013-04-13T10:33:42+02:00 3:37 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/murmuration-joan-fitzgerald-lead-apron/ 1047238 no no Tue, 09 Apr 2013 23:49:17 +0200 2013-04-09T23:49:17+02:00 5:07 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-steven-graves-mark-williams-raven/ 1047239 no no Tue, 09 Apr 2013 02:30:37 +0200 2013-04-09T02:30:37+02:00 5:54 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/murmuration-david-whyte-sometimes/ 1047240 no no Sun, 07 Apr 2013 02:29:55 +0200 2013-04-07T02:29:55+02:00 4:22 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-steven-graves-michael-adams-longing/ 1047241 no no Sun, 07 Apr 2013 00:31:04 +0200 2013-04-07T00:31:04+02:00 3:07 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/murmuration-burdman-mac-lojowski-horizon/ 1047242 no no Tue, 02 Apr 2013 22:42:13 +0200 2013-04-02T22:42:13+02:00 3:23 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-joo-j-chinua-achebe-benin-road/ 1047243 no no Fri, 29 Mar 2013 07:54:14 +0100 2013-03-29T07:54:14+01:00 2:01 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/introduction-to-murmuration/ 1047244 no no Tue, 26 Mar 2013 07:59:20 +0100 2013-03-26T07:59:20+01:00 3:05 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/murmuration-lucille-lang-day-flows-into-the-gulf/ 1047245 no no Sun, 24 Mar 2013 22:38:59 +0100 2013-03-24T22:38:59+01:00 4:39 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/prosidy-dennis-fritzinger-fight/ 1047246 no no Fri, 22 Mar 2013 09:15:14 +0100 2013-03-22T09:15:14+01:00 3:38 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/murmuration-loren-crow-bellrichard-koyaanisqatsi/ 1047247 no no Wed, 20 Mar 2013 08:07:31 +0100 2013-03-20T08:07:31+01:00 1:31 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/prosidy-burdman-mark-williams-wind/ 1047248 no no Tue, 19 Mar 2013 02:59:32 +0100 2013-03-19T02:59:32+01:00 5:50 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/murmuration-marcy-marchello-oriole/ 1047249 no no Mon, 18 Mar 2013 21:25:09 +0100 2013-03-18T21:25:09+01:00 2:56 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-arthur-sze-fauve/ 1047251 no no Mon, 18 Mar 2013 01:59:24 +0100 2013-03-18T01:59:24+01:00 5:23 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/murmuration-kevin-bezner-bison-montana/ 1047252 no no Fri, 08 Mar 2013 00:55:57 +0100 2013-03-08T00:55:57+01:00 7:27 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-jenny-mcbride-bewildered/
]]>
]]> 1047254 no no Wed, 06 Mar 2013 23:40:00 +0100 2013-03-06T23:40:00+01:00 3:13 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/murmuration-mark-williams-coyote-full-moon/ 1047255 no no Wed, 06 Mar 2013 04:27:56 +0100 2013-03-06T04:27:56+01:00 3:58 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/murmuration-jane-mcgarry-ivory-billed/ 1047256 no no Sun, 24 Feb 2013 08:49:38 +0100 2013-02-24T08:49:38+01:00 7:49 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/dirt-burdman-joy-harjo-eagle-poem/ 1047257 no no Fri, 22 Feb 2013 09:04:01 +0100 2013-02-22T09:04:01+01:00 3:14 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/murmuration-paul-watson-shark-angels/ 1047258 no no Thu, 21 Feb 2013 01:00:51 +0100 2013-02-21T01:00:51+01:00 10:30 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/murmuration-kirk-lumpkin-the-mystery/ 1047260 no no Tue, 19 Feb 2013 00:08:24 +0100 2013-02-19T00:08:24+01:00 4:46 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/murmuration-jessica-dampier-patience/ 1047261 no no Fri, 15 Feb 2013 01:59:19 +0100 2013-02-15T01:59:19+01:00 5:54 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/murmuration-joey-racano-the-rising/ 1047262 no no Wed, 13 Feb 2013 11:44:04 +0100 2013-02-13T11:44:04+01:00 3:15 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/prosidy-richard-ganci-role-play/ 1047263 no no Tue, 12 Feb 2013 05:19:44 +0100 2013-02-12T05:19:44+01:00 4:48 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/dirt-burdman-hank-fonda-at-peckerwood-sawmill/ 1047264 no no Fri, 01 Feb 2013 21:55:53 +0100 2013-02-01T21:55:53+01:00 1:46 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/dirt-burdman-rabinowitz-why-were-outraged/ 1047265 no no Fri, 01 Feb 2013 07:41:20 +0100 2013-02-01T07:41:20+01:00 3:10 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-daniel-landin-thomas-lowe-fleischner-springtime-in-the-canyons/
]]>
]]> 1047266 no no Sat, 26 Jan 2013 01:42:33 +0100 2013-01-26T01:42:33+01:00 1:11 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/dirt-burdman-mlw-untitled/ 1047267 no no Thu, 24 Jan 2013 10:03:05 +0100 2013-01-24T10:03:05+01:00 1:53 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/dirt-burdman-stephen-wing-under-incandescent-sky/
]]>
]]> 1047268 no no Wed, 23 Jan 2013 05:06:40 +0100 2013-01-23T05:06:40+01:00 2:42 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-ramon-when-a-tree-falls-in-the-forest/
]]>
]]> 1047269 no no Mon, 21 Jan 2013 10:22:39 +0100 2013-01-21T10:22:39+01:00 2:22 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/dirt-burdman-whales-redwoods/ 1047271 no no Mon, 21 Jan 2013 09:53:19 +0100 2013-01-21T09:53:19+01:00 3:22 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-mary-de-la-valette-the-sacred-hoop/ 1047272 no no Thu, 10 Jan 2013 05:26:50 +0100 2013-01-10T05:26:50+01:00 3:01 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/dirt-burdman-craig-stehr-for-the-earth-warriors/

]]>

]]> 1047273 no no Fri, 04 Jan 2013 09:47:41 +0100 2013-01-04T09:47:41+01:00 3:52 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-paloma-the-forest-trembles/
Merman is Mike Mercker And DeaneTR]]>
Merman is Mike Mercker And DeaneTR]]> 1047274 no no Thu, 03 Jan 2013 05:02:43 +0100 2013-01-03T05:02:43+01:00 3:01 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-klin-lapisardi-coyote/
See words, videos, photos, full poem presentation here: http://armedwithvisions.com/2013/01/01/klin-lapisardi-coyote/]]>
See words, videos, photos, full poem presentation here: http://armedwithvisions.com/2013/01/01/klin-lapisardi-coyote/]]> 1047275 no no Wed, 02 Jan 2013 04:30:11 +0100 2013-01-02T04:30:11+01:00 4:06 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-christien-gholson-order-within-order-without/ 1047276 no no Sun, 30 Dec 2012 22:21:45 +0100 2012-12-30T22:21:45+01:00 4:20 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-steve-toth-out-of-wack-coyote/ 1047277 no no Fri, 21 Dec 2012 05:07:57 +0100 2012-12-21T05:07:57+01:00 2:54 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-kirk-lumpkin-as-is2/ 1047278 no no Mon, 17 Dec 2012 09:09:34 +0100 2012-12-17T09:09:34+01:00 2:32 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/kirk-lumpkin-as-is/
Winter is the Year's starry night...]]>
Winter is the Year's starry night...]]> 1047279 no no Mon, 17 Dec 2012 09:00:14 +0100 2012-12-17T09:00:14+01:00 0:43 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-karen-coulter-friendly-takeovers/ 1047280 no no Sun, 16 Dec 2012 11:10:20 +0100 2012-12-16T11:10:20+01:00 3:19 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/sampleloop-96secs-these-djdubstep-beats/ 1047281 no no Sun, 16 Dec 2012 10:06:51 +0100 2012-12-16T10:06:51+01:00 1:36 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-sparkle-plenty-commemoration-grove/ 1047282 no no Sat, 15 Dec 2012 05:52:44 +0100 2012-12-15T05:52:44+01:00 2:51 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-mavis-muller-desert-says-its-name/ 1047283 no no Fri, 14 Dec 2012 05:06:55 +0100 2012-12-14T05:06:55+01:00 2:43 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/in-loving-memory-of-ravi-many-warriorpoetpoems-12-12-12/ 1047284 no no Thu, 13 Dec 2012 09:24:22 +0100 2012-12-13T09:24:22+01:00 12:31 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-kush-ancient-lake-dolores/ 1047285 no no Sun, 09 Dec 2012 21:05:39 +0100 2012-12-09T21:05:39+01:00 5:50 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-thomas-avery-eye-of-the-storm/ 1047286 no no Wed, 05 Dec 2012 20:45:33 +0100 2012-12-05T20:45:33+01:00 4:11 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-lone-wolf-circles-you-might-be-an-alien/ 1047288 no no Thu, 29 Nov 2012 08:22:05 +0100 2012-11-29T08:22:05+01:00 9:18 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-wally-swist-coyote/ 1047289 no no Tue, 27 Nov 2012 21:13:24 +0100 2012-11-27T21:13:24+01:00 2:14 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-thad-goetz-grizzly-Gdj/ 1047290 no no Tue, 27 Nov 2012 07:25:15 +0100 2012-11-27T07:25:15+01:00 0:49 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-maya-khosla-yielding-to-the-call/
]]>
]]> 1047291 no no Mon, 26 Nov 2012 10:36:34 +0100 2012-11-26T10:36:34+01:00 4:24 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-philip-wright-high-plains/ 1047292 no no Sat, 24 Nov 2012 23:28:04 +0100 2012-11-24T23:28:04+01:00 3:24 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-dennis-fritzinger-walking-the-star-road/ 1047293 no no Fri, 23 Nov 2012 08:18:06 +0100 2012-11-23T08:18:06+01:00 5:07 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-arthur-sze-fault-lines/
]]>
]]> 1047294 no no Fri, 23 Nov 2012 01:28:21 +0100 2012-11-23T01:28:21+01:00 2:46 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-anonymous-if/ 1047295 no no Tue, 20 Nov 2012 00:45:42 +0100 2012-11-20T00:45:42+01:00 2:59 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-laurelf-fingers-and-rock/ 1047296 no no Sun, 18 Nov 2012 03:04:18 +0100 2012-11-18T03:04:18+01:00 2:18 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-gary-snyder-prayer-for-the-great-family/ ]]> ]]> 1047297 no no Fri, 16 Nov 2012 21:41:42 +0100 2012-11-16T21:41:42+01:00 4:30 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-lucille-lang-day-instructions-to-my-poem/ 1047298 no no Thu, 15 Nov 2012 01:41:01 +0100 2012-11-15T01:41:01+01:00 3:35 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-daniel-landin-darkfire-dreaming-your-way-home/ 1047299 no no Sun, 11 Nov 2012 08:40:32 +0100 2012-11-11T08:40:32+01:00 4:10 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-gary-lawless-east-neck/ 1047300 no no Sat, 10 Nov 2012 23:58:32 +0100 2012-11-10T23:58:32+01:00 3:57 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/karen-coulter-big-seated-mountain-sRd/ 1047301 no no Fri, 09 Nov 2012 23:03:30 +0100 2012-11-09T23:03:30+01:00 4:21 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-michael-adams-transformation/ ]]> ]]> 1047302 no no Thu, 08 Nov 2012 23:11:33 +0100 2012-11-08T23:11:33+01:00 2:46 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/walkin-jim-stoltz-rock-dream/ 1047303 no no Mon, 05 Nov 2012 20:46:40 +0100 2012-11-05T20:46:40+01:00 6:12 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-kirk-lumpkin-blind-to-the-night/
]]>
]]> 1047304 no no Sun, 04 Nov 2012 00:05:41 +0100 2012-11-04T00:05:41+01:00 5:59 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-lichen-sacrifice/
Fire rages
Northwest rain begins
Hearts ache and wait
Anger rises spirit flies
for an earth warrior
Gypsy
Has risen back
On the infinite wings of an eagle
With full heart he charged forth
To defend the ancient mountain of Grizzly Creek
A sanctuary of plant, creature, and spirit
Threatened by merciless greed
And disrespect for all life
Gypsy rose strong as a peaceful warrior
And this grand forest called him forth
To stand in their defense
And a tree was killed, sliced, sawed,
By a logger, by Pacific Lumber,
By Charles Hurwitz, by greed,
And that tree’s weight
The heart’s core, the years of growth rings,
The bark and wisdom Fell from the sky,
And bones of passion, bones of truth
Were offered back to the forest
Back to Mama Earth,
Her healing hands taking his broken body
Freeing his unbroken spirit
Lichen
Feb.-Mar. 1999 Earth First!]]>
Fire rages
Northwest rain begins
Hearts ache and wait
Anger rises spirit flies
for an earth warrior
Gypsy
Has risen back
On the infinite wings of an eagle
With full heart he charged forth
To defend the ancient mountain of Grizzly Creek
A sanctuary of plant, creature, and spirit
Threatened by merciless greed
And disrespect for all life
Gypsy rose strong as a peaceful warrior
And this grand forest called him forth
To stand in their defense
And a tree was killed, sliced, sawed,
By a logger, by Pacific Lumber,
By Charles Hurwitz, by greed,
And that tree’s weight
The heart’s core, the years of growth rings,
The bark and wisdom Fell from the sky,
And bones of passion, bones of truth
Were offered back to the forest
Back to Mama Earth,
Her healing hands taking his broken body
Freeing his unbroken spirit
Lichen
Feb.-Mar. 1999 Earth First!]]> 1047305 no no Fri, 02 Nov 2012 22:10:44 +0100 2012-11-02T22:10:44+01:00 3:30 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-dennis-fritzinger-but/
But

i suppose
i could
back off a bit,
give miners,
loggers,
other despoilers
a break,
but
i’ve stuck my spear
in the ground,
i’ve made
my stand.

--Dennis Fritzinger ]]>
But

i suppose
i could
back off a bit,
give miners,
loggers,
other despoilers
a break,
but
i’ve stuck my spear
in the ground,
i’ve made
my stand.

--Dennis Fritzinger ]]> 1047306 no no Thu, 01 Nov 2012 09:12:28 +0100 2012-11-01T09:12:28+01:00 4:25 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-daniel-landin-sunshine-coyotes/
We are the coyotes. We watch
We live free, in spite of you men.
We leave footprints in the snow
on your doorstep.
We sing joy and sorrow through
the evening air.
We are accused of many crimes–
some of which we did not commit.
You hunt us–shoot, trap, poison
run us to exhaustion on loud
machines
instead of using your own wits
and strength.
But still, in the hills, in the deserts, in
the cities
we survive, multiply, spread.


And when you men have fouled the
Earth beyond your
ability to survive
Or destroy each other in an
argument no one won,
We will be there
To scavenge
To cleanse the now unburdened Earth
To bring back the harmony
Until another race of creatures
believes itself smart enough to
manipulate the parts without
knowing the whole.
We are the coyotes. We watch.
Sunshine
August 1995 Earth First!

]]>
We are the coyotes. We watch
We live free, in spite of you men.
We leave footprints in the snow
on your doorstep.
We sing joy and sorrow through
the evening air.
We are accused of many crimes–
some of which we did not commit.
You hunt us–shoot, trap, poison
run us to exhaustion on loud
machines
instead of using your own wits
and strength.
But still, in the hills, in the deserts, in
the cities
we survive, multiply, spread.


And when you men have fouled the
Earth beyond your
ability to survive
Or destroy each other in an
argument no one won,
We will be there
To scavenge
To cleanse the now unburdened Earth
To bring back the harmony
Until another race of creatures
believes itself smart enough to
manipulate the parts without
knowing the whole.
We are the coyotes. We watch.
Sunshine
August 1995 Earth First!

]]> 1047307 no no Wed, 31 Oct 2012 07:29:14 +0100 2012-10-31T07:29:14+01:00 5:03 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-susan-kelly-dewitt-salmon/ 1047308 no no Tue, 30 Oct 2012 21:49:02 +0100 2012-10-30T21:49:02+01:00 5:03 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-xu-gang-the-northern-mountain/ 1047309 no no Tue, 30 Oct 2012 07:58:41 +0100 2012-10-30T07:58:41+01:00 3:12 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-daniel-landin-scott-f-young-october-rains/
October rains
curtain the islands
as We struggle to use the shortening days
the Old Women mimic the Bear
gathering the last of the berries

Scott F. Young
December 21 1988 Earth First!]]>
October rains
curtain the islands
as We struggle to use the shortening days
the Old Women mimic the Bear
gathering the last of the berries

Scott F. Young
December 21 1988 Earth First!]]> 1047310 no no Mon, 29 Oct 2012 20:31:48 +0100 2012-10-29T20:31:48+01:00 2:58 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-joy-harjo-equinox/
I must keep from breaking into the story by force
for if I do I will find myself with a war club in my hand
and the smoke of grief staggering toward the sun,
your nation dead beside you.
I keep walking away though it has been an eternity
and from each drop of blood
springs up sons and daughters, trees,
a mountain of sorrows, of songs.
I tell you this from the dusk of a small city in the north
not far from the birthplace of cars and industry.
Geese are returning to mate and crocuses have
broken through the frozen earth.
Soon they will come for me and I will make my stand
before the jury of destiny. Yes, I will answer in the clatter
of the new world, I have broken my addiction to war
and desire. Yes, I will reply, I have buried the dead
and made songs of the blood, the marrow.]]>
I must keep from breaking into the story by force
for if I do I will find myself with a war club in my hand
and the smoke of grief staggering toward the sun,
your nation dead beside you.
I keep walking away though it has been an eternity
and from each drop of blood
springs up sons and daughters, trees,
a mountain of sorrows, of songs.
I tell you this from the dusk of a small city in the north
not far from the birthplace of cars and industry.
Geese are returning to mate and crocuses have
broken through the frozen earth.
Soon they will come for me and I will make my stand
before the jury of destiny. Yes, I will answer in the clatter
of the new world, I have broken my addiction to war
and desire. Yes, I will reply, I have buried the dead
and made songs of the blood, the marrow.]]> 1047311 no no Thu, 25 Oct 2012 08:00:08 +0200 2012-10-25T08:00:08+02:00 3:12 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-john-keats-on-grasshopper-and-cricket/
\The poetry of earth is never dead:
When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,
And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run
From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead;
That is the Grasshopper’s—he takes the lead
In summer luxury,–he has never done
With his delights; for when tired out with fun
He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed.
The poetry of earth is ceasing never:
On a lone winter evening, when the frost
Has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills
The Cricket’s song, in warmth increasing ever,
And seems to one in drowsiness half lost,
The Grasshopper’s among some grassy hills.
]]>
\The poetry of earth is never dead:
When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,
And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run
From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead;
That is the Grasshopper’s—he takes the lead
In summer luxury,–he has never done
With his delights; for when tired out with fun
He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed.
The poetry of earth is ceasing never:
On a lone winter evening, when the frost
Has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills
The Cricket’s song, in warmth increasing ever,
And seems to one in drowsiness half lost,
The Grasshopper’s among some grassy hills.
]]> 1047313 no no Thu, 25 Oct 2012 01:40:56 +0200 2012-10-25T01:40:56+02:00 1:48 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-gary-snyder-for-the-children/ 1047314 no no Wed, 24 Oct 2012 10:38:11 +0200 2012-10-24T10:38:11+02:00 2:02 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-jenny-mcbride-mud-from-headwaters/
Grey mud from Headwaters
Frosts my shoelace
What's it doing there?
It should be
Deep under the redwood's roots
Holding the water in
Holding the moisture I saw
Daubed in nestled clouds on the valleys
Nestled like snuggled blankets
Wrapping what's left of the gentle forests.

Mud from Headwaters
Clings to the pattern in my shoes.
What's it doing there?
The old logging road
Silty green like the Yukon River
Was not so muddy as I imagined.
They need the rain winter hasn't brought.

For two hours we hiked
Through devastation, huge and ancient stumps
Ringed by teasel, pampas,
A host of Eurasian invasion scourge
That roads bring
To deplete.

Mud from Headwaters splattered on my jeans
Did not come from the forest
But from the road that cut it.
Exposed, I carry it home to show
How deep the damage runs.

Jenny McBride
March-April 2002 Earth First!
]]>
Grey mud from Headwaters
Frosts my shoelace
What's it doing there?
It should be
Deep under the redwood's roots
Holding the water in
Holding the moisture I saw
Daubed in nestled clouds on the valleys
Nestled like snuggled blankets
Wrapping what's left of the gentle forests.

Mud from Headwaters
Clings to the pattern in my shoes.
What's it doing there?
The old logging road
Silty green like the Yukon River
Was not so muddy as I imagined.
They need the rain winter hasn't brought.

For two hours we hiked
Through devastation, huge and ancient stumps
Ringed by teasel, pampas,
A host of Eurasian invasion scourge
That roads bring
To deplete.

Mud from Headwaters splattered on my jeans
Did not come from the forest
But from the road that cut it.
Exposed, I carry it home to show
How deep the damage runs.

Jenny McBride
March-April 2002 Earth First!
]]> 1047315 no no Wed, 24 Oct 2012 01:17:10 +0200 2012-10-24T01:17:10+02:00 3:27 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-daniel-landin-jenny-mcbride-i-was-there/
Jenny McBride – And I Was There


Once there was a planet
With water and sky blue
Clouds were white
With snow on the mountains
Jungles green
When every color flew by as bird
Swam through as fish
A planet breathing in a million shapes
And I was there
Seasons came and changed
Followed weather’s beaten path
Warmed in spring till flowers burst
Open for the bees
Summer fed mosquitoes and goldenrods
Autumn got trees ready for bed
And winter blanketed the sleep
Where snowshoe hares dimpled silence
A planet enraptured by its seasons
And I was there
Water ran past in rivers
Thundered in serious play with waterfalls
Hid turtles in creeks
Backed up huge and deep in lakes
Held down oceans for whales
Fell in tiny drops from all over the sky
Bubbled from the ground in clear, cool springs
Water fed the million shapes of life
And I was there

Trees blended into squirrel
And I was there
Plants gave of food
To feed the lowly who fed the next
Who raised a family
And I was there
The stars looked down, lonely
The sky danced its prettiest blue
Angels came as butterflies
It’s hard to describe
Just lucky
I was there
Jenny McBride
Feb.-Mar. 2000 Earth First!]]>
Jenny McBride – And I Was There


Once there was a planet
With water and sky blue
Clouds were white
With snow on the mountains
Jungles green
When every color flew by as bird
Swam through as fish
A planet breathing in a million shapes
And I was there
Seasons came and changed
Followed weather’s beaten path
Warmed in spring till flowers burst
Open for the bees
Summer fed mosquitoes and goldenrods
Autumn got trees ready for bed
And winter blanketed the sleep
Where snowshoe hares dimpled silence
A planet enraptured by its seasons
And I was there
Water ran past in rivers
Thundered in serious play with waterfalls
Hid turtles in creeks
Backed up huge and deep in lakes
Held down oceans for whales
Fell in tiny drops from all over the sky
Bubbled from the ground in clear, cool springs
Water fed the million shapes of life
And I was there

Trees blended into squirrel
And I was there
Plants gave of food
To feed the lowly who fed the next
Who raised a family
And I was there
The stars looked down, lonely
The sky danced its prettiest blue
Angels came as butterflies
It’s hard to describe
Just lucky
I was there
Jenny McBride
Feb.-Mar. 2000 Earth First!]]> 1047316 no no Fri, 19 Oct 2012 09:26:16 +0200 2012-10-19T09:26:16+02:00 2:29 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-judy-radspinner-birth/
my first stars.
my first memories.
close by to stonehenge
cow’s cream warm
on strawberries still dewy, plucked in the dawn.
my first poem.
My parents gone off to London…
crying
to dampen the fire in my heart
the loneliness in my child soul
standing in my crib
looking out into the night
seeing stars courting the dark
feeling them blink at me and comfort me
like a heavy blanket
woven in the mills of Glasgow
one side white wool, the other side black wool.
roses in the garden, living roses
quivering under the raindrops
reflecting the rainbow
caressing the earth
blanketed by green and
all the other colors given to us…
All the colors given, all the songs
arising
here on earth, here on earth.
Our place of birth.
Judy Radspinner
May 1 1988 Earth First!]]>
my first stars.
my first memories.
close by to stonehenge
cow’s cream warm
on strawberries still dewy, plucked in the dawn.
my first poem.
My parents gone off to London…
crying
to dampen the fire in my heart
the loneliness in my child soul
standing in my crib
looking out into the night
seeing stars courting the dark
feeling them blink at me and comfort me
like a heavy blanket
woven in the mills of Glasgow
one side white wool, the other side black wool.
roses in the garden, living roses
quivering under the raindrops
reflecting the rainbow
caressing the earth
blanketed by green and
all the other colors given to us…
All the colors given, all the songs
arising
here on earth, here on earth.
Our place of birth.
Judy Radspinner
May 1 1988 Earth First!]]> 1047317 no no Mon, 15 Oct 2012 20:42:48 +0200 2012-10-15T20:42:48+02:00 2:14 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-van-kelly-hopeful-expectations/
As a fat full moon slowly sinks into this lovely sea of trees,
my soul sings a song of thanks to my lucky stars.
I thank you Orion for passing me by for now,
and letting me come this far
in defense of Mother Earth.
Draco, only you know how much I love you
for the courage you conferred upon me
to see this battle through.
You know me better than I.
Ursa Minor, like a newborn child I cry sweet salty tears
for the fearless spirit strength you’ve give me
to stand against this greed-driven insanity.
And Cassiopeia my queen!
Now that I’ve seen you in all your glory,
I bow in humility before you,
knowing my greatest trials await me.
You’ve taught me how deeds speak louder than words.
To all of you and those unknown
who together have shown me
the power of love over money.
I live humbly in your debt, wandering free,
and like one of Chief Red Cloud’s raging warriors
thundering across the darkling plain of American corporate greed,
I hope for the best and expect the worst,
then I stop to thank my lucky stars
for teaching me the need of listening to my heart,
and of placing Earth First!
Van Kelly
Red Cloud Thunder’s Grasshopper
March-April 2000 Earth First!
]]>
As a fat full moon slowly sinks into this lovely sea of trees,
my soul sings a song of thanks to my lucky stars.
I thank you Orion for passing me by for now,
and letting me come this far
in defense of Mother Earth.
Draco, only you know how much I love you
for the courage you conferred upon me
to see this battle through.
You know me better than I.
Ursa Minor, like a newborn child I cry sweet salty tears
for the fearless spirit strength you’ve give me
to stand against this greed-driven insanity.
And Cassiopeia my queen!
Now that I’ve seen you in all your glory,
I bow in humility before you,
knowing my greatest trials await me.
You’ve taught me how deeds speak louder than words.
To all of you and those unknown
who together have shown me
the power of love over money.
I live humbly in your debt, wandering free,
and like one of Chief Red Cloud’s raging warriors
thundering across the darkling plain of American corporate greed,
I hope for the best and expect the worst,
then I stop to thank my lucky stars
for teaching me the need of listening to my heart,
and of placing Earth First!
Van Kelly
Red Cloud Thunder’s Grasshopper
March-April 2000 Earth First!
]]> 1047318 no no Sat, 13 Oct 2012 09:20:07 +0200 2012-10-13T09:20:07+02:00 4:17 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-peter-zmyj-west-virginia-mountain-man/
I met him a few years ago,
on a warm and sunny
fall day,
as I hiked through the wilderness
of the Alleghenies,
it was Indian Summer,
the leaves were red and golden.
He sat on a log
outside his little shack,
carving a piece of wood.
Old man in the forested hills.
How long has he lived here for,
I wonder.
I walked closer, and the old man
looked up to me, and made a gesture
with his hand.
Have a seat, son, he said.
Then he went on carving.
I tried to start a conversation,
and I told the old man
about my travels,
I mentioned the places I had been:
Paris, New York, San Francisco, Amsterdam.
Tell me more about these places,
he said.
There wasn’t too much to tell, I said.
All I had left was shallow impressions,
I had just stayed a day,
and rushed on
to new sights, new sounds, new people.
He told me that he had spent his whole life
in these hills, and the farthest he had gone
was a town 15 miles to the east,
but that was a couple of years ago,
these days he didn’t go to town any more.
Too many people, too much noise.
And then he told stories
about the land
the trees
the rivers
the animals
and I realized
that this old man
not only knew the land,
he was the land.
When he talked, I could hear
the trees talk,
and I’m sure the old man
could feel
the wild rivers
flow through his veins.
He told me about this black bear
that lived around here,
sometimes he came real close.
The old man said he kept a rifle,
but he never tried to shoot the bear.
God made this land for all critters
to share,
he said.
I still think of the old man
sometimes.
And I wonder if he still lives
out there
amidst the trees
the rivers
the hills.
Peter Zmyj]]>
I met him a few years ago,
on a warm and sunny
fall day,
as I hiked through the wilderness
of the Alleghenies,
it was Indian Summer,
the leaves were red and golden.
He sat on a log
outside his little shack,
carving a piece of wood.
Old man in the forested hills.
How long has he lived here for,
I wonder.
I walked closer, and the old man
looked up to me, and made a gesture
with his hand.
Have a seat, son, he said.
Then he went on carving.
I tried to start a conversation,
and I told the old man
about my travels,
I mentioned the places I had been:
Paris, New York, San Francisco, Amsterdam.
Tell me more about these places,
he said.
There wasn’t too much to tell, I said.
All I had left was shallow impressions,
I had just stayed a day,
and rushed on
to new sights, new sounds, new people.
He told me that he had spent his whole life
in these hills, and the farthest he had gone
was a town 15 miles to the east,
but that was a couple of years ago,
these days he didn’t go to town any more.
Too many people, too much noise.
And then he told stories
about the land
the trees
the rivers
the animals
and I realized
that this old man
not only knew the land,
he was the land.
When he talked, I could hear
the trees talk,
and I’m sure the old man
could feel
the wild rivers
flow through his veins.
He told me about this black bear
that lived around here,
sometimes he came real close.
The old man said he kept a rifle,
but he never tried to shoot the bear.
God made this land for all critters
to share,
he said.
I still think of the old man
sometimes.
And I wonder if he still lives
out there
amidst the trees
the rivers
the hills.
Peter Zmyj]]> 1047319 no no Sat, 13 Oct 2012 02:54:14 +0200 2012-10-13T02:54:14+02:00 4:35 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-anonymous-two-deer/
at such times
as when watching
two deer
bedded down
and chewing cud
unaware of me twenty yards off
a breeze blowing
up the slope
turning their heads
now and then
or the sound
of something in the brush
at such moments
nothing else
matters
Pine Wolf
November 1983 Earth First!]]>
at such times
as when watching
two deer
bedded down
and chewing cud
unaware of me twenty yards off
a breeze blowing
up the slope
turning their heads
now and then
or the sound
of something in the brush
at such moments
nothing else
matters
Pine Wolf
November 1983 Earth First!]]> 1047320 no no Thu, 11 Oct 2012 02:20:23 +0200 2012-10-11T02:20:23+02:00 4:28 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-sinew-blind-physics2-joy-harjo-remember/
Remember the sky that you were born under,
know each of the star’s stories.
Remember the moon, know who she is. I met her
in a bar once in Iowa City.
Remember the sun’s birth at dawn, that is the
strongest point of time. Remember sundown
and the giving away to night.
Remember your birth, how your mother struggled
to give you form and breath. You are evidence of
her life, and her mother’s, and hers.
Remember your father. He is your life also.
Remember the earth whose skin you are:
red earth, black earth, yellow earth, white earth
brown earth, we are earth.
Remember the plants, trees, animal life who all have their
tribes, their families, their histories, too. Talk to them,
listen to them. They are alive poems.
Remember the wind. Remember her voice. She knows the
origin of this universe. I heard her singing Kiowa war
dance songs at the corner of Fourth and Central once.
Remember that you are all people and that all people are you.
Remember that you are this universe and that this universe is you.
Remember that all is in motion, is growing, is you.
Remember that language comes from this.
Remember the dance that language is, that life is.
Remember.]]>
Remember the sky that you were born under,
know each of the star’s stories.
Remember the moon, know who she is. I met her
in a bar once in Iowa City.
Remember the sun’s birth at dawn, that is the
strongest point of time. Remember sundown
and the giving away to night.
Remember your birth, how your mother struggled
to give you form and breath. You are evidence of
her life, and her mother’s, and hers.
Remember your father. He is your life also.
Remember the earth whose skin you are:
red earth, black earth, yellow earth, white earth
brown earth, we are earth.
Remember the plants, trees, animal life who all have their
tribes, their families, their histories, too. Talk to them,
listen to them. They are alive poems.
Remember the wind. Remember her voice. She knows the
origin of this universe. I heard her singing Kiowa war
dance songs at the corner of Fourth and Central once.
Remember that you are all people and that all people are you.
Remember that you are this universe and that this universe is you.
Remember that all is in motion, is growing, is you.
Remember that language comes from this.
Remember the dance that language is, that life is.
Remember.]]> 1047321 no no Tue, 09 Oct 2012 04:49:35 +0200 2012-10-09T04:49:35+02:00 5:23 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-loren-eiseley-another-kind-of-autumn/
The petrified branch with the harsh look whose mineralized
splinters are needle sharp
was living a hundred million years ago,
bent to invisible wind, put out leaves on the mountain.
Today
the mountain is gone and this fragment
lies on my desk imperishable and waits for me in turn
to be gone.
Living once it has taken to minerals for survival.
The hand that writes
stiffens, but has no such powers, no crystalline absorption
to hold a pen through eons while slow thought gutters
from lichen-green boulders and fallen pinnacles.
Ink will congeal and perish, the pen rust into its elements,
the thought here, the realization of time, perish
with the dissolving brain. It appears the universe
likes the seams of the coal, the lost leaf imprinted in shale,
the insect in amber, but thought it gives to the wind
like the season’s leaf fall. Where is the wind that shaped
this branch?
It perhaps still moves in the air, but the branch has fallen.
Its unfamiliar leaves are now part of my body
and I let the pen drop with my hand, thinking
this is another kind of autumn to be expected.
Leaves and thought are scarcely returnable. The wind
loses them
or one remains in the shale like an unread hieroglyph
once meaningful in clay.
Loren Eiseley
]]>
The petrified branch with the harsh look whose mineralized
splinters are needle sharp
was living a hundred million years ago,
bent to invisible wind, put out leaves on the mountain.
Today
the mountain is gone and this fragment
lies on my desk imperishable and waits for me in turn
to be gone.
Living once it has taken to minerals for survival.
The hand that writes
stiffens, but has no such powers, no crystalline absorption
to hold a pen through eons while slow thought gutters
from lichen-green boulders and fallen pinnacles.
Ink will congeal and perish, the pen rust into its elements,
the thought here, the realization of time, perish
with the dissolving brain. It appears the universe
likes the seams of the coal, the lost leaf imprinted in shale,
the insect in amber, but thought it gives to the wind
like the season’s leaf fall. Where is the wind that shaped
this branch?
It perhaps still moves in the air, but the branch has fallen.
Its unfamiliar leaves are now part of my body
and I let the pen drop with my hand, thinking
this is another kind of autumn to be expected.
Leaves and thought are scarcely returnable. The wind
loses them
or one remains in the shale like an unread hieroglyph
once meaningful in clay.
Loren Eiseley
]]> 1047322 no no Sat, 06 Oct 2012 05:48:26 +0200 2012-10-06T05:48:26+02:00 2:53 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-laurie-corzett-sea-sons/
The Sea is changing.
Aging beauty, seething with rage
of the forgotten.

Once your tempestuous lover,
violently seductive, wild mystery.
Legends of monsters and gods
poured from her essence
into your sleeping ear.
Challenge of fear and glory brought you
to her shores, pleading for
acceptance, romance, adventure
and all its chaotic promise.

The Sea swimming with life,
unbound to expectations,
inspiring song and trepidations,
immortal as her sister, Earth.

We are all changing, aging,
wearing down.
Less arrogant hero than
teller of tales,
what will we teach
our grandchildren
of the Sea?]]>
The Sea is changing.
Aging beauty, seething with rage
of the forgotten.

Once your tempestuous lover,
violently seductive, wild mystery.
Legends of monsters and gods
poured from her essence
into your sleeping ear.
Challenge of fear and glory brought you
to her shores, pleading for
acceptance, romance, adventure
and all its chaotic promise.

The Sea swimming with life,
unbound to expectations,
inspiring song and trepidations,
immortal as her sister, Earth.

We are all changing, aging,
wearing down.
Less arrogant hero than
teller of tales,
what will we teach
our grandchildren
of the Sea?]]> 1047323 no no Fri, 28 Sep 2012 01:07:12 +0200 2012-09-28T01:07:12+02:00 7:03 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-eric-haskell-gnarled/
Years of growth,
desert winds gusting, constant, dry,
bringing enough debris for trees to hold
to rock for dear life, life of endurance,
year after year. Insects sucking sap,
birds pecking holes, rodents
chewing bark, as the pinyons
suck sand, as the junipers chew sun,
hoping for the weak's survival--
to survive the century.

Growing on a good year,
lightening raw slickrock,
wedging a crack, its roots biting for space,
as animals crawl on its skin.
It weathers, wrenches its chlorophyll
towards the sun, twining to avoid snow,
twisting again to catch rain,
gnarled.

Eric Haskell
March 21 1990 Earth First!]]>
Years of growth,
desert winds gusting, constant, dry,
bringing enough debris for trees to hold
to rock for dear life, life of endurance,
year after year. Insects sucking sap,
birds pecking holes, rodents
chewing bark, as the pinyons
suck sand, as the junipers chew sun,
hoping for the weak's survival--
to survive the century.

Growing on a good year,
lightening raw slickrock,
wedging a crack, its roots biting for space,
as animals crawl on its skin.
It weathers, wrenches its chlorophyll
towards the sun, twining to avoid snow,
twisting again to catch rain,
gnarled.

Eric Haskell
March 21 1990 Earth First!]]> 1047324 no no Fri, 28 Sep 2012 00:30:21 +0200 2012-09-28T00:30:21+02:00 3:45 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-gary-snyder-ah-to-be-alive/
Ah to be alive
on a mid-September morn
fording a stream
barefoot, pants rolled up,
holding boots, pack on,
sunshine, ice in the shallows,
northern rockies.

Rustle and shimmer of icy creek waters
stones turn underfoot, small and hard as toes
cold nose dripping
singing inside
creek music, heart music,
smell of sun on gravel.

I pledge allegiance

I pledge allegiance to the soil
of Turtle Island,
and to the beings who thereon dwell
one ecosystem
in diversity
under the sun
With joyful interpenetration for all.]]>
Ah to be alive
on a mid-September morn
fording a stream
barefoot, pants rolled up,
holding boots, pack on,
sunshine, ice in the shallows,
northern rockies.

Rustle and shimmer of icy creek waters
stones turn underfoot, small and hard as toes
cold nose dripping
singing inside
creek music, heart music,
smell of sun on gravel.

I pledge allegiance

I pledge allegiance to the soil
of Turtle Island,
and to the beings who thereon dwell
one ecosystem
in diversity
under the sun
With joyful interpenetration for all.]]> 1047325 no no Thu, 27 Sep 2012 23:50:53 +0200 2012-09-27T23:50:53+02:00 1:54 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-pattiann-rogers-the-orgins-of-order/

Stellar dust has settled
It is green underwater now in the leaves
Of the yellow crowfoot. Its potentialities
Are gathered together under pine litter
As emerging flower of the pink arbutus.
It has gained the power to make itself again
In the bone-filled egg of osprey and teal.

One could say this toothpick grasshopper
Is a cloud of decayed nebula congealed and perching
On his female mating. The tortoise beetle,
Leaving the stripped veins of morning glory veins
Like licked bones, is a straw-colored swirl
Of clever gases.

At this moment there are dead stars seeing
Themselves as marsh and forest in the eyes
Of muskrat and shrew, disintegrated suns
Making songs all night long in the throats
Of crawfish frogs, in the rubbings and gratings
Of the red-legged locust. There are spirits of orbiting
Rock in the shells of pointed winkles
And apple snails, ghosts of extinct comets caught
In the leap of darting hare and bobcat, revolutions
Of rushing stone contained in the sound of these words.

Maybe the path of the Pleiades and Coma clusters
Have been compelled to mathematics by the mind
Contemplating the nature of itself
in the motions of stars. The pattern
Of the starry summer night might be identical
To the structure of the summer heavens circling
Inside the skull. I can feel the time speeding now
In all directions deeper and deeper into the black oblivion
Of the electrons directly behind my eyes.

Child of the sky, ancestor of the sky, the mind
Has been obligated from the beginning
To create an ordered universe
As the only possible proof
Of its own inheritance.
]]>

Stellar dust has settled
It is green underwater now in the leaves
Of the yellow crowfoot. Its potentialities
Are gathered together under pine litter
As emerging flower of the pink arbutus.
It has gained the power to make itself again
In the bone-filled egg of osprey and teal.

One could say this toothpick grasshopper
Is a cloud of decayed nebula congealed and perching
On his female mating. The tortoise beetle,
Leaving the stripped veins of morning glory veins
Like licked bones, is a straw-colored swirl
Of clever gases.

At this moment there are dead stars seeing
Themselves as marsh and forest in the eyes
Of muskrat and shrew, disintegrated suns
Making songs all night long in the throats
Of crawfish frogs, in the rubbings and gratings
Of the red-legged locust. There are spirits of orbiting
Rock in the shells of pointed winkles
And apple snails, ghosts of extinct comets caught
In the leap of darting hare and bobcat, revolutions
Of rushing stone contained in the sound of these words.

Maybe the path of the Pleiades and Coma clusters
Have been compelled to mathematics by the mind
Contemplating the nature of itself
in the motions of stars. The pattern
Of the starry summer night might be identical
To the structure of the summer heavens circling
Inside the skull. I can feel the time speeding now
In all directions deeper and deeper into the black oblivion
Of the electrons directly behind my eyes.

Child of the sky, ancestor of the sky, the mind
Has been obligated from the beginning
To create an ordered universe
As the only possible proof
Of its own inheritance.
]]> 1047326 no no Mon, 24 Sep 2012 09:34:44 +0200 2012-09-24T09:34:44+02:00 4:25 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-rockshamrover-elizabeth-alexander-equinox/
Now is the time of year when bees are wild
and eccentric. They fly fast and in cramped
loop-de-loops, dive-bomb clusters of conversants
in the bright, late-September out-of-doors.
I have found their dried husks in my clothes.
They are dervishes because they are dying,
one last sting, a warm place to squeeze
a drop of venom or of honey.
After the stroke we thought would be her last
my grandmother came back, reared back and slapped
a nurse across the face. Then she stood up,
walked outside, and lay down in the snow.
Two years later there is no other way
to say, we are waiting. She is silent, light
as an empty hive, and she is breathing.]]>
Now is the time of year when bees are wild
and eccentric. They fly fast and in cramped
loop-de-loops, dive-bomb clusters of conversants
in the bright, late-September out-of-doors.
I have found their dried husks in my clothes.
They are dervishes because they are dying,
one last sting, a warm place to squeeze
a drop of venom or of honey.
After the stroke we thought would be her last
my grandmother came back, reared back and slapped
a nurse across the face. Then she stood up,
walked outside, and lay down in the snow.
Two years later there is no other way
to say, we are waiting. She is silent, light
as an empty hive, and she is breathing.]]> 1047327 no no Sat, 22 Sep 2012 20:14:46 +0200 2012-09-22T20:14:46+02:00 3:55 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-michael-adams-pawnee-buttes/
Dusty bones in moonlight,
buttes above prairie
Juniper under sky
Over cattle guards, through gates and cow pies,
out of the doors we live within and under the open sky,
I seek a place for sleep.
Where is wolf? Buffalo?
Bear?–Old man in his furs
Wild tenants who lack proper currency,
They all took off, a beat up old ex-Hogfarm Rainbow People school bus full of
the wild, driven by wine-swilling pissed-pants coyote, bound for some god-
knows-where town in Mexico.
Wind in the juniper
voice of the land
Listen! It says
I am the song of the prairie
death chant of Old Ones
voice of seasons, moons, storms
grand web you’ve forgotten:
in love you kill, eat, die, are eaten.
Chicken plucked from barnyard rivalries,
steer, never to know heifer, but the rancher’s
castrating knife.
Wild cries as you stalk aisles
supermarket hunters
Peas, potatoes, carrots torn from Earth
to make new flesh and bone–
presidents and postal workers,
televangelists and teachers.
But the chain is circle
delight of fungus, molds, worms
we mulch our way to eternal life–
marvelous, spiritual true love everywhere,
everywhere.
meat of love in an America of flesh
Under juniper I dream the song
of a new America
where two-legged, four-legged,
winged and swimming
all find voice
America
seamless
wild
her great prairies unfenced
where grasses heave through pavements
weave the bones of long dead cattle,
where bison thunder across freeways
and the wolf’s howl runs once more
in our blood.

Michael Adams
November-December 2001 Earth First!]]>
Dusty bones in moonlight,
buttes above prairie
Juniper under sky
Over cattle guards, through gates and cow pies,
out of the doors we live within and under the open sky,
I seek a place for sleep.
Where is wolf? Buffalo?
Bear?–Old man in his furs
Wild tenants who lack proper currency,
They all took off, a beat up old ex-Hogfarm Rainbow People school bus full of
the wild, driven by wine-swilling pissed-pants coyote, bound for some god-
knows-where town in Mexico.
Wind in the juniper
voice of the land
Listen! It says
I am the song of the prairie
death chant of Old Ones
voice of seasons, moons, storms
grand web you’ve forgotten:
in love you kill, eat, die, are eaten.
Chicken plucked from barnyard rivalries,
steer, never to know heifer, but the rancher’s
castrating knife.
Wild cries as you stalk aisles
supermarket hunters
Peas, potatoes, carrots torn from Earth
to make new flesh and bone–
presidents and postal workers,
televangelists and teachers.
But the chain is circle
delight of fungus, molds, worms
we mulch our way to eternal life–
marvelous, spiritual true love everywhere,
everywhere.
meat of love in an America of flesh
Under juniper I dream the song
of a new America
where two-legged, four-legged,
winged and swimming
all find voice
America
seamless
wild
her great prairies unfenced
where grasses heave through pavements
weave the bones of long dead cattle,
where bison thunder across freeways
and the wolf’s howl runs once more
in our blood.

Michael Adams
November-December 2001 Earth First!]]> 1047328 no no Sat, 22 Sep 2012 00:20:05 +0200 2012-09-22T00:20:05+02:00 6:02 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-vaughn-short-old-grand-gulch-at-night/

Once when the moon hung big and round
In the old Grand Gulch at night,
Eerie the shadows on the ground,
Uncanny was the light.
High in the cliffs where the old ones dwelt
Ancient spirits rose and stirred.
They crowded about, their presence I felt,
Then their whispered words I heard.
They told of when the corn maidens danced
While the drummers beat and swayed.
Around and around they wheeled and pranced
While the hump-back flute player played.
Those were the days when life was good,
When there was time to sit and dream
While the soft winds played in the cottonwood
And the beavers dammed the stream.
When gold the squash lay on the ground,
Corn leaves rustled in the breeze,
And all about game did abound,
And there were song birds in the trees.
These are the things that were whispered to me
In the old Grand Gulch that night,
Not of the droughts or the misery
Of survival’s struggling flight.
So when I look high on the wall
And the crumbling ruins I see,
Then is the time that I recall
What the spirits said to me.
Then I feel the drummer’s beat,
Hear the hump-backed fluter play,
See the dancing girls on nimble feet
As they circle, prance, and sway.
This to me is what the old Gulch means,
When I sit down here below.
And I know they’re true, these ancient scenes,
For the old ones told me so.

Vaughn Short
September-October 2007 Earth First!]]>

Once when the moon hung big and round
In the old Grand Gulch at night,
Eerie the shadows on the ground,
Uncanny was the light.
High in the cliffs where the old ones dwelt
Ancient spirits rose and stirred.
They crowded about, their presence I felt,
Then their whispered words I heard.
They told of when the corn maidens danced
While the drummers beat and swayed.
Around and around they wheeled and pranced
While the hump-back flute player played.
Those were the days when life was good,
When there was time to sit and dream
While the soft winds played in the cottonwood
And the beavers dammed the stream.
When gold the squash lay on the ground,
Corn leaves rustled in the breeze,
And all about game did abound,
And there were song birds in the trees.
These are the things that were whispered to me
In the old Grand Gulch that night,
Not of the droughts or the misery
Of survival’s struggling flight.
So when I look high on the wall
And the crumbling ruins I see,
Then is the time that I recall
What the spirits said to me.
Then I feel the drummer’s beat,
Hear the hump-backed fluter play,
See the dancing girls on nimble feet
As they circle, prance, and sway.
This to me is what the old Gulch means,
When I sit down here below.
And I know they’re true, these ancient scenes,
For the old ones told me so.

Vaughn Short
September-October 2007 Earth First!]]> 1047329 no no Fri, 21 Sep 2012 03:29:50 +0200 2012-09-21T03:29:50+02:00 8:36 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-william-carlos-williams-light-hearted-author/
Happy Birthday to a poet who delivered more than 2000 babies over the course of 40 years. Most people didn't even know he was a poet...


The birches are mad with green points
the wood's edge is burning with their green,
burning, seething--No, no, no.
The birches are opening their leaves one
by one. Their delicate leaves unfold cold
and separate, one by one. Slender tassels
hang swaying from the delicate branch tips--
Oh, I cannot say it. There is no word.
Black is split at once into flowers. In
every bog and ditch, flares of
small fire, white flowers!--Agh,
the birches are mad, mad with their green.
The world is gone, torn into shreds
with this blessing. What have I left undone
that I should have undertaken?

O my brother, you redfaced, living man
ignorant, stupid whose feet are upon
this same dirt that I touch--and eat.
We are alone in this terror, alone,
face to face on this road, you and I,
wrapped by this flame!
Let the polished plows stay idle,
their gloss already on the black soil.
But that face of yours--!
Answer me. I will clutch you. I
will hug you, grip you. I will poke my face
into your face and force you to see me.
Take me in your arms, tell me the commonest
thing that is in your mind to say,
say anything. I will understand you--!
It is the madness of the birch leaves opening
cold, one by one.

My rooms will receive me. But my rooms
are no longer sweet spaces where comfort
is ready to wait on me with its crumbs.
A darkness has brushed them. The mass
of yellow tulips in the bowl is shrunken.
Every familiar object is changed and dwarfed.
I am shaken, broken against a might
that splits comfort, blows apart
my careful partitions, crushes my house
and leaves me--with shrinking heart
and startled, empty eyes--peering out
into a cold world.

In the spring I would be drunk! In the spring
I would be drunk and lie forgetting all things.
Your face! Give me your face, Yang Kue Fei!
your hands, your lips to drink!
Give me your wrists to drink--
I drag you, I am drowned in you, you
overwhelm me! Drink!
Save me! The shad bush is in the edge
of the clearing. The yards in a fury
of lilac blossoms are driving me mad with terror.
Drink and lie forgetting the world.

And coldly the birch leaves are opening one by one.
Coldly I observe them and wait for the end.
And it ends.

]]>
Happy Birthday to a poet who delivered more than 2000 babies over the course of 40 years. Most people didn't even know he was a poet...


The birches are mad with green points
the wood's edge is burning with their green,
burning, seething--No, no, no.
The birches are opening their leaves one
by one. Their delicate leaves unfold cold
and separate, one by one. Slender tassels
hang swaying from the delicate branch tips--
Oh, I cannot say it. There is no word.
Black is split at once into flowers. In
every bog and ditch, flares of
small fire, white flowers!--Agh,
the birches are mad, mad with their green.
The world is gone, torn into shreds
with this blessing. What have I left undone
that I should have undertaken?

O my brother, you redfaced, living man
ignorant, stupid whose feet are upon
this same dirt that I touch--and eat.
We are alone in this terror, alone,
face to face on this road, you and I,
wrapped by this flame!
Let the polished plows stay idle,
their gloss already on the black soil.
But that face of yours--!
Answer me. I will clutch you. I
will hug you, grip you. I will poke my face
into your face and force you to see me.
Take me in your arms, tell me the commonest
thing that is in your mind to say,
say anything. I will understand you--!
It is the madness of the birch leaves opening
cold, one by one.

My rooms will receive me. But my rooms
are no longer sweet spaces where comfort
is ready to wait on me with its crumbs.
A darkness has brushed them. The mass
of yellow tulips in the bowl is shrunken.
Every familiar object is changed and dwarfed.
I am shaken, broken against a might
that splits comfort, blows apart
my careful partitions, crushes my house
and leaves me--with shrinking heart
and startled, empty eyes--peering out
into a cold world.

In the spring I would be drunk! In the spring
I would be drunk and lie forgetting all things.
Your face! Give me your face, Yang Kue Fei!
your hands, your lips to drink!
Give me your wrists to drink--
I drag you, I am drowned in you, you
overwhelm me! Drink!
Save me! The shad bush is in the edge
of the clearing. The yards in a fury
of lilac blossoms are driving me mad with terror.
Drink and lie forgetting the world.

And coldly the birch leaves are opening one by one.
Coldly I observe them and wait for the end.
And it ends.

]]> 1047330 no no Tue, 18 Sep 2012 08:53:49 +0200 2012-09-18T08:53:49+02:00 4:18 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-dennis-fritzinger-humphrey-humpback/
humphrey the humpback
was what we called
the whale that swam
into san francisco bay
and up the delta,
delighting visitors
and natives alike,
who turned out in droves
to catch a glimpse.
such a rare thing!
a whale, so large
it really stands out,
larger than an elephant,
larger than a dinosaur
(or so we're told).
it used to be
whales appeared in the bay
much more often,
and it used to be
salmon swam more thickly
in the streams,
and it used to be
there were more redwoods towering
over the valleys,
over the coast,
over the san franciscan formation
with its greenish
asbestos-laden rock.
now there are
fewer san francisco garter snakes;
just one san francisco manzanita;
and who knows how many
san francisco blue butterflies
have escaped the bulldozer.
the bay area is a great place to live,
i love its restaurants, its hiking trails,
its fog, its movie locations,
its alleys named after poets,
but i'm not sure any of this
would impress a wayward whale
or a salmon, trying to find
its way upstream.]]>
humphrey the humpback
was what we called
the whale that swam
into san francisco bay
and up the delta,
delighting visitors
and natives alike,
who turned out in droves
to catch a glimpse.
such a rare thing!
a whale, so large
it really stands out,
larger than an elephant,
larger than a dinosaur
(or so we're told).
it used to be
whales appeared in the bay
much more often,
and it used to be
salmon swam more thickly
in the streams,
and it used to be
there were more redwoods towering
over the valleys,
over the coast,
over the san franciscan formation
with its greenish
asbestos-laden rock.
now there are
fewer san francisco garter snakes;
just one san francisco manzanita;
and who knows how many
san francisco blue butterflies
have escaped the bulldozer.
the bay area is a great place to live,
i love its restaurants, its hiking trails,
its fog, its movie locations,
its alleys named after poets,
but i'm not sure any of this
would impress a wayward whale
or a salmon, trying to find
its way upstream.]]> 1047331 no no Sun, 16 Sep 2012 05:10:04 +0200 2012-09-16T05:10:04+02:00 2:43 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-lone-wolf-circles-gaia-bless/
Gaia Bless
us each in our fleeting, mortal moment,
our willingness to feel, our trying to make it real.
Gaia Bless
all the sensitive souls among our blighted human kind,
bless those who reject the distractions of our age
to hear the cries of the sacred Mother.
Gaia Bless
those that hear and respond to Her Call
with struggle, even when struggle fails;
with healing, even when our healing proves less than adequate
to stem the flow of precious Gaian blood;
and with prayer, even as we ache to understand her answers
cast in evolutionary code, in the rustling of den-bound snakes
and the shaking of Her winter storms.
Gaia Bless
the old folks who talk to weeds, and kids who ask too many questions.
Gaia Bless
the tribes and the tribeless;
the happily married, those seeking and those contented alone;
those who forgive but never forget;
and all the imperfect two-leggeds who serve the perfection of Nature.
Gaia Bless
those who oppose the bulldozers
and those who instead plant flowers in the bulldozer's most recent tracks;
the teachers and the hermits, the first and the last.
Gaia Bless those of our kind instilled with patience,
unwilling to deny Her the thousands of years of painful change
that is her timely rite of passage.
And Gaia Bless
the impatient among us as well,
unwilling and unable to accept the reality of temporary defeats,
risking drowning in the depths
to assist even a little the height of her rising tides.
Gaia Bless
Her warriors, who give up their freedom, their families,
their homes and their lives
for something greater than our lonely, individual selves.
Gaia Bless
those bound to constant movement, winging through tornadoes,
migrating through the years;
including those too busy to stop and smell the earth.
And Gaia Bless
those remaining still enough through these storms of transition,
who bond their flesh to dirt,
who hear and record her instruction and song,
who touch her earthen skin just the way She likes and tend her willow hair.
Gaia Bless
all those who try, succeed or fail,
those who always act decisively, but never out of hatred;
yes... those whose every living breath
asserts their pledge of Love.
By our hearts and our acts may we be Worthy.
Gaia Bless. Gaia Bless.

J. Wolf Hardin
Feb.-Mar. 1999 Earth First!]]>
Gaia Bless
us each in our fleeting, mortal moment,
our willingness to feel, our trying to make it real.
Gaia Bless
all the sensitive souls among our blighted human kind,
bless those who reject the distractions of our age
to hear the cries of the sacred Mother.
Gaia Bless
those that hear and respond to Her Call
with struggle, even when struggle fails;
with healing, even when our healing proves less than adequate
to stem the flow of precious Gaian blood;
and with prayer, even as we ache to understand her answers
cast in evolutionary code, in the rustling of den-bound snakes
and the shaking of Her winter storms.
Gaia Bless
the old folks who talk to weeds, and kids who ask too many questions.
Gaia Bless
the tribes and the tribeless;
the happily married, those seeking and those contented alone;
those who forgive but never forget;
and all the imperfect two-leggeds who serve the perfection of Nature.
Gaia Bless
those who oppose the bulldozers
and those who instead plant flowers in the bulldozer's most recent tracks;
the teachers and the hermits, the first and the last.
Gaia Bless those of our kind instilled with patience,
unwilling to deny Her the thousands of years of painful change
that is her timely rite of passage.
And Gaia Bless
the impatient among us as well,
unwilling and unable to accept the reality of temporary defeats,
risking drowning in the depths
to assist even a little the height of her rising tides.
Gaia Bless
Her warriors, who give up their freedom, their families,
their homes and their lives
for something greater than our lonely, individual selves.
Gaia Bless
those bound to constant movement, winging through tornadoes,
migrating through the years;
including those too busy to stop and smell the earth.
And Gaia Bless
those remaining still enough through these storms of transition,
who bond their flesh to dirt,
who hear and record her instruction and song,
who touch her earthen skin just the way She likes and tend her willow hair.
Gaia Bless
all those who try, succeed or fail,
those who always act decisively, but never out of hatred;
yes... those whose every living breath
asserts their pledge of Love.
By our hearts and our acts may we be Worthy.
Gaia Bless. Gaia Bless.

J. Wolf Hardin
Feb.-Mar. 1999 Earth First!]]> 1047332 no no Sat, 15 Sep 2012 03:42:53 +0200 2012-09-15T03:42:53+02:00 5:09 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-pattiann-rogers-before-i-wake/
The turning of the marsh marigold coming slowly
Into its emergent bloom underwater; the turning
Of the coral sands over themselves and over their dunes
And over the scratchings of the scarab beetles
Turning over the dung of the desert doe; the pivoting
Of the eye of the bluefish turning inside the drawing light
Of its multiple school shifting its constellation
In the dark sea; this the prayer of sleep
In which I lay myself down to dream.

The quiet enclosed by the burrowing wolf spider
Draging its egg to the surface to sun;
The stillness covered by the barren strawberry
Making its fleshless seed on the rocky hill
The study in the desert mushroom knotting itself
In the arid heat; the silence of the fetal sea horses
Bound in the pouch of their father; this is the dream
Of the soul in which I lay myself down to pray.

And I’ve asked the outward motion of the hollow web
Of the elm making leaf, and I’ve asked the inward motion
Of every glinting fin making the focus of the carp,
And I’ve asked the involution of the egg buds carried
In the dark inside the cowbirds circling overhead,
And I’ve asked the tight coiling and breaking
Of light traveling in the beads of the sawgrass
And the net of the sea oats splitting and binding
And splitting again over and over across the open lands
To keep me in this dream tonight through one prayer more.]]>
The turning of the marsh marigold coming slowly
Into its emergent bloom underwater; the turning
Of the coral sands over themselves and over their dunes
And over the scratchings of the scarab beetles
Turning over the dung of the desert doe; the pivoting
Of the eye of the bluefish turning inside the drawing light
Of its multiple school shifting its constellation
In the dark sea; this the prayer of sleep
In which I lay myself down to dream.

The quiet enclosed by the burrowing wolf spider
Draging its egg to the surface to sun;
The stillness covered by the barren strawberry
Making its fleshless seed on the rocky hill
The study in the desert mushroom knotting itself
In the arid heat; the silence of the fetal sea horses
Bound in the pouch of their father; this is the dream
Of the soul in which I lay myself down to pray.

And I’ve asked the outward motion of the hollow web
Of the elm making leaf, and I’ve asked the inward motion
Of every glinting fin making the focus of the carp,
And I’ve asked the involution of the egg buds carried
In the dark inside the cowbirds circling overhead,
And I’ve asked the tight coiling and breaking
Of light traveling in the beads of the sawgrass
And the net of the sea oats splitting and binding
And splitting again over and over across the open lands
To keep me in this dream tonight through one prayer more.]]> 1047333 no no Sun, 02 Sep 2012 08:20:44 +0200 2012-09-02T08:20:44+02:00 4:21 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-thad-goetz-grizzly/
Before day in the forest dark
The beast wakes to stalk his prey
He lumbers from his den
Shaking the cold night
From his great body.
The sun is hours away.

Beast moves higher
Mountain lifts him up
The hawk cries a warning.
The air is filled with fear.
The beast lifts his gun
And sights in the bear.

Thad Goetz
March-April 2002 Earth First!]]>
Before day in the forest dark
The beast wakes to stalk his prey
He lumbers from his den
Shaking the cold night
From his great body.
The sun is hours away.

Beast moves higher
Mountain lifts him up
The hawk cries a warning.
The air is filled with fear.
The beast lifts his gun
And sights in the bear.

Thad Goetz
March-April 2002 Earth First!]]> 1047334 no no Fri, 24 Aug 2012 22:45:21 +0200 2012-08-24T22:45:21+02:00 4:40 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-art-goodtimes-prayer-to-the-great-shroom/
Gratitude to fungi.
Gift to the clans from the powers below ground.
The de-composers.
Breaking down chains of amino acids & fatty violin strings.
Composting dead trees & creekside kettledrums.
Orchestrating the grand symphonic wheel of life
recycled.
Sparked by nature's spore plugs of regeneration:
morels boletes polypores puffballs
stinkhorns earthstars corals & clubs

And gratitude to Fungophiles.
Throwbacks to an earlier dawn of earth dancers.
Soil singers.
Not Homo sapiens but Humus ludens.
Hunting & gathering once again
in the Lizard Head fields
& Sheep Mountain forests surrounding Telluride.
Playful mud men & mud wymyn.

Getting down dirty to dig up stipes
& dressing up crazy to parade their faith in the sacred 'shroom.
Be it healing tonic. Gourmet treat
or deadly toxin for those who pick without respect

Yes
let us honor & praise & raise high the roofbeams
for the flavor of xerampolina.
For the aroma of matsutaki.
For the thrill of amanita.
For the tea of ling chi
& for the power, the glory & the godspeed warp of cubensis

In our minds & hearts
stomachs & synapses
so be it. ]]>
Gratitude to fungi.
Gift to the clans from the powers below ground.
The de-composers.
Breaking down chains of amino acids & fatty violin strings.
Composting dead trees & creekside kettledrums.
Orchestrating the grand symphonic wheel of life
recycled.
Sparked by nature's spore plugs of regeneration:
morels boletes polypores puffballs
stinkhorns earthstars corals & clubs

And gratitude to Fungophiles.
Throwbacks to an earlier dawn of earth dancers.
Soil singers.
Not Homo sapiens but Humus ludens.
Hunting & gathering once again
in the Lizard Head fields
& Sheep Mountain forests surrounding Telluride.
Playful mud men & mud wymyn.

Getting down dirty to dig up stipes
& dressing up crazy to parade their faith in the sacred 'shroom.
Be it healing tonic. Gourmet treat
or deadly toxin for those who pick without respect

Yes
let us honor & praise & raise high the roofbeams
for the flavor of xerampolina.
For the aroma of matsutaki.
For the thrill of amanita.
For the tea of ling chi
& for the power, the glory & the godspeed warp of cubensis

In our minds & hearts
stomachs & synapses
so be it. ]]> 1047335 no no Thu, 23 Aug 2012 22:15:38 +0200 2012-08-23T22:15:38+02:00 4:35 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/walkin-jim-stoltz-joshua-tree/
Desert morning limps along
Dry, heat waves across the plain
Stillness catches hold and squeezes
Distant visage
Spokes of green
Trees? Here?
Closer now
Splayed stalks of spiked fronds
Trunks, bowed and twisted
Bobbing snakeheads out reaching for what?
Shall I even call them trees?
Thin shade, but deep
To hide from the relentless one
A breather to pause
Letting the sweat dry
Listening
To marvel at one forest
Safe from the logger’s saw.
Walkin’ Jim Stoltz
June 1993 Earth First!]]>
Desert morning limps along
Dry, heat waves across the plain
Stillness catches hold and squeezes
Distant visage
Spokes of green
Trees? Here?
Closer now
Splayed stalks of spiked fronds
Trunks, bowed and twisted
Bobbing snakeheads out reaching for what?
Shall I even call them trees?
Thin shade, but deep
To hide from the relentless one
A breather to pause
Letting the sweat dry
Listening
To marvel at one forest
Safe from the logger’s saw.
Walkin’ Jim Stoltz
June 1993 Earth First!]]> 1047336 no no Tue, 21 Aug 2012 22:40:46 +0200 2012-08-21T22:40:46+02:00 5:00 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-art-goodtimes-stormy-weather/
It took time.
I had to apprentice with mountains.
Grew a belly.
Combed the hair of several wives.

When the people voted
I drove their bus.
Stopped for hitchers
in spite of the law.

Or how it looked.
Hung up my monkeywrench
& walked into those halls
knotted with power.

Treated & tricked.
But with a sweet word
dipped in juniper
& lost gracefully

over & over under & through
until I too be-rainbowed
let the clouds kiss
& disappear

]]>
It took time.
I had to apprentice with mountains.
Grew a belly.
Combed the hair of several wives.

When the people voted
I drove their bus.
Stopped for hitchers
in spite of the law.

Or how it looked.
Hung up my monkeywrench
& walked into those halls
knotted with power.

Treated & tricked.
But with a sweet word
dipped in juniper
& lost gracefully

over & over under & through
until I too be-rainbowed
let the clouds kiss
& disappear

]]> 1047337 no no Sun, 19 Aug 2012 10:19:46 +0200 2012-08-19T10:19:46+02:00 2:46 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-gary-snyder-for-all/
Ah to be alive
on a mid-September morn
fording a stream
barefoot, pants rolled up,
holding boots, pack on,
sunshine, ice in the shallows,
northern rockies.

Rustle and shimmer of icy creek waters
stones turn underfoot, small and hard as toes
cold nose dripping
singing inside
creek music, heart music,
smell of sun on gravel.

I pledge allegiance

I pledge allegiance to the soil
of Turtle Island,
and to the beings who thereon dwell
one ecosystem
in diversity
under the sun
With joyful interpenetration for all.]]>
Ah to be alive
on a mid-September morn
fording a stream
barefoot, pants rolled up,
holding boots, pack on,
sunshine, ice in the shallows,
northern rockies.

Rustle and shimmer of icy creek waters
stones turn underfoot, small and hard as toes
cold nose dripping
singing inside
creek music, heart music,
smell of sun on gravel.

I pledge allegiance

I pledge allegiance to the soil
of Turtle Island,
and to the beings who thereon dwell
one ecosystem
in diversity
under the sun
With joyful interpenetration for all.]]> 1047338 no no Sat, 04 Aug 2012 07:37:46 +0200 2012-08-04T07:37:46+02:00 2:03 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-vibetribe-healing-jenny-mcbride-aisles-where-the-dead-sleep/
You call them roads
I call them
Aisles where the dead sleep,
You call it independent freedom
I call it a casualty.
Oil and concrete
Pack quite a punch
Will quench the food chain.

Fur matted into blood bone absence
The green roadsides are emptying,
Aisles where the dead sleep
Take us from driveway to driveway.

Jenny McBride
January-February 2003 Earth First!]]>
You call them roads
I call them
Aisles where the dead sleep,
You call it independent freedom
I call it a casualty.
Oil and concrete
Pack quite a punch
Will quench the food chain.

Fur matted into blood bone absence
The green roadsides are emptying,
Aisles where the dead sleep
Take us from driveway to driveway.

Jenny McBride
January-February 2003 Earth First!]]> 1047339 no no Thu, 02 Aug 2012 04:43:01 +0200 2012-08-02T04:43:01+02:00 2:34 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-vibetribe-healing-instrumental/ 1047340 no no Wed, 01 Aug 2012 02:42:39 +0200 2012-08-01T02:42:39+02:00 4:43 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-eric-haskell-gnarled/
Years of growth,
desert winds gusting, constant, dry,
bringing enough debris for trees to hold
to rock for dear life, life of endurance,
year after year. Insects sucking sap,
birds pecking holes, rodents
chewing bark, as the pinyons
suck sand, as the junipers chew sun,
hoping for the weak's survival--
to survive the century.

Growing on a good year,
lightening raw slickrock,
wedging a crack, its roots biting for space,
as animals crawl on its skin.
It weathers, wrenches its chlorophyll
towards the sun, twining to avoid snow,
twisting again to catch rain,
gnarled.

Eric Haskell
March 21 1990 Earth First!]]>
Years of growth,
desert winds gusting, constant, dry,
bringing enough debris for trees to hold
to rock for dear life, life of endurance,
year after year. Insects sucking sap,
birds pecking holes, rodents
chewing bark, as the pinyons
suck sand, as the junipers chew sun,
hoping for the weak's survival--
to survive the century.

Growing on a good year,
lightening raw slickrock,
wedging a crack, its roots biting for space,
as animals crawl on its skin.
It weathers, wrenches its chlorophyll
towards the sun, twining to avoid snow,
twisting again to catch rain,
gnarled.

Eric Haskell
March 21 1990 Earth First!]]> 1047341 no no Tue, 31 Jul 2012 20:27:38 +0200 2012-07-31T20:27:38+02:00 1:06 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-christina-wulf-great-north-mountain-virginia-pine-mountain-kentucky/
It has been a month or more since
the chestnut oak parted its lips
to taste my hand. Touch of palm
against wet mouth and the teeth entered me,
needle---hair--filament--fine. Light as arrow
feather they pierce skin, and then explode
I turned from the tree's embrace
as fire lanced my hand, skin enflamed
with this sacred kiss: Creeping through my body
till I wondered if my breath would stop
bearing so much pain. So much delight
in receiving tongue of tree; in the bulb
of my thumb, still today the tracks are clear.
Skin bubbled back, miming the trace of lifeline.

A year ago, on another mountain slope
I laid my hand on cousin tree. This one
smooth of bark, no longer standing.
American chestnut bole, leaned against sandstone
cliffs, the peak of Appalachia's forest heart.
The smooth giant, slick with rain, tricked my feet
and I fell, hand first, into her arms.
Mother chestnut, I wept against your fallen body
cradling my broken hand--tears for the axe
bite of blight that took you from me, left us
dying in each other's arms.

My hand is inoculated now with spore and saliva,
blade and bruise. My blood has taken in the love
and grief that cloak our mountains--green forest
grows in my cambium tissues, forests' destruction
stains my sapwood veins.

What work for these hands of mine, dipped in living
trees?

Christina Wulf
May-June 2005 Earth First!]]>
It has been a month or more since
the chestnut oak parted its lips
to taste my hand. Touch of palm
against wet mouth and the teeth entered me,
needle---hair--filament--fine. Light as arrow
feather they pierce skin, and then explode
I turned from the tree's embrace
as fire lanced my hand, skin enflamed
with this sacred kiss: Creeping through my body
till I wondered if my breath would stop
bearing so much pain. So much delight
in receiving tongue of tree; in the bulb
of my thumb, still today the tracks are clear.
Skin bubbled back, miming the trace of lifeline.

A year ago, on another mountain slope
I laid my hand on cousin tree. This one
smooth of bark, no longer standing.
American chestnut bole, leaned against sandstone
cliffs, the peak of Appalachia's forest heart.
The smooth giant, slick with rain, tricked my feet
and I fell, hand first, into her arms.
Mother chestnut, I wept against your fallen body
cradling my broken hand--tears for the axe
bite of blight that took you from me, left us
dying in each other's arms.

My hand is inoculated now with spore and saliva,
blade and bruise. My blood has taken in the love
and grief that cloak our mountains--green forest
grows in my cambium tissues, forests' destruction
stains my sapwood veins.

What work for these hands of mine, dipped in living
trees?

Christina Wulf
May-June 2005 Earth First!]]> 1047342 no no Tue, 31 Jul 2012 00:39:41 +0200 2012-07-31T00:39:41+02:00 2:37 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-gary-lawlesss-little-by-little/
roads eat away the hearts of mountains.
Fires burn through, come back in huckleberries,
trails close in August, too many bears.
Too many bears, now following avalanche chutes,
glacier lily, early spring.
Caribou in old growth spruce,
lichen,
banks of snow and fog.
Bear tracks in the mud.
Close the roads.

Gary Lawless
June 21 1986 Earth First!
]]>
roads eat away the hearts of mountains.
Fires burn through, come back in huckleberries,
trails close in August, too many bears.
Too many bears, now following avalanche chutes,
glacier lily, early spring.
Caribou in old growth spruce,
lichen,
banks of snow and fog.
Bear tracks in the mud.
Close the roads.

Gary Lawless
June 21 1986 Earth First!
]]> 1047343 no no Mon, 30 Jul 2012 02:04:05 +0200 2012-07-30T02:04:05+02:00 2:00 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-gary-mennie-wild-things-you-never-see/
From walking along the wooded trail,
From lounging by the gliding brook,
From pondering open skies, spacious vistas, infinite diverse habitats
evolving,
Some lessons are revealed, here in the woods, where time, space,
matter and energy, have convened through ages older than
mankind,
Without political parties, governments, religions, or intstitutions,
Nothing given but the pure living impulse of existence.
Here in the woods, the trees grow without credentials, bloom without
certificates, and bear fruit without diplomas,
Living within a cooperative-competitive interrelated community from
the soil to the sky,
Growing to become trees, yet offering themselves as food, homes,
or shade.
Here in the woods, animals live without money, rents, or mortgage,
without subservience to dominating leaders,
without license to work or survive,
Here, in the woods, many things are unseen, unneeded;
Never see squirrels build prisons,
Never see robins lobby for or against worm control,
Never see worms need contracts to aerate the soil,
Never see hawks bow to a skygod, or swans erect temples of
worship,
Never see fish bomb nations, or pollute waters,
Never see Mallard Ducks attempt to convert Wood Ducks to
Mallards, or start wars because of their difference,
Never see deer, chipmunks, or groundhogs with grazing permits,
or supervisors,
Never see raccoons needing therapy, or bees work for profit or
pension,
Here, from these woods, these oceans and blending ecologies,
Many clouds have formed without instruction,
Have nourished without compulsion,
Have stormed without discrimination,
Have performed without duty,
Here, in these wild, natural, self-contained biomes,
Mountains form without committees,
Rocks lack ambition without shame,
Habitats co-exist without management, without dogma, without
the need to conquer and rule the world,
But only to “Be” the world.
Here, on these lands, these oceans, these skies,
Only one beast has become far too successful at his failure to be
of this world,
To contemplate and learn from these wild things,
That which he never sees.]]>
From walking along the wooded trail,
From lounging by the gliding brook,
From pondering open skies, spacious vistas, infinite diverse habitats
evolving,
Some lessons are revealed, here in the woods, where time, space,
matter and energy, have convened through ages older than
mankind,
Without political parties, governments, religions, or intstitutions,
Nothing given but the pure living impulse of existence.
Here in the woods, the trees grow without credentials, bloom without
certificates, and bear fruit without diplomas,
Living within a cooperative-competitive interrelated community from
the soil to the sky,
Growing to become trees, yet offering themselves as food, homes,
or shade.
Here in the woods, animals live without money, rents, or mortgage,
without subservience to dominating leaders,
without license to work or survive,
Here, in the woods, many things are unseen, unneeded;
Never see squirrels build prisons,
Never see robins lobby for or against worm control,
Never see worms need contracts to aerate the soil,
Never see hawks bow to a skygod, or swans erect temples of
worship,
Never see fish bomb nations, or pollute waters,
Never see Mallard Ducks attempt to convert Wood Ducks to
Mallards, or start wars because of their difference,
Never see deer, chipmunks, or groundhogs with grazing permits,
or supervisors,
Never see raccoons needing therapy, or bees work for profit or
pension,
Here, from these woods, these oceans and blending ecologies,
Many clouds have formed without instruction,
Have nourished without compulsion,
Have stormed without discrimination,
Have performed without duty,
Here, in these wild, natural, self-contained biomes,
Mountains form without committees,
Rocks lack ambition without shame,
Habitats co-exist without management, without dogma, without
the need to conquer and rule the world,
But only to “Be” the world.
Here, on these lands, these oceans, these skies,
Only one beast has become far too successful at his failure to be
of this world,
To contemplate and learn from these wild things,
That which he never sees.]]> 1047344 no no Sat, 28 Jul 2012 01:14:41 +0200 2012-07-28T01:14:41+02:00 3:59 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/autumn-sonnischen-what-my-forest-used-to-be/
I once
Was breathing purple
Lapping up
Tick-tock pine needles
And melting earth
It used to seep into me
But now
Is plasticized
And tastes
Of grieving sugarcane
Giving way
To slippery packets of calorie-free pastels
I grab hold
To burnt leaves
And smoggy rain drops
Blinking back my ocean
’cause I know
they’d suck its salt away
To sprinkle
(heavily)
over thirty-nine cent macaroni and cheese
hurriedly spilt
on neckties tied too tightly
I would sit
underneath
willows
(that did indeed weep)
and amongst silly twigs
bent into nature’s alphabet
spelling
plain as day
(clear not being
a viable phrase)
Where is our salvation?

Autumn Sonnischen
Dec.-Jan. 2000 Earth First!]]>
I once
Was breathing purple
Lapping up
Tick-tock pine needles
And melting earth
It used to seep into me
But now
Is plasticized
And tastes
Of grieving sugarcane
Giving way
To slippery packets of calorie-free pastels
I grab hold
To burnt leaves
And smoggy rain drops
Blinking back my ocean
’cause I know
they’d suck its salt away
To sprinkle
(heavily)
over thirty-nine cent macaroni and cheese
hurriedly spilt
on neckties tied too tightly
I would sit
underneath
willows
(that did indeed weep)
and amongst silly twigs
bent into nature’s alphabet
spelling
plain as day
(clear not being
a viable phrase)
Where is our salvation?

Autumn Sonnischen
Dec.-Jan. 2000 Earth First!]]> 1047345 no no Thu, 26 Jul 2012 01:59:04 +0200 2012-07-26T01:59:04+02:00 2:04 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/2012-soundcloud-fellowship-proposal-eco-recording-car-by-deanetr/ 1047346 no no Wed, 25 Jul 2012 00:04:30 +0200 2012-07-25T00:04:30+02:00 6:00 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/sound-of-opening-window-birds-recording-with-us-deanetr-mike-mercker/
See full presentation here: http://armedwithvisions.com/2012/07/10/alix-may-21-2000-finally-discovered-my-home/

I have finally
Discovered my home
The mellowed tang of melting leaves
Suits my nose.
I can finally distinguish
Eighteen shades of light green
Revel in the subtlety of designed
Jagged and lobed leaf-edges
Mud colored branches
Embrace instead of pierce
Barren sky without
Clouds that have comforted me.
I remain in love with
Red rock, spiny covered desert
Big slug moist embrace of west cascade
And now I add centipede and Honey
Suckle.
Alix
August-September 2001 Earth First!
]]>
See full presentation here: http://armedwithvisions.com/2012/07/10/alix-may-21-2000-finally-discovered-my-home/

I have finally
Discovered my home
The mellowed tang of melting leaves
Suits my nose.
I can finally distinguish
Eighteen shades of light green
Revel in the subtlety of designed
Jagged and lobed leaf-edges
Mud colored branches
Embrace instead of pierce
Barren sky without
Clouds that have comforted me.
I remain in love with
Red rock, spiny covered desert
Big slug moist embrace of west cascade
And now I add centipede and Honey
Suckle.
Alix
August-September 2001 Earth First!
]]> 1047347 no no Mon, 23 Jul 2012 22:22:53 +0200 2012-07-23T22:22:53+02:00 6:05 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-craig-oare-treesit-tv/

America at the end of August, under God,
cooking in the filth of its abundance,
sits down to one of its morning routines,
coffee and a doughnut and the Today Show.
At 9:08, in the midst of the usual trivia,
something strange and new appears:
a woman named Remedy, living in a redwood,
five months long and fifty yards high,
pleading with all her heart and soul
for the last few ancient trees.
A true voice in the wilderness, for one minute.

The rest of the show proceeds as follow:
two minutes of lumber lackey lies,
a stifled attempt by our hero for equal time,
ads for candy bars, Kleenex, anti-depressants
and Penny's super colossal Labor Day sale,
a five-minute interview with a Scrabble champion,
more ads for insurance, drugs, toilet cleaners,
underwear, more drugs--ads ads ads ad nauseum.
Then the greenhouse weather report,
drought withering the western states,
followed by, you guessed it, more ads.
And scattered out there across the land
are some young women and young men
who just happen to be there at 9:08,
and their real education begins,
here in the last week of summer,
as their hearts and minds are blown open
by those moments on the Today Show.
They are the Remedys and Wrens and Baris
and Haydukes and Butterflys to come,
and the Mother of us all is caring for them.
Take heart, Remedy, they're on their way.

Craig Oare
November-December 2002 Earth First!
]]>

America at the end of August, under God,
cooking in the filth of its abundance,
sits down to one of its morning routines,
coffee and a doughnut and the Today Show.
At 9:08, in the midst of the usual trivia,
something strange and new appears:
a woman named Remedy, living in a redwood,
five months long and fifty yards high,
pleading with all her heart and soul
for the last few ancient trees.
A true voice in the wilderness, for one minute.

The rest of the show proceeds as follow:
two minutes of lumber lackey lies,
a stifled attempt by our hero for equal time,
ads for candy bars, Kleenex, anti-depressants
and Penny's super colossal Labor Day sale,
a five-minute interview with a Scrabble champion,
more ads for insurance, drugs, toilet cleaners,
underwear, more drugs--ads ads ads ad nauseum.
Then the greenhouse weather report,
drought withering the western states,
followed by, you guessed it, more ads.
And scattered out there across the land
are some young women and young men
who just happen to be there at 9:08,
and their real education begins,
here in the last week of summer,
as their hearts and minds are blown open
by those moments on the Today Show.
They are the Remedys and Wrens and Baris
and Haydukes and Butterflys to come,
and the Mother of us all is caring for them.
Take heart, Remedy, they're on their way.

Craig Oare
November-December 2002 Earth First!
]]> 1047348 no no Sun, 22 Jul 2012 00:45:29 +0200 2012-07-22T00:45:29+02:00 5:11 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-vibetribe-healing-jane-hirshfield-tree/
It is foolish
to let a young redwood
grow next to a house.

Even in this
one lifetime,
you will have to choose.

That great calm being,
this clutter of soup pots and books.

Already the first branch-tips brush
at the window.
Softly, calmly, immensity taps at
your life.

Jane Hirshfield
Dec.-Jan. 2001 Earth First!]]>
It is foolish
to let a young redwood
grow next to a house.

Even in this
one lifetime,
you will have to choose.

That great calm being,
this clutter of soup pots and books.

Already the first branch-tips brush
at the window.
Softly, calmly, immensity taps at
your life.

Jane Hirshfield
Dec.-Jan. 2001 Earth First!]]> 1047349 no no Thu, 19 Jul 2012 05:55:17 +0200 2012-07-19T05:55:17+02:00 3:04 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-vibetribe-healing-robert-frost-fire-ice/
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

Robert Frost]]>
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

Robert Frost]]> 1047350 no no Tue, 17 Jul 2012 23:58:47 +0200 2012-07-17T23:58:47+02:00 3:38 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-tom-cali-searls-about-canoeing-and-camping-in-border-waters-mn/
Miniscule pines
Reach finger-like branches toward a canopy
That seems forever away
Few will reach the distant canopy
And even fewer will reach the heights of their
predecessors
Those that do
Will be the majestic pine forest of tomorrow
I dream in rhythm with this experience
My body rocks in dreamless sleep
To the tune of ubiquitous chickadees
I am wild here
I grow like the pines -- with the pines
Feral and free

5/24/07

Cali Searles
January-February 2008 Earth First!]]>
Miniscule pines
Reach finger-like branches toward a canopy
That seems forever away
Few will reach the distant canopy
And even fewer will reach the heights of their
predecessors
Those that do
Will be the majestic pine forest of tomorrow
I dream in rhythm with this experience
My body rocks in dreamless sleep
To the tune of ubiquitous chickadees
I am wild here
I grow like the pines -- with the pines
Feral and free

5/24/07

Cali Searles
January-February 2008 Earth First!]]> 1047351 no no Tue, 17 Jul 2012 23:44:49 +0200 2012-07-17T23:44:49+02:00 2:10 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-vibetribe-healing-cali-searls-about-canoeing-and-camping-in-border-waters-mn/
Miniscule pines
Reach finger-like branches toward a canopy
That seems forever away
Few will reach the distant canopy
And even fewer will reach the heights of their
predecessors
Those that do
Will be the majestic pine forest of tomorrow
I dream in rhythm with this experience
My body rocks in dreamless sleep
To the tune of ubiquitous chickadees
I am wild here
I grow like the pines -- with the pines
Feral and free

5/24/07

Cali Searles
January-February 2008 Earth First!]]>
Miniscule pines
Reach finger-like branches toward a canopy
That seems forever away
Few will reach the distant canopy
And even fewer will reach the heights of their
predecessors
Those that do
Will be the majestic pine forest of tomorrow
I dream in rhythm with this experience
My body rocks in dreamless sleep
To the tune of ubiquitous chickadees
I am wild here
I grow like the pines -- with the pines
Feral and free

5/24/07

Cali Searles
January-February 2008 Earth First!]]> 1047352 no no Mon, 16 Jul 2012 00:21:45 +0200 2012-07-16T00:21:45+02:00 3:33 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-vibetribe-healing-gary-lawless-the-last-whale/
You are the last whale,
washed up on a far beach.
The waves are pushing against you.
Your brothers and sisters are gone.
The light is too bright for your eyes.
You cannot breathe.
Small children are throwing rocks
and laughing,
climbing onto your body.
You die, alone,
your ears full of wind.

You are the last buffalo.
The sun is setting over the plains.
You stand alone, enormous,
heavy with fur, lonely.
You are tired of running.
All of your friends have gone.
It seems even the earth has turned
against you.
There is no one to say goodbye.
You rest, listening to the wind.

When the time is right,
the spirit of the wolf returns.

Gary Lawless
November 1984 Earth First!
]]>
You are the last whale,
washed up on a far beach.
The waves are pushing against you.
Your brothers and sisters are gone.
The light is too bright for your eyes.
You cannot breathe.
Small children are throwing rocks
and laughing,
climbing onto your body.
You die, alone,
your ears full of wind.

You are the last buffalo.
The sun is setting over the plains.
You stand alone, enormous,
heavy with fur, lonely.
You are tired of running.
All of your friends have gone.
It seems even the earth has turned
against you.
There is no one to say goodbye.
You rest, listening to the wind.

When the time is right,
the spirit of the wolf returns.

Gary Lawless
November 1984 Earth First!
]]> 1047353 no no Sun, 15 Jul 2012 05:28:51 +0200 2012-07-15T05:28:51+02:00 4:07 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-tom-ted-hughes-thistles/

Against the rubber tongues of cows and the hoeing hands of men
Thistles spike the summer air
And crackle open under a blue-black pressure.

Every one a revengeful burst
Of resurrection, a grasphed fistful
Of splintered weapons and Icelandic frost thrust up

From the underground stain of a decayed Viking.
They are like pale hair and the gutturals of dialects.
Every one manages a plume of blood.

Then they grow grey like men.
Mown down, it is a feud. Their sons appear
Stiff with weapons, fighting back over the same ground.
]]>

Against the rubber tongues of cows and the hoeing hands of men
Thistles spike the summer air
And crackle open under a blue-black pressure.

Every one a revengeful burst
Of resurrection, a grasphed fistful
Of splintered weapons and Icelandic frost thrust up

From the underground stain of a decayed Viking.
They are like pale hair and the gutturals of dialects.
Every one manages a plume of blood.

Then they grow grey like men.
Mown down, it is a feud. Their sons appear
Stiff with weapons, fighting back over the same ground.
]]> 1047354 no no Fri, 13 Jul 2012 00:33:56 +0200 2012-07-13T00:33:56+02:00 2:06 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-vibetribe-healing-365breaks-carol-weston-together-on-the-hill/
Sitting all together on the hill
we sniff the air,
then one of us pants
and the other one pants.
 
Humans might call it a language.
We know how to speak
without the waste of words.
 
Our time is muscular.
Our dreams run through our muscles
in the night.
Our ears turn to other wolf voices.

When we howl together
we are beyond any human church.

Carol Weston
September 22 1989 Earth First!]]>
Sitting all together on the hill
we sniff the air,
then one of us pants
and the other one pants.
 
Humans might call it a language.
We know how to speak
without the waste of words.
 
Our time is muscular.
Our dreams run through our muscles
in the night.
Our ears turn to other wolf voices.

When we howl together
we are beyond any human church.

Carol Weston
September 22 1989 Earth First!]]> 1047355 no no Wed, 11 Jul 2012 04:18:35 +0200 2012-07-11T04:18:35+02:00 1:50 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-alix-may-21-2000/
I have finally
Discovered my home
The mellowed tang of melting leaves
Suits my nose.

I can finally distinguish
Eighteen shades of light green
Revel in the subtlety of designed
Jagged and lobed leaf-edges

Mud colored branches
Embrace instead of pierce
Barren sky without
Clouds that have comforted me.

I remain in love with
Red rock, spiny covered desert
Big slug moist embrace of west cascade
And now I add centipede and Honey
Suckle.

Alix
August-September 2001 Earth First!]]>
I have finally
Discovered my home
The mellowed tang of melting leaves
Suits my nose.

I can finally distinguish
Eighteen shades of light green
Revel in the subtlety of designed
Jagged and lobed leaf-edges

Mud colored branches
Embrace instead of pierce
Barren sky without
Clouds that have comforted me.

I remain in love with
Red rock, spiny covered desert
Big slug moist embrace of west cascade
And now I add centipede and Honey
Suckle.

Alix
August-September 2001 Earth First!]]> 1047356 no no Tue, 10 Jul 2012 10:09:23 +0200 2012-07-10T10:09:23+02:00 1:21 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/dennis-fritzinger-interdependance-day/
the mycorrhizal fungi
growing on my roots
increase my mineral intake–
now i can raise more fruits.
so let’s hear it for interdependence–
‘cuz that is Nature’s way–
and celebrate together
this Interdependence Day.
my name is the remora–
i guide the shark at sea,
i help it find its dinner,
which is also good for me.
so let’s hear it for interdependence–
‘cuz that is Nature’s way–
and celebrate together
this Interdependence Day.
i’m the squirrel that plants the acorn
that grows into an oak–
if Nature is a wheel, then
together we’re a spoke.
so let’s hear it for interdependence–
‘cuz that is Nature’s way–
and celebrate together
this Interdependence Day.
the predator needs the prey
to keep its tummy full;
and the prey needs the predator
so its senses won’t get dull.
so let’s hear it for interdependence–
‘cuz that is Nature’s way–
and celebrate together
this Interdependence Day.]]>
the mycorrhizal fungi
growing on my roots
increase my mineral intake–
now i can raise more fruits.
so let’s hear it for interdependence–
‘cuz that is Nature’s way–
and celebrate together
this Interdependence Day.
my name is the remora–
i guide the shark at sea,
i help it find its dinner,
which is also good for me.
so let’s hear it for interdependence–
‘cuz that is Nature’s way–
and celebrate together
this Interdependence Day.
i’m the squirrel that plants the acorn
that grows into an oak–
if Nature is a wheel, then
together we’re a spoke.
so let’s hear it for interdependence–
‘cuz that is Nature’s way–
and celebrate together
this Interdependence Day.
the predator needs the prey
to keep its tummy full;
and the prey needs the predator
so its senses won’t get dull.
so let’s hear it for interdependence–
‘cuz that is Nature’s way–
and celebrate together
this Interdependence Day.]]> 1047357 no no Wed, 04 Jul 2012 21:56:37 +0200 2012-07-04T21:56:37+02:00 2:59 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-jim-harrison-alien/
It was one of those mornings when my feet seemed unaware of each other and I walked slowly up a canyon wash to avoid tripping. It was warmish at dawn, but the sun wouldn't quite come out, having missed a number of good chances, or so I thought studying the antic clouds that were behaving as sloppily as the government. I was looking for a wildflower, the penstemon, but stopped at a rock pool in a miniature marsh seeing a Mojave rattlesnake curled up in the cup of a low-slung boulder. Since this snake can kill a cow or horse I detoured through a dense thicket then glimpsed the small opening of a side canyon I had not noticed in my 17 years of living down the road. How could I have missed it, except that it's my habit to miss a great deal? And then the sun came out and frightened me as if I had stumbled onto a well hidden house of the gods, roofless and only a hundred feet long, backed by a sheer wall of stone. I smelled the tell-tale urine of a mountain lion, but no cave was visible until I looked up at a passing Mexican jay that shrieked the usual warning. We move from fear to fear. I knew the lion would be hiding there in the daytime more surely than I had seen the snake. They weren't guardians. This is where they lived. These small rock cathedrals are spread around the landscape in hundreds of variations but this one had the rawness of the unseen, giving me an edge of discomfort rarely felt in nature except in Ecuador and the Yucatan, where I had appeared as a permanent stranger. I sat down with my back tight against a sheer wall, thinking that the small cave entrance I faced by craning my neck must be the home of the old female lion seen around here not infrequently, and that she could only enter from a crevasse at the top, downward into her cave. This is nature without us. This is someone's home where I don't belong.

Jim Harrison
September-October 2008 Earth First!]]>
It was one of those mornings when my feet seemed unaware of each other and I walked slowly up a canyon wash to avoid tripping. It was warmish at dawn, but the sun wouldn't quite come out, having missed a number of good chances, or so I thought studying the antic clouds that were behaving as sloppily as the government. I was looking for a wildflower, the penstemon, but stopped at a rock pool in a miniature marsh seeing a Mojave rattlesnake curled up in the cup of a low-slung boulder. Since this snake can kill a cow or horse I detoured through a dense thicket then glimpsed the small opening of a side canyon I had not noticed in my 17 years of living down the road. How could I have missed it, except that it's my habit to miss a great deal? And then the sun came out and frightened me as if I had stumbled onto a well hidden house of the gods, roofless and only a hundred feet long, backed by a sheer wall of stone. I smelled the tell-tale urine of a mountain lion, but no cave was visible until I looked up at a passing Mexican jay that shrieked the usual warning. We move from fear to fear. I knew the lion would be hiding there in the daytime more surely than I had seen the snake. They weren't guardians. This is where they lived. These small rock cathedrals are spread around the landscape in hundreds of variations but this one had the rawness of the unseen, giving me an edge of discomfort rarely felt in nature except in Ecuador and the Yucatan, where I had appeared as a permanent stranger. I sat down with my back tight against a sheer wall, thinking that the small cave entrance I faced by craning my neck must be the home of the old female lion seen around here not infrequently, and that she could only enter from a crevasse at the top, downward into her cave. This is nature without us. This is someone's home where I don't belong.

Jim Harrison
September-October 2008 Earth First!]]> 1047358 no no Wed, 04 Jul 2012 05:49:26 +0200 2012-07-04T05:49:26+02:00 2:55 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-pat-foust-my-church/
The sky is her ceiling.
The earth is her floor.
The mountains her walls.
My church has no door.

Pat Foust
December 21 1988 Earth First!]]>
The sky is her ceiling.
The earth is her floor.
The mountains her walls.
My church has no door.

Pat Foust
December 21 1988 Earth First!]]> 1047359 no no Sun, 01 Jul 2012 22:55:39 +0200 2012-07-01T22:55:39+02:00 5:23 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-peggy-sue-mcrae-computer-tango/
this computer is an ancient steaming swampbed
the jagged cry of a pterodactyl
careening through violet twilight
extinction in her plastic bones

this computer steals power from river
salmon gasp gills shuddering
always thirsty for the fire in her blood

the devil requests music
shall we dance?
(give me your knowledge quickly)

Peggy Sue McRae
May-June 2001 Earth First!]]>
this computer is an ancient steaming swampbed
the jagged cry of a pterodactyl
careening through violet twilight
extinction in her plastic bones

this computer steals power from river
salmon gasp gills shuddering
always thirsty for the fire in her blood

the devil requests music
shall we dance?
(give me your knowledge quickly)

Peggy Sue McRae
May-June 2001 Earth First!]]> 1047360 no no Sun, 01 Jul 2012 00:19:47 +0200 2012-07-01T00:19:47+02:00 2:26 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deantr-mike-mercker-steve-toth-mouthpiece/
The earth is fluent in life
not words
Trees don't go around bragging
about how they make weather
You have to watch the clouds
forming above them & wonder
what's up
There are secrets the trees keep
though their silence thunders
The earth doesn't want the sun
to shine everywhere
so it covers itself with leaves when it rains
Love lives in the sun
Love lives in the shadows too

When you humans were being
driven from paradise
it was your own minds that did the driving
Your fall was from life
to the knowledge of life
but the plants & animals didn't go along
They're living in paradise still
Meanwhile the earth has learned to read
It has eyes that are reading these words
It has a mouth
right under your nose

When you cut the trees
the floods come
The water isn't absorbed deeply
when it rains
where the trees used to be
It stays on the surface
& runs off like a thief
with the top soil
The life's work of many a life washed out
I may be dumb
but I'm using the same words
you are
Love makes us listen
even when we don't
know the language

Steve Toth
March-April 2003 Earth First!]]>
The earth is fluent in life
not words
Trees don't go around bragging
about how they make weather
You have to watch the clouds
forming above them & wonder
what's up
There are secrets the trees keep
though their silence thunders
The earth doesn't want the sun
to shine everywhere
so it covers itself with leaves when it rains
Love lives in the sun
Love lives in the shadows too

When you humans were being
driven from paradise
it was your own minds that did the driving
Your fall was from life
to the knowledge of life
but the plants & animals didn't go along
They're living in paradise still
Meanwhile the earth has learned to read
It has eyes that are reading these words
It has a mouth
right under your nose

When you cut the trees
the floods come
The water isn't absorbed deeply
when it rains
where the trees used to be
It stays on the surface
& runs off like a thief
with the top soil
The life's work of many a life washed out
I may be dumb
but I'm using the same words
you are
Love makes us listen
even when we don't
know the language

Steve Toth
March-April 2003 Earth First!]]> 1047361 no no Wed, 27 Jun 2012 07:15:13 +0200 2012-06-27T07:15:13+02:00 3:43 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-paloma-radical/
i'm told to be reasonable
"think of the economy"
when entire forests are fragmented
to give a temporary job
for a feller-buncher

we're told that we're radicals
for opposing multinational
thieves of the tattered remains
of the Creator

while the forest DIS-service
sells off the land to the highest bidder
to be raped, pillaged and shorn
they call us "radicals!"

but radical is from the roots
where Wolverine meets riffraff
Goshawk swoops to protect her home
we can do no less

crooked politicians try to steal our voice
invalidating pen and ink
that shouts
"PROTECT THE LAND!"

laws are nothing but paper
changed upon a whim
controlled by corporate dollars
extracting, poisoning and murdering
until there's nothing left

but radical is from the roots
where Wolverine meets riffraff
Goshawk swoops to protect her home
we can do no less.

Paloma
November 2000 Earth First!
]]>
i'm told to be reasonable
"think of the economy"
when entire forests are fragmented
to give a temporary job
for a feller-buncher

we're told that we're radicals
for opposing multinational
thieves of the tattered remains
of the Creator

while the forest DIS-service
sells off the land to the highest bidder
to be raped, pillaged and shorn
they call us "radicals!"

but radical is from the roots
where Wolverine meets riffraff
Goshawk swoops to protect her home
we can do no less

crooked politicians try to steal our voice
invalidating pen and ink
that shouts
"PROTECT THE LAND!"

laws are nothing but paper
changed upon a whim
controlled by corporate dollars
extracting, poisoning and murdering
until there's nothing left

but radical is from the roots
where Wolverine meets riffraff
Goshawk swoops to protect her home
we can do no less.

Paloma
November 2000 Earth First!
]]> 1047362 no no Tue, 26 Jun 2012 02:03:53 +0200 2012-06-26T02:03:53+02:00 2:14 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-raisa-kogan-earthangels/
people stomp their feet,
create a beat,
break down this life to
bee stings and butterfly wings
shut down the electronic angel
put your trust in green breath
lay your head down, let your hair
become dirty with twig and bead
in a tiny green piece of a silver world
it’s perfect how life here shares space and support,
bumblebee spreads the seeds and rain feeds the trees
new york city is pop-snap-tag,
lead weights in your backpack,
bic pen drumming as you meditate
complication,
definition,
cacophony.
why do people take more than we need?
why must we hurt somebody else for us to live?
these maniacs in business suits paint
more and more green to gray
some children picket and climb up the trees
yelling for dear life:
“we don’t need money to breathe”
“we don’t need money to love”
but, they are outnumbered
by those who only believe in one love
money grabbed out of a newborn’s hand
money’s green is worth more than nature’s
cutting down the amazon rainforest
for cocaine and hamburgers
another hour,
another tribe has no home
so many trees have fallen without sound
what will it take to wake up and hear them
till it’s your home
your special place
being cut down for money
till it’s the park where you played freezetag as a child
cut down to a parking lot
the weeping willow where you first kissed
the daisy field where you lay your head so many crazy summers
till it’s too late

Raisa Kogan
May-June 2003 Earth First!
]]>
people stomp their feet,
create a beat,
break down this life to
bee stings and butterfly wings
shut down the electronic angel
put your trust in green breath
lay your head down, let your hair
become dirty with twig and bead
in a tiny green piece of a silver world
it’s perfect how life here shares space and support,
bumblebee spreads the seeds and rain feeds the trees
new york city is pop-snap-tag,
lead weights in your backpack,
bic pen drumming as you meditate
complication,
definition,
cacophony.
why do people take more than we need?
why must we hurt somebody else for us to live?
these maniacs in business suits paint
more and more green to gray
some children picket and climb up the trees
yelling for dear life:
“we don’t need money to breathe”
“we don’t need money to love”
but, they are outnumbered
by those who only believe in one love
money grabbed out of a newborn’s hand
money’s green is worth more than nature’s
cutting down the amazon rainforest
for cocaine and hamburgers
another hour,
another tribe has no home
so many trees have fallen without sound
what will it take to wake up and hear them
till it’s your home
your special place
being cut down for money
till it’s the park where you played freezetag as a child
cut down to a parking lot
the weeping willow where you first kissed
the daisy field where you lay your head so many crazy summers
till it’s too late

Raisa Kogan
May-June 2003 Earth First!
]]> 1047363 no no Sat, 23 Jun 2012 23:43:31 +0200 2012-06-23T23:43:31+02:00 3:19 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-daniel-landin-lone-wolf-circles-the-job-of-poetry/
Let me take you for a moment
from that frantic video you call "reality,"
a contemporary hit co-authored by fear.
Noise and commotion pulled up around you
like the false security
of an electric blanket;
encircling you like covered wagons
against the intense
uncertain potential of nightfall,
of our wild, unchained dreams.

Let me take you for a moment
to the shadow-lined corridors
between Tamarack and Aspen,
down those thorny, berry covered tunnels
that lead to your naked wild soul.
Silence will stalk you there,
coming closer even as you stop to listen.
Another step or two,
and it will reach out and touch you.

There is no winning without such struggle.
There is no freedom without such danger.
Shaggy hair hangs over your eyes here,
as even your tracks are transformed--
larger now, deeper,
with a hint of claws.
It is the job of my poetry
to take you there.

Lone Wolf Circles]]>
Let me take you for a moment
from that frantic video you call "reality,"
a contemporary hit co-authored by fear.
Noise and commotion pulled up around you
like the false security
of an electric blanket;
encircling you like covered wagons
against the intense
uncertain potential of nightfall,
of our wild, unchained dreams.

Let me take you for a moment
to the shadow-lined corridors
between Tamarack and Aspen,
down those thorny, berry covered tunnels
that lead to your naked wild soul.
Silence will stalk you there,
coming closer even as you stop to listen.
Another step or two,
and it will reach out and touch you.

There is no winning without such struggle.
There is no freedom without such danger.
Shaggy hair hangs over your eyes here,
as even your tracks are transformed--
larger now, deeper,
with a hint of claws.
It is the job of my poetry
to take you there.

Lone Wolf Circles]]> 1047364 no no Mon, 18 Jun 2012 22:05:25 +0200 2012-06-18T22:05:25+02:00 4:25 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-daniel-landin-karen-coulter-my-mother-the-earth/

She is letting them take her away
to the surgeons’ knives
uncomplaining, saying it’s better than continuing
in excruciating pain
better to leave us to perpetuate life,
indignity tormenting.
Scars already almost meet
across her body
where her ankle structure was broken
then awkwardly repinned together
where the toxins created gall stones–
a deep slash across her belly
and the removal of her life-giving,
an invisible wound deep within.
The strain of surviving the mad rushing poisoned society
making brittle the fluid sliding joints,
creaking the once sensual movements–
rotations of earth on its axis,
the subtle tilting thrown askew.
Body failing to move, the blood can thicken,
clots bumping their way through narrow passages
to hearts and lungs, the intricate cycles
of breaking, pulsing delight and wonder
which gave birth to me
as to all my relations–
the algae growing in the sea,
the dolphins dancing,
bursting from depths to sky
in a shower of sparkling spray.

My mother knows all this
and smiles to me
as the boy with the stretcher says,
“You’ll have to say goodbye now.”
She purses her lips to kiss me
my hot tears start to well and spill
for the first time in her presence
as I touch her
and she is wheeled away
out of my control, my care
for she has chosen to risk dissolution
over contrived suffering.
She is everyone’s mother.
We are grown now, old enough to know–
I can’t allow her smile of hope to fade,
must learn from the earth while there is time–
and you?
With only one,
the ashes are scattered–
a lonely home,
then none

Karen Coulter
August 11, 1994
]]>

She is letting them take her away
to the surgeons’ knives
uncomplaining, saying it’s better than continuing
in excruciating pain
better to leave us to perpetuate life,
indignity tormenting.
Scars already almost meet
across her body
where her ankle structure was broken
then awkwardly repinned together
where the toxins created gall stones–
a deep slash across her belly
and the removal of her life-giving,
an invisible wound deep within.
The strain of surviving the mad rushing poisoned society
making brittle the fluid sliding joints,
creaking the once sensual movements–
rotations of earth on its axis,
the subtle tilting thrown askew.
Body failing to move, the blood can thicken,
clots bumping their way through narrow passages
to hearts and lungs, the intricate cycles
of breaking, pulsing delight and wonder
which gave birth to me
as to all my relations–
the algae growing in the sea,
the dolphins dancing,
bursting from depths to sky
in a shower of sparkling spray.

My mother knows all this
and smiles to me
as the boy with the stretcher says,
“You’ll have to say goodbye now.”
She purses her lips to kiss me
my hot tears start to well and spill
for the first time in her presence
as I touch her
and she is wheeled away
out of my control, my care
for she has chosen to risk dissolution
over contrived suffering.
She is everyone’s mother.
We are grown now, old enough to know–
I can’t allow her smile of hope to fade,
must learn from the earth while there is time–
and you?
With only one,
the ashes are scattered–
a lonely home,
then none

Karen Coulter
August 11, 1994
]]> 1047365 no no Sat, 16 Jun 2012 04:47:07 +0200 2012-06-16T04:47:07+02:00 4:46 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-daniel-landin-judith-tannenbaum-blue-flame/
The sky is blue flame and all you want
is to ride that river pressed against your eyes.
Even hearts in harbor know how to sing and dance.
So sing.

Run with the pulse of love that beats behind your eyes.
Run up the hillside--forget-me-nots and white daisies.
Remember the drought in Mozambique,
don't forget the dying.

But run with that pulse.
Sing praise.

Judith Tannenbaum
March 20 1985 Earth First!]]>
The sky is blue flame and all you want
is to ride that river pressed against your eyes.
Even hearts in harbor know how to sing and dance.
So sing.

Run with the pulse of love that beats behind your eyes.
Run up the hillside--forget-me-nots and white daisies.
Remember the drought in Mozambique,
don't forget the dying.

But run with that pulse.
Sing praise.

Judith Tannenbaum
March 20 1985 Earth First!]]> 1047366 no no Fri, 15 Jun 2012 00:52:02 +0200 2012-06-15T00:52:02+02:00 2:20 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-vibetribe-healing-paulette-callen-satyagraha/

I think you can tell saints,
not by their miracles and thin faces,
but by their smiles.
St. Francis, I think, grinned
from ear to ear
at a sunbeam or a tree-frog,
at a child or a pope.
The Buddha smiled and is smiling still
from Katmandu to Riverside Drive.
The whales smile
beaming serenity in man-made-charnel seas,
diving and dancing around our bloody factory ships,
singing their mantras
while we dissect their kidnapped children,
living and loving gently
through our poisons and wastes and wars;
imprisoned, patiently playing our games;
never repaying us in kind.
They are finally winning us over.
Gandhiji would have loved it.

Paulette Callen
February 2 1989 Earth First!
]]>

I think you can tell saints,
not by their miracles and thin faces,
but by their smiles.
St. Francis, I think, grinned
from ear to ear
at a sunbeam or a tree-frog,
at a child or a pope.
The Buddha smiled and is smiling still
from Katmandu to Riverside Drive.
The whales smile
beaming serenity in man-made-charnel seas,
diving and dancing around our bloody factory ships,
singing their mantras
while we dissect their kidnapped children,
living and loving gently
through our poisons and wastes and wars;
imprisoned, patiently playing our games;
never repaying us in kind.
They are finally winning us over.
Gandhiji would have loved it.

Paulette Callen
February 2 1989 Earth First!
]]> 1047367 no no Thu, 14 Jun 2012 00:03:36 +0200 2012-06-14T00:03:36+02:00 2:26 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/chris-cummings-natasha-trethewey-monument/

Today the ants are busy
beside my front steps, weaving
in and out of the hill they’re building.
I watch them emerge and—

like everything I’ve forgotten—disappear
into the subterranean, a world
made by displacement. In the cemetery
last June, I circled, lost—

weeds and grass grown up all around—
the landscape blurred and waving.
At my mother’s grave, ants streamed in
and out like arteries, a tiny hill rising

above her untended plot. Bit by bit,
red dirt piled up, spread
like a rash on the grass; I watched a long time
the ants’ determined work,

how they brought up soil
of which she will be part,
and placed it before me. Believe me when I say
I’ve tried not to begrudge them

their industry, this reminder of what
I haven’t done. Even now,
the mound is a blister on my heart,
a red and humming swarm.
]]>

Today the ants are busy
beside my front steps, weaving
in and out of the hill they’re building.
I watch them emerge and—

like everything I’ve forgotten—disappear
into the subterranean, a world
made by displacement. In the cemetery
last June, I circled, lost—

weeds and grass grown up all around—
the landscape blurred and waving.
At my mother’s grave, ants streamed in
and out like arteries, a tiny hill rising

above her untended plot. Bit by bit,
red dirt piled up, spread
like a rash on the grass; I watched a long time
the ants’ determined work,

how they brought up soil
of which she will be part,
and placed it before me. Believe me when I say
I’ve tried not to begrudge them

their industry, this reminder of what
I haven’t done. Even now,
the mound is a blister on my heart,
a red and humming swarm.
]]> 1047368 no no Mon, 11 Jun 2012 20:53:52 +0200 2012-06-11T20:53:52+02:00 1:59 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-vibetribe-healing-sue-ring-derosset-apotheosis/
So gentle
that a walk through a delicate meadow
does not trample the flower.
So compassionate
that my life is prosperous
without harming other living creatures.
So wise
that I understand and accept
the design of the universe–good or bad.
So discerning
that I know when to act quickly
and when to do nothing at all.
So loving
that everyone I touch
knows that I love them deeply.
So trusted
that even the timid deer
relax their flicking ears in my presence.
So important
that my corpse will one day
nourish the raven, the skunk, the wolf.

Sue Ring deRosset]]>
So gentle
that a walk through a delicate meadow
does not trample the flower.
So compassionate
that my life is prosperous
without harming other living creatures.
So wise
that I understand and accept
the design of the universe–good or bad.
So discerning
that I know when to act quickly
and when to do nothing at all.
So loving
that everyone I touch
knows that I love them deeply.
So trusted
that even the timid deer
relax their flicking ears in my presence.
So important
that my corpse will one day
nourish the raven, the skunk, the wolf.

Sue Ring deRosset]]> 1047369 no no Mon, 11 Jun 2012 02:13:05 +0200 2012-06-11T02:13:05+02:00 5:27 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/tom-deanetr-skipping-stones/
South-shore high mountain lake a perfect skipping stone still buried. This
lowly stone incubating ever since ice moved it here.
Now buried in a forest so thick shadows of every tree merge to a
Single shadow. Under it a lone plant wanting more sun for flower-seeds.
Under it lowly skipping stone wants lone plant’s reaching root.

All trees above look directly into sun and never turn away from sun. They
say they are sun, they say they don't even know what a shadow is. They say
they can’t hear or see the wanting stone, the wanting plant… Then one day
in very bright sun a tree named "one," not knowing why, Turns away from
sun to face and hear plant-stone wanting.

Seeing shadow for the first time "one" wonders if it’s separate?
Clouds arise, lightning strikes "one," the whole forest dies in fire. Now
dead poles fast to sun-bleached bit by bit rotting and falling. Now
nourishing plant roots to birth stone, roots to birth seeds to cover. But
many machines arrive and drop down and take… all wood away.

Skipping stone uncovered to birth by fire burning layers above.
Skipping stone tumbling under machines dragging logs.
Skipping stone remembering trees always looking up at sun.
No matter how many tumbles stone keeps its eye on sun.
No matter how many tumbles stone can’t find lone-plant-mama-root.

Fast foreign weeds covering stone almost to womb again.
Then three children skipping stones along the shore…
Lowly stone is found, skimming, across as life and birth, flight over
water More skips than all the other stones, lowly stone sinks again, wants
again. Almost forgets and fades with its life of love under water-silt
covering sky.

So too you are this turning away from freedom to birth again.
The you that is made of all sky, made of all fire, made of glacial melt Of
a tree named “one”, a plant root, a child throwing you,
All of us giving everything to you and you still forget?
Lost under a separate self of wanting? It’s time to never again forget!

Flight of skimming stone over high mountain lake not forgotten.
Never again desiring but remembering, knowing, being journey’s enjoyment.
Lowly stone arises above its own last burial. Remembering freedom from
Yearning, lowly stone is now all sky, all trees always seeing self as sun,
All awareness till we help you remember you really are free forever!]]>
South-shore high mountain lake a perfect skipping stone still buried. This
lowly stone incubating ever since ice moved it here.
Now buried in a forest so thick shadows of every tree merge to a
Single shadow. Under it a lone plant wanting more sun for flower-seeds.
Under it lowly skipping stone wants lone plant’s reaching root.

All trees above look directly into sun and never turn away from sun. They
say they are sun, they say they don't even know what a shadow is. They say
they can’t hear or see the wanting stone, the wanting plant… Then one day
in very bright sun a tree named "one," not knowing why, Turns away from
sun to face and hear plant-stone wanting.

Seeing shadow for the first time "one" wonders if it’s separate?
Clouds arise, lightning strikes "one," the whole forest dies in fire. Now
dead poles fast to sun-bleached bit by bit rotting and falling. Now
nourishing plant roots to birth stone, roots to birth seeds to cover. But
many machines arrive and drop down and take… all wood away.

Skipping stone uncovered to birth by fire burning layers above.
Skipping stone tumbling under machines dragging logs.
Skipping stone remembering trees always looking up at sun.
No matter how many tumbles stone keeps its eye on sun.
No matter how many tumbles stone can’t find lone-plant-mama-root.

Fast foreign weeds covering stone almost to womb again.
Then three children skipping stones along the shore…
Lowly stone is found, skimming, across as life and birth, flight over
water More skips than all the other stones, lowly stone sinks again, wants
again. Almost forgets and fades with its life of love under water-silt
covering sky.

So too you are this turning away from freedom to birth again.
The you that is made of all sky, made of all fire, made of glacial melt Of
a tree named “one”, a plant root, a child throwing you,
All of us giving everything to you and you still forget?
Lost under a separate self of wanting? It’s time to never again forget!

Flight of skimming stone over high mountain lake not forgotten.
Never again desiring but remembering, knowing, being journey’s enjoyment.
Lowly stone arises above its own last burial. Remembering freedom from
Yearning, lowly stone is now all sky, all trees always seeing self as sun,
All awareness till we help you remember you really are free forever!]]> 1047371 no no Thu, 07 Jun 2012 09:58:59 +0200 2012-06-07T09:58:59+02:00 4:01 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-chris-cummings-tom-dennis-fritzinger-the-bell/ See the full presentation here: http://armedwithvisions.com/2012/06/05/dennis-fritzinger-the-bell/

there should be a bell
we ring, that would make
everyone gather
in the town square, to
respond to whatever
emergency requires response.
common brass, carved with letters
saying: "NOW!" or saying, "LIBERTY"--
since liberty depends on
eternal vigilance, as
somebody once said.
someone should be ringing it
and we should be responding:
we, who see the shorelines
disappearing, islands sinking,
glaciers melting in the mountains
and greenland, and antarctica,
the slow motion and fast motion
effects, who can see through time
and observe the consequences.
where are we? where is
the mass movement? the million citizens
thronging the street? the bell
seems to be silent, for now,
nobody has rung it.
i wait its vibrations
in the summer night, i wait
its urgent clarion--
are you listening? are you waiting too?]]> See the full presentation here: http://armedwithvisions.com/2012/06/05/dennis-fritzinger-the-bell/

there should be a bell
we ring, that would make
everyone gather
in the town square, to
respond to whatever
emergency requires response.
common brass, carved with letters
saying: "NOW!" or saying, "LIBERTY"--
since liberty depends on
eternal vigilance, as
somebody once said.
someone should be ringing it
and we should be responding:
we, who see the shorelines
disappearing, islands sinking,
glaciers melting in the mountains
and greenland, and antarctica,
the slow motion and fast motion
effects, who can see through time
and observe the consequences.
where are we? where is
the mass movement? the million citizens
thronging the street? the bell
seems to be silent, for now,
nobody has rung it.
i wait its vibrations
in the summer night, i wait
its urgent clarion--
are you listening? are you waiting too?]]> 1047372 no no Wed, 06 Jun 2012 05:56:37 +0200 2012-06-06T05:56:37+02:00 3:41 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-bs-a-long-way-from-home/
I’ve heard the stories
about the tall trees
blue skies
and flocks of birds that could blot out the sun
I’ve read about 100 million bison
moving through waist high prairie
keeping company with Grizzly
I’ve seen the stuffed feathers of the Great Auk
and the stretched fur of the last Adirondack wolf
I think about them often under the city lights
and I feel a long way from home

Bart Semcer
March-April 2003 Earth First!]]>
I’ve heard the stories
about the tall trees
blue skies
and flocks of birds that could blot out the sun
I’ve read about 100 million bison
moving through waist high prairie
keeping company with Grizzly
I’ve seen the stuffed feathers of the Great Auk
and the stretched fur of the last Adirondack wolf
I think about them often under the city lights
and I feel a long way from home

Bart Semcer
March-April 2003 Earth First!]]> 1047373 no no Fri, 01 Jun 2012 22:44:06 +0200 2012-06-01T22:44:06+02:00 2:59 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-duff-bison-release-poem/
Bison Release Poem

Bison bison bison bison
All I can think about are bison.
There are wild bison being killed
as they try to leave the Park
and move into their homeland.
There are also trees being cut,
mountains mined,
rivers dammed, seas polluted,
houses bulldozed and burned down,
wars brewing,
lands laid waste;
But all I think about are bison.
I have watched them die.
They crowd out other thoughts
sweeping in hordes
darkening the horizons of my plain mind,
trampling me.
I am grazed now, bison, I am trampled.
Go now, to other horizons
and I will recover for you.
I release you
from the park of my psyche. Go now
spread into your domain.
Pour across the minds of all people
Fill their thoughts with your thundering image
Roam through conversations
until the society of people shakes
with your hoofbeats,
and helplessly, joyously, welcomes you
back again.
O Bison,
Return.

Duff
February 1991 Earth First!]]>
Bison Release Poem

Bison bison bison bison
All I can think about are bison.
There are wild bison being killed
as they try to leave the Park
and move into their homeland.
There are also trees being cut,
mountains mined,
rivers dammed, seas polluted,
houses bulldozed and burned down,
wars brewing,
lands laid waste;
But all I think about are bison.
I have watched them die.
They crowd out other thoughts
sweeping in hordes
darkening the horizons of my plain mind,
trampling me.
I am grazed now, bison, I am trampled.
Go now, to other horizons
and I will recover for you.
I release you
from the park of my psyche. Go now
spread into your domain.
Pour across the minds of all people
Fill their thoughts with your thundering image
Roam through conversations
until the society of people shakes
with your hoofbeats,
and helplessly, joyously, welcomes you
back again.
O Bison,
Return.

Duff
February 1991 Earth First!]]> 1047374 no no Wed, 30 May 2012 22:44:22 +0200 2012-05-30T22:44:22+02:00 5:30 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-vibetribe-healing-anon-by-anon/ 1047375 no no Sat, 26 May 2012 07:14:46 +0200 2012-05-26T07:14:46+02:00 3:44 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-graham-stafford-it-could-take-years/
Red and black pebbles, rocks and boulders
Scatter the landscape for miles
They have been sitting in the same spot
Where they landed millions of years ago
Blown from the earth in a realm of volcanoes and magma
They not sit quiet in the desert sun

The vegetation sparse and not very varied
What grows in this harsh land
Is strong, resilient and almost fierce
Sage, Mormon Tea, Pinyon Pine, Choke Cherry
Tough, brittle, dry and many filled with thorns
Patiently waiting for the next rain to fall
It could be years

No trees except sparse Juniper at high altitudes
Your horizon is wide open for miles
Rounded hills, sand filled gullies, high ridges
That lead your eyes to snow covered mountain peaks
What is so hard close up, softens with distance
Into a maze of pastels that soothes the mind and soul

10 people visited this place to hike, experience and see
They call themselves hikers, environmentalists and activists
I call them lovers, lovers of the desert and its beauty
I call them chosen, for not many do what they do
I call them special because all throughout the day
They kept saying over and over and over
Look at this--isn't this beautiful--I'm glad to be here
Isn't this great--I love it here--I'm glad I came
I spent a day with special people and special beauty
Deep in the Nevada desert, and the beauty was beyond compare

Graham Stafford
July-August 2004 Earth First!]]>
Red and black pebbles, rocks and boulders
Scatter the landscape for miles
They have been sitting in the same spot
Where they landed millions of years ago
Blown from the earth in a realm of volcanoes and magma
They not sit quiet in the desert sun

The vegetation sparse and not very varied
What grows in this harsh land
Is strong, resilient and almost fierce
Sage, Mormon Tea, Pinyon Pine, Choke Cherry
Tough, brittle, dry and many filled with thorns
Patiently waiting for the next rain to fall
It could be years

No trees except sparse Juniper at high altitudes
Your horizon is wide open for miles
Rounded hills, sand filled gullies, high ridges
That lead your eyes to snow covered mountain peaks
What is so hard close up, softens with distance
Into a maze of pastels that soothes the mind and soul

10 people visited this place to hike, experience and see
They call themselves hikers, environmentalists and activists
I call them lovers, lovers of the desert and its beauty
I call them chosen, for not many do what they do
I call them special because all throughout the day
They kept saying over and over and over
Look at this--isn't this beautiful--I'm glad to be here
Isn't this great--I love it here--I'm glad I came
I spent a day with special people and special beauty
Deep in the Nevada desert, and the beauty was beyond compare

Graham Stafford
July-August 2004 Earth First!]]> 1047376 no no Thu, 24 May 2012 00:30:24 +0200 2012-05-24T00:30:24+02:00 3:47 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-jean-varda-treesit/
Swaying in the breeze,
your boat, your child’s rocket ship
made from climbing rope and tarps
woven from one ancient conifer to
the other
with banner hanging in between
every light breeze
every sprinkling of needles
moves you sensitively
on pine scented air
You said you can see beauty from up there
in between the checkerboard pattern
they’ve made of earth
In the morning the sound of chainsaws
will awaken you
from star studded sleep
the trees you wove onto
marked for cutting
with broad blue paint
our support holds you up
in the thin webbing of climbing ropes
delicate and strong
that ragged steel could cut in seconds
At dawn you see a bear cub
hunting for her breakfast
what shall be her home when all
trees have been felled
and earth is only a mess of dry
brush and dirt
soon to be sprayed with toxic chemicals
“Isn’t $80 billion enough?” you ask,
“NO,” say the broad metallic jaws of greed
that gobble the last strands of wilderness
NO, says consumerism
NO, says this way of life that ends life
as your boat of peace
hangs patiently on the trees


Jean Varda
May-June 2002 Earth First!]]>
Swaying in the breeze,
your boat, your child’s rocket ship
made from climbing rope and tarps
woven from one ancient conifer to
the other
with banner hanging in between
every light breeze
every sprinkling of needles
moves you sensitively
on pine scented air
You said you can see beauty from up there
in between the checkerboard pattern
they’ve made of earth
In the morning the sound of chainsaws
will awaken you
from star studded sleep
the trees you wove onto
marked for cutting
with broad blue paint
our support holds you up
in the thin webbing of climbing ropes
delicate and strong
that ragged steel could cut in seconds
At dawn you see a bear cub
hunting for her breakfast
what shall be her home when all
trees have been felled
and earth is only a mess of dry
brush and dirt
soon to be sprayed with toxic chemicals
“Isn’t $80 billion enough?” you ask,
“NO,” say the broad metallic jaws of greed
that gobble the last strands of wilderness
NO, says consumerism
NO, says this way of life that ends life
as your boat of peace
hangs patiently on the trees


Jean Varda
May-June 2002 Earth First!]]> 1047377 no no Sat, 19 May 2012 22:39:46 +0200 2012-05-19T22:39:46+02:00 4:48 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-jean-pearson-seed-pod-resinous-cone/
Earth turns into the brittle season
washed and chilled by rain.
Crickets now have little to say.
To silent roots the trees draw down
the sugar in their veins.
Wild geese point out routes
for summer dreamers.
Faded leaves hang faltering in wet wind.
How I freeze for the warmth and ease
of the Sun.
No need to give the cold more scope
than all of a sparse season.
Secrets are visible now.
Seed pod and resinous cone reveal
a symmetry that settles me.
I can be still,
outwait the shortened light.
This is not dying.
Only a necessary step
deeper in.

Jean Pearson
November 1 1988 Earth First!]]>
Earth turns into the brittle season
washed and chilled by rain.
Crickets now have little to say.
To silent roots the trees draw down
the sugar in their veins.
Wild geese point out routes
for summer dreamers.
Faded leaves hang faltering in wet wind.
How I freeze for the warmth and ease
of the Sun.
No need to give the cold more scope
than all of a sparse season.
Secrets are visible now.
Seed pod and resinous cone reveal
a symmetry that settles me.
I can be still,
outwait the shortened light.
This is not dying.
Only a necessary step
deeper in.

Jean Pearson
November 1 1988 Earth First!]]> 1047378 no no Fri, 18 May 2012 01:13:50 +0200 2012-05-18T01:13:50+02:00 2:06 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-jenny-armetta-west-fork/

The wind moves slowly beneath me.
A dream!
For this short time I can see everything--
Crumbling crimson mountain, blue-green Juniper sea
Silver silky ribbon of creek.
Spiraling upwards
I stretch my blue-black arms and sing with
the place that is me!

Jenny Armetta
May 1996 Earth First!
]]>

The wind moves slowly beneath me.
A dream!
For this short time I can see everything--
Crumbling crimson mountain, blue-green Juniper sea
Silver silky ribbon of creek.
Spiraling upwards
I stretch my blue-black arms and sing with
the place that is me!

Jenny Armetta
May 1996 Earth First!
]]> 1047380 no no Mon, 14 May 2012 21:23:22 +0200 2012-05-14T21:23:22+02:00 4:09 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-jane-hirshfield-for-the-epiphytes2/ Back then, what did I know?
The names of subway lines, busses,
How long it took to walk twenty blocks.

Uptown and downtown.
Not north, not south, not you.

When I saw you, later, seaweed reefed in the air,
you were gray-green, incomprehensible, old.
What you clung to, hung from: old.
Trees looking half-dead, stones.

Marriage of fungi and algae,
chemists of air,
changers of nitrogen-unusable into nitrogen-usable.

Like those nameless ones
who kept painting, shaping, engraving
unseen, unread, unremembered.
Not caring if they were no good, if they were past it.

Rock wools, water fans, earth scale, mouse ears, dust,
ash-of-the-woods.
Transformers unvalued, uncounted.
Cell by cell, word by word, making a world they could live in.]]> Back then, what did I know?
The names of subway lines, busses,
How long it took to walk twenty blocks.

Uptown and downtown.
Not north, not south, not you.

When I saw you, later, seaweed reefed in the air,
you were gray-green, incomprehensible, old.
What you clung to, hung from: old.
Trees looking half-dead, stones.

Marriage of fungi and algae,
chemists of air,
changers of nitrogen-unusable into nitrogen-usable.

Like those nameless ones
who kept painting, shaping, engraving
unseen, unread, unremembered.
Not caring if they were no good, if they were past it.

Rock wools, water fans, earth scale, mouse ears, dust,
ash-of-the-woods.
Transformers unvalued, uncounted.
Cell by cell, word by word, making a world they could live in.]]> 1047381 no no Mon, 14 May 2012 20:33:23 +0200 2012-05-14T20:33:23+02:00 2:03 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-vibetribe-healing-jean-varda-river/
I am tiny fragments of light
on your glistening surface
I am moist smell
smoothness of rock
I am the few remaining salmon
unslaughtered and free
their gills opening and closing
with living breath
their cold transparent skin
I am the willows
bending and bowing
dipping their feathery branches
their roots drinking deeply
from muddy soil
I am the deer that come at dawn
and dip their silken muzzles
drinking deeply of your cold fresh water
I am the moon whose long milky trail
swirls in your black current
I am the first wild flowers
tiny and delicate
the blue gray shadows where their
petals meet

Jean Varda
September-October 2008 Earth First!]]>
I am tiny fragments of light
on your glistening surface
I am moist smell
smoothness of rock
I am the few remaining salmon
unslaughtered and free
their gills opening and closing
with living breath
their cold transparent skin
I am the willows
bending and bowing
dipping their feathery branches
their roots drinking deeply
from muddy soil
I am the deer that come at dawn
and dip their silken muzzles
drinking deeply of your cold fresh water
I am the moon whose long milky trail
swirls in your black current
I am the first wild flowers
tiny and delicate
the blue gray shadows where their
petals meet

Jean Varda
September-October 2008 Earth First!]]> 1047382 no no Sun, 13 May 2012 20:58:36 +0200 2012-05-13T20:58:36+02:00 4:32 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-james-bogan-a-charm-to-explode-popcorn/ burst your golden prison!
O Second Cousin of the Mexican jumping-Bean
the summer sun’s booming energy
compacted within your shell release!
O Nova-Nut, microbang image of
our macrobang cosmos–
hear my conjuring voice and expand!
Let popping kernel comets careen
about the kitchen.
O Molotov Cocktail of the Peaceful
Maize Family–even after
your cataclysmic birth
you remain volatile–
leaping out of hands
bags &
boxes
levitous to the last
O Noble Dynamite Corn–

pop!

James Bogan
June 21 1982 Earth First!]]> burst your golden prison!
O Second Cousin of the Mexican jumping-Bean
the summer sun’s booming energy
compacted within your shell release!
O Nova-Nut, microbang image of
our macrobang cosmos–
hear my conjuring voice and expand!
Let popping kernel comets careen
about the kitchen.
O Molotov Cocktail of the Peaceful
Maize Family–even after
your cataclysmic birth
you remain volatile–
leaping out of hands
bags &
boxes
levitous to the last
O Noble Dynamite Corn–

pop!

James Bogan
June 21 1982 Earth First!]]> 1047383 no no Wed, 09 May 2012 21:04:30 +0200 2012-05-09T21:04:30+02:00 2:35 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-david-albano-little-red-riding-hood-is-a-liar/
(Diamond Lake Ontario)

I snap upright
smell of thick dark
slumber dissolves
skin tingles
ears prick

a deep howl
shimmers about my tent
less conquered
and more myth
than the moon
I can only
imagine the source

eyes squeezing shut
black snout pointing
triangle ears furled
moonlight bristling
on rust-gray fur
rocking back on haunches.
cavern mouth
rib cage contracting
drenching
the night

there is nothing new
about this
except
I am here to know

it
wakes me
I move
through the rite
of this howl
emerge holding
an untouchable
gift

David Albano
May-June 2001 Earth First!]]>
(Diamond Lake Ontario)

I snap upright
smell of thick dark
slumber dissolves
skin tingles
ears prick

a deep howl
shimmers about my tent
less conquered
and more myth
than the moon
I can only
imagine the source

eyes squeezing shut
black snout pointing
triangle ears furled
moonlight bristling
on rust-gray fur
rocking back on haunches.
cavern mouth
rib cage contracting
drenching
the night

there is nothing new
about this
except
I am here to know

it
wakes me
I move
through the rite
of this howl
emerge holding
an untouchable
gift

David Albano
May-June 2001 Earth First!]]> 1047384 no no Fri, 04 May 2012 19:39:22 +0200 2012-05-04T19:39:22+02:00 3:26 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-wolf-howls-jim-morrison-the-wolf/
The Wolf,
who lives under the rock
has invited me
to drink of his cool
Water.
Not to splash or bathe
But leave the sun
& know the dead desert
night
& the cold men
who play there.

--Jim Morrison]]>
The Wolf,
who lives under the rock
has invited me
to drink of his cool
Water.
Not to splash or bathe
But leave the sun
& know the dead desert
night
& the cold men
who play there.

--Jim Morrison]]> 1047385 no no Fri, 04 May 2012 05:01:04 +0200 2012-05-04T05:01:04+02:00 2:30 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-art-goodtimes-art-of-getting-lost/
-for Ed

losing it
it’s dangerous Pinon
look closely
it’s the place
that takes you away
that takes you away
it’s Mancos Shale
that takes you away
& you’re suddenly just another
neopagan zenmother Buddhada
learning pandemonium
toking pure chaos
Cougar in the headlights
takes you away
Venus Kali clone
takes you away
take Luna in the mushrooms & quackgrass
rolling in it on Sheep Mountain
that first green-eyed summer
or take that infamous hike we took
to the San Miguel Canon petroglyph
that scribed a hoop in the earth
& led us back to our beginning
Shandoka’s lightning & ice
takes you away
clambering hands & knees up Lone Cone scree
takes you away
getting so lost
you find yourself

Canyonland cliff shelf narrowing to Goat hold
takes you away
Uncompahgre’s Tabeguache Pine scratched by Bear
takes you away
always dying
& being reborn
Big Sur hot spring crotch-of-the-Redwood
takes you away
Salt Point combers in a storm slamming down fists
takes you away
letting go enough not to panic
but to play it like a tune
whistled & hummed
as a hymn to the Mother
Haleakala’s charms
takes you away
eating lost mangoes & making love in the cave at Kalalau
takes you away
this is my religion
I believe in being lost
& everything I find
on the way
is miraculous
adventure not predicament
chaos as much as calm
the straightest lines in nature
are the bomb’s trajectory
the bullet’s compass
so, scram pathfinders surveyors engineers
gimme the Loon’s zigzag walk
let me lose it
I know how to use it

Art Goodtimes
May 1 1989 Earth First!]]>
-for Ed

losing it
it’s dangerous Pinon
look closely
it’s the place
that takes you away
that takes you away
it’s Mancos Shale
that takes you away
& you’re suddenly just another
neopagan zenmother Buddhada
learning pandemonium
toking pure chaos
Cougar in the headlights
takes you away
Venus Kali clone
takes you away
take Luna in the mushrooms & quackgrass
rolling in it on Sheep Mountain
that first green-eyed summer
or take that infamous hike we took
to the San Miguel Canon petroglyph
that scribed a hoop in the earth
& led us back to our beginning
Shandoka’s lightning & ice
takes you away
clambering hands & knees up Lone Cone scree
takes you away
getting so lost
you find yourself

Canyonland cliff shelf narrowing to Goat hold
takes you away
Uncompahgre’s Tabeguache Pine scratched by Bear
takes you away
always dying
& being reborn
Big Sur hot spring crotch-of-the-Redwood
takes you away
Salt Point combers in a storm slamming down fists
takes you away
letting go enough not to panic
but to play it like a tune
whistled & hummed
as a hymn to the Mother
Haleakala’s charms
takes you away
eating lost mangoes & making love in the cave at Kalalau
takes you away
this is my religion
I believe in being lost
& everything I find
on the way
is miraculous
adventure not predicament
chaos as much as calm
the straightest lines in nature
are the bomb’s trajectory
the bullet’s compass
so, scram pathfinders surveyors engineers
gimme the Loon’s zigzag walk
let me lose it
I know how to use it

Art Goodtimes
May 1 1989 Earth First!]]> 1047386 no no Thu, 03 May 2012 00:03:27 +0200 2012-05-03T00:03:27+02:00 4:50 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-kenneth-rexroth-great-nebula-of-andromeda/
We get into camp after
dark, high on an open ridge
looking out over five thousand
feet of mountains and mile
beyond mile of valley and sea.
In the star-filled dark we cook
our macaroni and eat
by lantern light. Stars cluster
around our table like fireflies.
After supper we go straight
to bed. The night is windy
and clear. The moon is three days
short of full. We lie in bed
and watch the stars and the turning
moon through our little telescope.
Late at night the horses stumble
around camp and I awake.
I lie on my elbow watching
your beautiful sleeping face
like a jewel in the moonlight.
If you are lucky and the
nations let you, you will live
far into the twenty-first
century. I pick up the glass
and watch the Great Nebula
of Andromeda swim like
a phosphorescent amoeba
slowly around the Pole. Far
away in distant cities
fat-hearted men are planning
to murder you while you sleep.
Kenneth Rexroth
Gulf Book Poem Blog
on this May Day, 2012
]]>
We get into camp after
dark, high on an open ridge
looking out over five thousand
feet of mountains and mile
beyond mile of valley and sea.
In the star-filled dark we cook
our macaroni and eat
by lantern light. Stars cluster
around our table like fireflies.
After supper we go straight
to bed. The night is windy
and clear. The moon is three days
short of full. We lie in bed
and watch the stars and the turning
moon through our little telescope.
Late at night the horses stumble
around camp and I awake.
I lie on my elbow watching
your beautiful sleeping face
like a jewel in the moonlight.
If you are lucky and the
nations let you, you will live
far into the twenty-first
century. I pick up the glass
and watch the Great Nebula
of Andromeda swim like
a phosphorescent amoeba
slowly around the Pole. Far
away in distant cities
fat-hearted men are planning
to murder you while you sleep.
Kenneth Rexroth
Gulf Book Poem Blog
on this May Day, 2012
]]> 1047387 no no Tue, 01 May 2012 22:47:00 +0200 2012-05-01T22:47:00+02:00 3:48 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-vibetribe-healing-jeri-mcandrews-in-dew/
How much simpler is running
in a small group through
wet grass
than worrying about
being loved
With soft ears up
we run
landing from leaps
our hooves hit
a two-at-a-time cadence
We chew river willows
swallow creek wetness
blink and query did
that thing move
is it threatening us?
We do not question
the rotation
of the earth
we fold our legs beneath
ourselves in thick pine
waiting for storms to pass
we wander
we do not let the ones in
strange wrappers
come close
for we know they have
fallen from grace
Some say it was
their mouthing
back and forth
that changed
them


Jeri McAndrews
March 1988 Earth First!
]]>
How much simpler is running
in a small group through
wet grass
than worrying about
being loved
With soft ears up
we run
landing from leaps
our hooves hit
a two-at-a-time cadence
We chew river willows
swallow creek wetness
blink and query did
that thing move
is it threatening us?
We do not question
the rotation
of the earth
we fold our legs beneath
ourselves in thick pine
waiting for storms to pass
we wander
we do not let the ones in
strange wrappers
come close
for we know they have
fallen from grace
Some say it was
their mouthing
back and forth
that changed
them


Jeri McAndrews
March 1988 Earth First!
]]> 1047388 no no Mon, 30 Apr 2012 00:51:43 +0200 2012-04-30T00:51:43+02:00 2:56 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-rebecca-swan-love/
Love.
What this planet needs,
What the environmental movement needs,
What we all need is love.
To get out there and do what
Needs to be done now.
When you really love something
No mountain is too high,
No valley too low,
No sacrifice too great.
And it’s going to take that kind of
Power to turn this thing around, folks,
It really is with all that fear out there.
Love is even stronger than fear.
In fact, it’s the only
Thing that is stronger than fear.
Guaranteed. Every time.
The more people love their own lives,
The people around
Them, the natural world
Anything
A butterfly, a pink flamingo,
A puppy,
Majestic redwoods
Or ivory-billed woodpeckers,
The more people we will have
Working to clean this mess
Up and make it right.
Only love can save us now!]]>
Love.
What this planet needs,
What the environmental movement needs,
What we all need is love.
To get out there and do what
Needs to be done now.
When you really love something
No mountain is too high,
No valley too low,
No sacrifice too great.
And it’s going to take that kind of
Power to turn this thing around, folks,
It really is with all that fear out there.
Love is even stronger than fear.
In fact, it’s the only
Thing that is stronger than fear.
Guaranteed. Every time.
The more people love their own lives,
The people around
Them, the natural world
Anything
A butterfly, a pink flamingo,
A puppy,
Majestic redwoods
Or ivory-billed woodpeckers,
The more people we will have
Working to clean this mess
Up and make it right.
Only love can save us now!]]> 1047389 no no Fri, 27 Apr 2012 22:30:58 +0200 2012-04-27T22:30:58+02:00 1:54 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-bob-finkbine-blood-in-the-stone/
Mountains let slip their tributaries,
blue ribbons sliding over smooth stone,
over mossy browns, slipping in and out
of pools, cascading over rock,
sharpening their knives
for the carving of flamed walls
far below. The west wind
blows fine grains of sand
stirring ghosts
who will not speak.

Sun-leathered lines on our faces,
we hike Matkatimba, follow the unclocked
thread, climbing through raised passageways,
clambering back, back, back
beyond Auschwitz, Antietam, Bunker Hill,
Carthage and patriarchs sacrificing sons;
back to where we strip off our skin
and touch our blood to the blood in the stone,
to the beating heart of deceased centuries,
back to where our roots
lie in unmeasured time
when all life’s children
nursed at
the
earthskinned
breast
of
the
same
mother.

Bob Finkbine
]]>
Mountains let slip their tributaries,
blue ribbons sliding over smooth stone,
over mossy browns, slipping in and out
of pools, cascading over rock,
sharpening their knives
for the carving of flamed walls
far below. The west wind
blows fine grains of sand
stirring ghosts
who will not speak.

Sun-leathered lines on our faces,
we hike Matkatimba, follow the unclocked
thread, climbing through raised passageways,
clambering back, back, back
beyond Auschwitz, Antietam, Bunker Hill,
Carthage and patriarchs sacrificing sons;
back to where we strip off our skin
and touch our blood to the blood in the stone,
to the beating heart of deceased centuries,
back to where our roots
lie in unmeasured time
when all life’s children
nursed at
the
earthskinned
breast
of
the
same
mother.

Bob Finkbine
]]> 1047391 no no Thu, 26 Apr 2012 22:00:44 +0200 2012-04-26T22:00:44+02:00 3:08 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-don-ogden-have-a-nice-day/
--for Mark Davis

It was another public notice
This one from the Department of Behavior
It resurrected the old merchandising expression
from the last millenium:
"Have a Nice Day"
As the accepted official salutation
among 21st Century humans.
Bear didn't care what the notice said
But he knew human treachery
(while in captivity, such things were said cruelly).
On the street the expression was used mindlessly
by people who, when they thought about it at all,
meant "nice" as acceptable, normal, like whatever
was "good" on tv.
But, it was used by people who didn't know
what "day" meant.
Since they still didn't know
but thought something had saved it
They were ordered to use it once again.
Bear ate the notice
along with the officer's lunch next to it on the seat.

D.O., Mashpee in '93
Aug. 1 1994 Earth First!]]>
--for Mark Davis

It was another public notice
This one from the Department of Behavior
It resurrected the old merchandising expression
from the last millenium:
"Have a Nice Day"
As the accepted official salutation
among 21st Century humans.
Bear didn't care what the notice said
But he knew human treachery
(while in captivity, such things were said cruelly).
On the street the expression was used mindlessly
by people who, when they thought about it at all,
meant "nice" as acceptable, normal, like whatever
was "good" on tv.
But, it was used by people who didn't know
what "day" meant.
Since they still didn't know
but thought something had saved it
They were ordered to use it once again.
Bear ate the notice
along with the officer's lunch next to it on the seat.

D.O., Mashpee in '93
Aug. 1 1994 Earth First!]]> 1047392 no no Wed, 25 Apr 2012 22:46:50 +0200 2012-04-25T22:46:50+02:00 2:29 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/2009-earth-first-rendezvous-dennis-fritzinger-i-stand-for-what-i-stand-on/
i stand for
what i stand on
if what i stand on
is a muddy swamp
with leeches
or the bottom of a rice paddy
or a mountain.
i stand for
what i stand on
if it’s a waving meadow
with tall grasses
a forest clearing
or the compacted duff
of a centuries old
old growth forest.
i stand for
what i stand on
when i stand on
what i stand for
which is Mother Earth.]]>
i stand for
what i stand on
if what i stand on
is a muddy swamp
with leeches
or the bottom of a rice paddy
or a mountain.
i stand for
what i stand on
if it’s a waving meadow
with tall grasses
a forest clearing
or the compacted duff
of a centuries old
old growth forest.
i stand for
what i stand on
when i stand on
what i stand for
which is Mother Earth.]]> 1047393 no no Fri, 20 Apr 2012 21:59:30 +0200 2012-04-20T21:59:30+02:00 2:10 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-steven-graves-amie-diller-under-our-feet/
"I want to leave the city and go live on the land," I said.
"Where do you think you are living now?" he asked.
"What do you think is beneath your feet?"

We say concrete is dirt,
beneath dirt is rock,
beneath rock is molten fire.
We forget it is the skin and bones and
blood of our mother
buried from light and air.

Is she asleep and dreaming?
Is her sleep like death?
Is she mourning days of tidal marsh?
What is her secret life?

What if she is slowly simmering anger?
What if her pain is the fury of a woman scorned?
What if suddenly her blood boils
and fire pours from her veins?

Fire pouring through fissures
cracking the surface
with radical change.
Basalt, bedrock, river rock,
sandstone, shale, drifting dust,
erupting lava,
our own rage released.

For we ourselves are made of this earth.
Her body is our body.
Her love bursts in us.
Her beauty is blinding.

We are waiting for it.
We are longing for it.
We are calling for it.

The knowledge of earth
under our feet.

Amie Diller
June-July 2002 Earth First!]]>
"I want to leave the city and go live on the land," I said.
"Where do you think you are living now?" he asked.
"What do you think is beneath your feet?"

We say concrete is dirt,
beneath dirt is rock,
beneath rock is molten fire.
We forget it is the skin and bones and
blood of our mother
buried from light and air.

Is she asleep and dreaming?
Is her sleep like death?
Is she mourning days of tidal marsh?
What is her secret life?

What if she is slowly simmering anger?
What if her pain is the fury of a woman scorned?
What if suddenly her blood boils
and fire pours from her veins?

Fire pouring through fissures
cracking the surface
with radical change.
Basalt, bedrock, river rock,
sandstone, shale, drifting dust,
erupting lava,
our own rage released.

For we ourselves are made of this earth.
Her body is our body.
Her love bursts in us.
Her beauty is blinding.

We are waiting for it.
We are longing for it.
We are calling for it.

The knowledge of earth
under our feet.

Amie Diller
June-July 2002 Earth First!]]> 1047394 no no Fri, 20 Apr 2012 03:38:27 +0200 2012-04-20T03:38:27+02:00 2:26 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-steven-graves-carlos-purple-bear-california-grizzly-republic/
Immortal great bear
Shadow bear, ghost bear, memory bear
Flag flapping emblem
High on mast
From state capitol
To truck stop station
The bear no more
Is flying forever
Memory bear
Roaming your kingdom
Memory bear ain't driving
Big trucks
Memory bear ain't the
Politician
Memory bear don't
Swear allegiance
Roaming man-beast
Atop crystal peaks
Sierra-song
California-song
Memory dream
Lives in my heart
Walks on four paws
Paws with claws

Carlos Purple Bear
November 1988 Earth First!]]>
Immortal great bear
Shadow bear, ghost bear, memory bear
Flag flapping emblem
High on mast
From state capitol
To truck stop station
The bear no more
Is flying forever
Memory bear
Roaming your kingdom
Memory bear ain't driving
Big trucks
Memory bear ain't the
Politician
Memory bear don't
Swear allegiance
Roaming man-beast
Atop crystal peaks
Sierra-song
California-song
Memory dream
Lives in my heart
Walks on four paws
Paws with claws

Carlos Purple Bear
November 1988 Earth First!]]> 1047395 no no Thu, 19 Apr 2012 04:18:35 +0200 2012-04-19T04:18:35+02:00 3:34 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-alley-cat-rutabaga-pedaling-thru/
Pedaling thru hills shrouded in rain
Every leaf murmurs the sounds
Of the highway
Past the countless, strangled eyes of roadkill
With their toupees of blood & brains
Over mud-filled water
Carrying the land downriver
Where it will be the soil
Of a new America
Or the fertility
Of a greater nothingness,
Life being too delicate
For second chances.
Regardless, we are choking or drowning
& when we finally reach out our hands we
May find only our cousins, kudzu & honeysuckle
Reaching over & over & over the land...


Alley Cat Rutabaga
November-December 2003 Earth First!
]]>
Pedaling thru hills shrouded in rain
Every leaf murmurs the sounds
Of the highway
Past the countless, strangled eyes of roadkill
With their toupees of blood & brains
Over mud-filled water
Carrying the land downriver
Where it will be the soil
Of a new America
Or the fertility
Of a greater nothingness,
Life being too delicate
For second chances.
Regardless, we are choking or drowning
& when we finally reach out our hands we
May find only our cousins, kudzu & honeysuckle
Reaching over & over & over the land...


Alley Cat Rutabaga
November-December 2003 Earth First!
]]> 1047396 no no Tue, 17 Apr 2012 20:52:58 +0200 2012-04-17T20:52:58+02:00 2:39 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-ellen-cooney-time-in-the-forest/
the time of Sun and green youth
the time of Rain with its sparkling diamonds
the time of Fog and silvering
the time of Fire with its ruby crackling
the time of Stillness and deep rootedness
the time of Wind whirling whistling
the time of Ice and white oblivion
the time of Stars and the music of the spheres

Ellen Cooney
January-February 2004 Earth First!

]]>
the time of Sun and green youth
the time of Rain with its sparkling diamonds
the time of Fog and silvering
the time of Fire with its ruby crackling
the time of Stillness and deep rootedness
the time of Wind whirling whistling
the time of Ice and white oblivion
the time of Stars and the music of the spheres

Ellen Cooney
January-February 2004 Earth First!

]]> 1047397 no no Mon, 16 Apr 2012 10:19:41 +0200 2012-04-16T10:19:41+02:00 2:15 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-william-stafford-roll-call/
Red Wolf came, and Passenger Pigeon,
the Dodo Bird, all the gone or endangered
came and crowded around in a circle,
the Bison, the Irish Elk, they waited
silent, the Great White Bear, fluid and strong,
sliding from the sea, streaming and creeping
in the gathering darkness, nose down,
bowing to earth its tapered head,
where the Black-footed Ferret, paws folded,
stood in the center surveying the multitude
and spoke for us all: "Dearly beloved," it said.

William Stafford
September 22 1989 Earth First!]]>
Red Wolf came, and Passenger Pigeon,
the Dodo Bird, all the gone or endangered
came and crowded around in a circle,
the Bison, the Irish Elk, they waited
silent, the Great White Bear, fluid and strong,
sliding from the sea, streaming and creeping
in the gathering darkness, nose down,
bowing to earth its tapered head,
where the Black-footed Ferret, paws folded,
stood in the center surveying the multitude
and spoke for us all: "Dearly beloved," it said.

William Stafford
September 22 1989 Earth First!]]> 1047398 no no Thu, 12 Apr 2012 20:17:12 +0200 2012-04-12T20:17:12+02:00 5:52 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-ellen-klaver-on-this-mountain/
I know
where the downy woodpecker nests
each spring, each year
where the old stone wall is half buried under
maple leaves
where secret glacial signatures mark the rocks
where the quiet place the deer drink is
cool and dark, moist green space
where the first birch leaves yellow and fall
where a patch of crowberry, partly hidden, grows
where, last week, dusk, a cooper’s hawk
swooped close
all this given
that i might take
and give back
in the strange, wonderful, and sacred
nature
of ownership
of being owned
the gifts, given and giving,
the sweet dance

Ellen Klaver]]>
I know
where the downy woodpecker nests
each spring, each year
where the old stone wall is half buried under
maple leaves
where secret glacial signatures mark the rocks
where the quiet place the deer drink is
cool and dark, moist green space
where the first birch leaves yellow and fall
where a patch of crowberry, partly hidden, grows
where, last week, dusk, a cooper’s hawk
swooped close
all this given
that i might take
and give back
in the strange, wonderful, and sacred
nature
of ownership
of being owned
the gifts, given and giving,
the sweet dance

Ellen Klaver]]> 1047399 no no Wed, 11 Apr 2012 05:56:47 +0200 2012-04-11T05:56:47+02:00 2:24 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-peepaseed-wendell-berry-peace-of-wild-things/
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.]]>
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.]]> 1047400 no no Mon, 09 Apr 2012 10:52:48 +0200 2012-04-09T10:52:48+02:00 3:51 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-vibetribe-healing-peggy-sue-mcrae-breathe-deep/

Breathe deep, the tree.
Breathe in, the tree breathes out.
Breathe out, the tree breathes in.
Feel the bond of shared breath.

Mourn deep, the sea.
Tears returning, cloud to ocean,
Life's watery womb.
Share the bond of our origin.

Die deep, the earth.
Blood and bone feed the soil.
Spirit soars to mountain.
No distinction between self and planet.

Live deep, the fire
With passion and brilliance,
balancing sacrifice and desire.
Burn into the night.

Peggy Sue McRae]]>

Breathe deep, the tree.
Breathe in, the tree breathes out.
Breathe out, the tree breathes in.
Feel the bond of shared breath.

Mourn deep, the sea.
Tears returning, cloud to ocean,
Life's watery womb.
Share the bond of our origin.

Die deep, the earth.
Blood and bone feed the soil.
Spirit soars to mountain.
No distinction between self and planet.

Live deep, the fire
With passion and brilliance,
balancing sacrifice and desire.
Burn into the night.

Peggy Sue McRae]]> 1047401 no no Mon, 09 Apr 2012 01:28:16 +0200 2012-04-09T01:28:16+02:00 3:23 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-vibetribe-healing-robert-frost-the-most-of-it2/
He thought he kept the universe alone;
For all the voice in answer he could wake
Was but the mocking echo of his own
From some tree-hidden cliff across the lake.
Some morning from the boulder-broken beach
He would cry out on life, that what it wants
Is not its own love back in copy speech,
But counter-love, original response.
And nothing ever came of what he cried
Unless it was the embodiment that crashed
In the cliff’s talus on the other side,
And then in the far-distant water splashed,
But after a time allowed for it to swim,
Instead of proving human when it neared
And someone else additional to him,
As a great buck it powerfully appeared,
Pushing the crumpled water up ahead,
And landed pouring like a waterfall,
And stumbled through the rocks with horny tread,
And forced the underbrush–and that was all.]]>
He thought he kept the universe alone;
For all the voice in answer he could wake
Was but the mocking echo of his own
From some tree-hidden cliff across the lake.
Some morning from the boulder-broken beach
He would cry out on life, that what it wants
Is not its own love back in copy speech,
But counter-love, original response.
And nothing ever came of what he cried
Unless it was the embodiment that crashed
In the cliff’s talus on the other side,
And then in the far-distant water splashed,
But after a time allowed for it to swim,
Instead of proving human when it neared
And someone else additional to him,
As a great buck it powerfully appeared,
Pushing the crumpled water up ahead,
And landed pouring like a waterfall,
And stumbled through the rocks with horny tread,
And forced the underbrush–and that was all.]]> 1047402 no no Mon, 09 Apr 2012 00:21:34 +0200 2012-04-09T00:21:34+02:00 2:41 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-peter-blue-cloud-the-cry/
The Cry

It was all darkness and always had been.
There was nothing there forever.
Creation was a tiny seed
awaiting a dream.
The dream came to be
because of the cry.
A howling cry which was
an echo in the emptiness of nothing.
The cry was very lonely and
caused the dream to
turn over in its sleep.
The dream did not want to awaken,
but the crying would not stop.
Well, thought the dream, opening its mind,
so now I am awake and there is something.
The dream floated above itself
and looked into its mind.
It wanted to see what the cry was.
What it saw was a dream
within its own dreaming.
And that other dream was Creation.
And Creation was the cry
seeking to begin something,
but it didn't know what,
and that is why it cried.
So the original dream lifted
the Creation dream from its mind
and set it free.
Then it went to the other end of nothing
and let itself go back
to dreamless sleep.
Creation floated all over the nothing,
dreaming of all the things it would do.
Its dreaming was interrupted
often by crying.
So, it wasn't me crying after all,
Creation thought.
Then it thought again,
but it is me because I dreamed it.
So, I have begun Creation with a cry.
When I begin to create the universe,
I must remember to give the cry
a very special place.
Perhaps
I'll call the cry
Coyote.


Peter Blue Cloud ]]>
The Cry

It was all darkness and always had been.
There was nothing there forever.
Creation was a tiny seed
awaiting a dream.
The dream came to be
because of the cry.
A howling cry which was
an echo in the emptiness of nothing.
The cry was very lonely and
caused the dream to
turn over in its sleep.
The dream did not want to awaken,
but the crying would not stop.
Well, thought the dream, opening its mind,
so now I am awake and there is something.
The dream floated above itself
and looked into its mind.
It wanted to see what the cry was.
What it saw was a dream
within its own dreaming.
And that other dream was Creation.
And Creation was the cry
seeking to begin something,
but it didn't know what,
and that is why it cried.
So the original dream lifted
the Creation dream from its mind
and set it free.
Then it went to the other end of nothing
and let itself go back
to dreamless sleep.
Creation floated all over the nothing,
dreaming of all the things it would do.
Its dreaming was interrupted
often by crying.
So, it wasn't me crying after all,
Creation thought.
Then it thought again,
but it is me because I dreamed it.
So, I have begun Creation with a cry.
When I begin to create the universe,
I must remember to give the cry
a very special place.
Perhaps
I'll call the cry
Coyote.


Peter Blue Cloud ]]> 1047403 no no Thu, 05 Apr 2012 09:38:13 +0200 2012-04-05T09:38:13+02:00 3:54 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-jane-hirshfield-for-the-epiphytes/
Dedicated to: Lobaria, Usnea, Witches Hair, Map Lichen, Beard Lichen, Ground Lichen, Shield Lichen

Back then, what did I know?
The names of subway lines, busses,
How long it took to walk twenty blocks.

Uptown and downtown.
Not north, not south, not you.

When I saw you, later, seaweed reefed in the air,
you were gray-green, incomprehensible, old.
What you clung to, hung from: old.
Trees looking half-dead, stones.

Marriage of fungi and algae,
chemists of air,
changers of nitrogen-unusable into nitrogen-usable.

Like those nameless ones
who kept painting, shaping, engraving
unseen, unread, unremembered.
Not caring if they were no good, if they were past it.

Rock wools, water fans, earth scale, mouse ears, dust,
ash-of-the-woods.
Transformers unvalued, uncounted.
Cell by cell, word by word, making a world they could live in.]]>
Dedicated to: Lobaria, Usnea, Witches Hair, Map Lichen, Beard Lichen, Ground Lichen, Shield Lichen

Back then, what did I know?
The names of subway lines, busses,
How long it took to walk twenty blocks.

Uptown and downtown.
Not north, not south, not you.

When I saw you, later, seaweed reefed in the air,
you were gray-green, incomprehensible, old.
What you clung to, hung from: old.
Trees looking half-dead, stones.

Marriage of fungi and algae,
chemists of air,
changers of nitrogen-unusable into nitrogen-usable.

Like those nameless ones
who kept painting, shaping, engraving
unseen, unread, unremembered.
Not caring if they were no good, if they were past it.

Rock wools, water fans, earth scale, mouse ears, dust,
ash-of-the-woods.
Transformers unvalued, uncounted.
Cell by cell, word by word, making a world they could live in.]]> 1047404 no no Tue, 03 Apr 2012 23:21:34 +0200 2012-04-03T23:21:34+02:00 4:33 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-gail-rudd-entrekin-blue-whales/
Blue whales are out there somewhere,
six thousand of the hundreds of thousands
that once roamed the planet's seas.
Now separated from each other
by thousands of miles, they moan their loneliness
four octaves below middle C, so low, so slow,
we humans cannot even hear. But on our ocean liners
and in our lighthouse kitchens, the cutlery jangles on the table,
the glass pane vibrates in its frame, and we know
something nearby is crying out in need.
Two thousand miles away, they can be heard
and answered, the loudest sound made by a living thing,
and we don't know what it says, but only that,
speeded up ten times, what we hear is a long, blue,
unearthly note, a gurgle so deep
we slip down into our own lostness,
grateful that they are carrying for us
something bigger than we could hold.

Gail Rudd Entrekin
March-April 2008 Earth First!]]>
Blue whales are out there somewhere,
six thousand of the hundreds of thousands
that once roamed the planet's seas.
Now separated from each other
by thousands of miles, they moan their loneliness
four octaves below middle C, so low, so slow,
we humans cannot even hear. But on our ocean liners
and in our lighthouse kitchens, the cutlery jangles on the table,
the glass pane vibrates in its frame, and we know
something nearby is crying out in need.
Two thousand miles away, they can be heard
and answered, the loudest sound made by a living thing,
and we don't know what it says, but only that,
speeded up ten times, what we hear is a long, blue,
unearthly note, a gurgle so deep
we slip down into our own lostness,
grateful that they are carrying for us
something bigger than we could hold.

Gail Rudd Entrekin
March-April 2008 Earth First!]]> 1047407 no no Tue, 03 Apr 2012 02:37:37 +0200 2012-04-03T02:37:37+02:00 3:32 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-sparkle-plenty-the-cutting-zone/ it sprawls, slumbering snakelike against the mountainside
forest voices hush at the warning plume of passage

silence is dispelled by the rasping whine
sentient violence voiced by machine
sawteeth blur a funeral keen
halt only at the fibrous ripping fall

on the road below senses are assaulted
the very air is saturated with a green
pinesweet astringency
hundreds of life years crash to the dust
as the Earth trembles at Her loss

(Swauk Meadow, july 30 1986)]]> it sprawls, slumbering snakelike against the mountainside
forest voices hush at the warning plume of passage

silence is dispelled by the rasping whine
sentient violence voiced by machine
sawteeth blur a funeral keen
halt only at the fibrous ripping fall

on the road below senses are assaulted
the very air is saturated with a green
pinesweet astringency
hundreds of life years crash to the dust
as the Earth trembles at Her loss

(Swauk Meadow, july 30 1986)]]> 1047410 no no Sat, 31 Mar 2012 02:12:13 +0200 2012-03-31T02:12:13+02:00 2:51 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-adrienne-rich-for-the-record/
The clouds and the stars didn’t wage this war
the brooks gave no information
if the mountain spewed stones of fire into the river
it was not taking sides
the raindrop faintly swaying under the leaf
had no political opinions
and if here or there a house
filled with backed-up raw sewage
or poisoned those who lived there
with slow fumes, over years
the houses were not at war
nor did the tinned-up buildings
intend to refuse shelter
to homeless old women and roaming children
they had no policy to keep them roaming
or dying, no, the cities were not the problem
the bridges were non-partisan
the freeways burned, but not with hatred
Even the miles of barbed-wire
stretched around crouching temporary huts
designed to keep the unwanted
at a safe distance, out of sight
even the boards that had to absorb
year upon year, so many human sounds
so many depths of vomit, tears
slow-soaking blood
had not offered themselves for this
The trees didn’t volunteer to be cut into boards
nor the thorns for tearing flesh
Look around at all of it
and ask whose signature
is stamped on the orders, traced
in the corner of the building plans
Ask where the illiterate, big-bellied
women were, the drunks and crazies,
the ones you fear most of all: ask where you were.]]>
The clouds and the stars didn’t wage this war
the brooks gave no information
if the mountain spewed stones of fire into the river
it was not taking sides
the raindrop faintly swaying under the leaf
had no political opinions
and if here or there a house
filled with backed-up raw sewage
or poisoned those who lived there
with slow fumes, over years
the houses were not at war
nor did the tinned-up buildings
intend to refuse shelter
to homeless old women and roaming children
they had no policy to keep them roaming
or dying, no, the cities were not the problem
the bridges were non-partisan
the freeways burned, but not with hatred
Even the miles of barbed-wire
stretched around crouching temporary huts
designed to keep the unwanted
at a safe distance, out of sight
even the boards that had to absorb
year upon year, so many human sounds
so many depths of vomit, tears
slow-soaking blood
had not offered themselves for this
The trees didn’t volunteer to be cut into boards
nor the thorns for tearing flesh
Look around at all of it
and ask whose signature
is stamped on the orders, traced
in the corner of the building plans
Ask where the illiterate, big-bellied
women were, the drunks and crazies,
the ones you fear most of all: ask where you were.]]> 1047413 no no Fri, 30 Mar 2012 00:20:12 +0200 2012-03-30T00:20:12+02:00 2:39 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-stevetoth-natures-course/
A kangaroo rat is
so efficient it can go
a whole lifetime without
taking a single drink of water
An alligator only needs
an inch & a half above
the surface of the water
to see hear & smell you
An owl can glide in silence
& with pinpoint hearing
locate a mouse tunneling
in the dark under the snow
So how is it that the only animals
who call themselves intelligent
produce fumes so strong
we’re smelling up the atmosphere?
We humans talk about allowing
nature to take its course as if
nature ever needed to ask
for permission to do anything
but when we took on consciousness
we also took on responsibility
The impulse that began creation
is still working creatively in us

Steve Toth]]>
A kangaroo rat is
so efficient it can go
a whole lifetime without
taking a single drink of water
An alligator only needs
an inch & a half above
the surface of the water
to see hear & smell you
An owl can glide in silence
& with pinpoint hearing
locate a mouse tunneling
in the dark under the snow
So how is it that the only animals
who call themselves intelligent
produce fumes so strong
we’re smelling up the atmosphere?
We humans talk about allowing
nature to take its course as if
nature ever needed to ask
for permission to do anything
but when we took on consciousness
we also took on responsibility
The impulse that began creation
is still working creatively in us

Steve Toth]]> 1047415 no no Wed, 28 Mar 2012 21:00:19 +0200 2012-03-28T21:00:19+02:00 2:55 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-will-inman-this-water/
do not waste this
water’s rare as
blood, this pulse draws from earthheart,
from the great turning
moon pulls, too,
and sun and your own thirst
every draw and shove is the beat of
god’s breath, waste this
water, waste your own
life is to cherish, no not grab but just
love
put your hands and arms to the elbows
in this stream, cup, lift, and drink this

Will Inman
November 1 1983 Earth First!]]>
do not waste this
water’s rare as
blood, this pulse draws from earthheart,
from the great turning
moon pulls, too,
and sun and your own thirst
every draw and shove is the beat of
god’s breath, waste this
water, waste your own
life is to cherish, no not grab but just
love
put your hands and arms to the elbows
in this stream, cup, lift, and drink this

Will Inman
November 1 1983 Earth First!]]> 1047418 no no Tue, 27 Mar 2012 10:32:30 +0200 2012-03-27T10:32:30+02:00 1:35 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-xingeela-accept-the-responsibility/
This is your World
This is your Life
Accept the Responsibility
to make a Difference
to be Informed
to be Involved
to be a Fighter
to be a Leader
One can Fret
and Despair
about the Power
of One
or one can Become
a powerful One
Accept the Responsibility
to be One of the Ones
who make a Difference

Xingeela]]>
This is your World
This is your Life
Accept the Responsibility
to make a Difference
to be Informed
to be Involved
to be a Fighter
to be a Leader
One can Fret
and Despair
about the Power
of One
or one can Become
a powerful One
Accept the Responsibility
to be One of the Ones
who make a Difference

Xingeela]]> 1047420 no no Sun, 25 Mar 2012 20:43:16 +0200 2012-03-25T20:43:16+02:00 3:03 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-arammons-corsons-inlet/
I went for a walk over the dunes again this morning
to the sea,
then turned right along
the surf
rounded a naked headland
and returned
along the inlet shore:
it was muggy sunny, the wind from the sea steady and high,
crisp in the running sand,
some breakthroughs of sun
but after a bit
continuous overcast:
the walk liberating, I was released from forms,
from the perpendiculars,
straight lines, blocks, boxes, binds
of thought
into the hues, shadings, rises, flowing bends and blends
of sight:
yield to a direction of significance
running
like a stream through the geography of my work:
in my sayings
swerves of action
like the inlet’s cutting edge:
there are dunes of motion,
organizations of grass, white sandy paths of remembrance
in the overall wandering of mirroring mind:
but Overall is beyond me: is the sum of these events
I allow myself eddies of meaning:
I cannot draw, the ledger I cannot keep, the accounting
beyond the account:
in nature there are few sharp lines: there are areas of
primrose
more or less dispersed;
disorderly orders of bayberry; between the rows
of dunes
you can find
irregular swamps of reeds
though not reeds alone, but grass bayberry yarrow, all…
predominantly reeds:
I have reached no conclusions, have erected no boundaries,
shutting out and shutting in, separating inside
from outside: I have
drawn no lines:
as
manifold events of sand
change the dune’s shape that will not be the same shape
tomorrow,
so I am willing to go along, to accept
the becoming
thought, to stake off no beginnings or ends establish
no walls:
by transitions the land falls from grassy dunes to creek
to undercreek: but there are no lines though
change in that transition is clear
as any sharpness: but “sharpness” spread out,
allowed to occur over a wider range
than mental lines can keep:
the moon was full last night: today, low tide was low:
black shoals of mussels exposed to the risk
of air
and, earlier, of sun,
waved in and out with the waterline, waterline inexact,
caught always in the event of change:
a young mottled gull stood free on the shoals
and ate
to vomiting: another gull, squawking possession, cracked a crab,
picked out the entrails, swallowed the soft-shelled legs, a ruddy
turnstone running in to snatch leftover bits:
risk is full: every living thing in
siege: the demand is life, to keep life: the small
white blacklegged egret, how beautiful, quietly stalks and spears
the shallows, darts to shore
to stab — what? I couldn’t
see against the black mudflats–a frightened
fiddler crab?
the news to my left over the dunes and
reeds and bayberry clumps was
fall: thousands of tree swallows
gathering for flight:
an order held
in constant change: a congregation
rich with entropy: nevertheless, separable, noticeable
as one event,
not chaos: preparations for flight from winter
cheet, cheet, cheet, cheet, wings rifling the green clumps
beaks
at the bayberries
a perception full of wind, flight, curve,
sound:
the possibility of rule as the sum of rulelessness:
the “field” of action
with moving, incalculable center:
in the smaller view, order tight with shape:
blue tiny flowers on a leafless weed: carapace of crab:
snail shell:
pulsations of order
in the bellies of minnows: orders swallowed
broken down, transferred through membranes
to strengthen larger orders: but in the large view, no
lines or changeless shapes: the working in and out, together
and against, of millions of events: this,
so that I make
no form of
formlessness:
orders as summaries, as outcomes of actions override
or in some way result, not predictably (seeing me gain
the top of a dune,
the swallows
could take flight–some other fields of bayberry
could enter fall
berryless) and there is serenity:
no arranged terror: no forcing of image, plan,
or thought:
no propaganda, no humbling of reality to precept:
terror pervades but is not arranged, all possibilities
of escape open: no route shut, except in
the sudden loss of all routes:
I see narrow orders, limited tightness, but will
not run to that easy victory:
still around the looser, wider forces work:
I will try
to fasten into order enlarging grasps of disorder, widening
scope, but enjoying the freedom that
Scope eludes my grasp, that there is no finality of vision,
that I have perceived nothing completely,
that tomorrow a new walk is a new walk.]]>
I went for a walk over the dunes again this morning
to the sea,
then turned right along
the surf
rounded a naked headland
and returned
along the inlet shore:
it was muggy sunny, the wind from the sea steady and high,
crisp in the running sand,
some breakthroughs of sun
but after a bit
continuous overcast:
the walk liberating, I was released from forms,
from the perpendiculars,
straight lines, blocks, boxes, binds
of thought
into the hues, shadings, rises, flowing bends and blends
of sight:
yield to a direction of significance
running
like a stream through the geography of my work:
in my sayings
swerves of action
like the inlet’s cutting edge:
there are dunes of motion,
organizations of grass, white sandy paths of remembrance
in the overall wandering of mirroring mind:
but Overall is beyond me: is the sum of these events
I allow myself eddies of meaning:
I cannot draw, the ledger I cannot keep, the accounting
beyond the account:
in nature there are few sharp lines: there are areas of
primrose
more or less dispersed;
disorderly orders of bayberry; between the rows
of dunes
you can find
irregular swamps of reeds
though not reeds alone, but grass bayberry yarrow, all…
predominantly reeds:
I have reached no conclusions, have erected no boundaries,
shutting out and shutting in, separating inside
from outside: I have
drawn no lines:
as
manifold events of sand
change the dune’s shape that will not be the same shape
tomorrow,
so I am willing to go along, to accept
the becoming
thought, to stake off no beginnings or ends establish
no walls:
by transitions the land falls from grassy dunes to creek
to undercreek: but there are no lines though
change in that transition is clear
as any sharpness: but “sharpness” spread out,
allowed to occur over a wider range
than mental lines can keep:
the moon was full last night: today, low tide was low:
black shoals of mussels exposed to the risk
of air
and, earlier, of sun,
waved in and out with the waterline, waterline inexact,
caught always in the event of change:
a young mottled gull stood free on the shoals
and ate
to vomiting: another gull, squawking possession, cracked a crab,
picked out the entrails, swallowed the soft-shelled legs, a ruddy
turnstone running in to snatch leftover bits:
risk is full: every living thing in
siege: the demand is life, to keep life: the small
white blacklegged egret, how beautiful, quietly stalks and spears
the shallows, darts to shore
to stab — what? I couldn’t
see against the black mudflats–a frightened
fiddler crab?
the news to my left over the dunes and
reeds and bayberry clumps was
fall: thousands of tree swallows
gathering for flight:
an order held
in constant change: a congregation
rich with entropy: nevertheless, separable, noticeable
as one event,
not chaos: preparations for flight from winter
cheet, cheet, cheet, cheet, wings rifling the green clumps
beaks
at the bayberries
a perception full of wind, flight, curve,
sound:
the possibility of rule as the sum of rulelessness:
the “field” of action
with moving, incalculable center:
in the smaller view, order tight with shape:
blue tiny flowers on a leafless weed: carapace of crab:
snail shell:
pulsations of order
in the bellies of minnows: orders swallowed
broken down, transferred through membranes
to strengthen larger orders: but in the large view, no
lines or changeless shapes: the working in and out, together
and against, of millions of events: this,
so that I make
no form of
formlessness:
orders as summaries, as outcomes of actions override
or in some way result, not predictably (seeing me gain
the top of a dune,
the swallows
could take flight–some other fields of bayberry
could enter fall
berryless) and there is serenity:
no arranged terror: no forcing of image, plan,
or thought:
no propaganda, no humbling of reality to precept:
terror pervades but is not arranged, all possibilities
of escape open: no route shut, except in
the sudden loss of all routes:
I see narrow orders, limited tightness, but will
not run to that easy victory:
still around the looser, wider forces work:
I will try
to fasten into order enlarging grasps of disorder, widening
scope, but enjoying the freedom that
Scope eludes my grasp, that there is no finality of vision,
that I have perceived nothing completely,
that tomorrow a new walk is a new walk.]]> 1047421 no no Sun, 25 Mar 2012 04:10:34 +0200 2012-03-25T04:10:34+02:00 6:27 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-lisa-wujnovich-albany-fracking-protest/
From the Catskills, we hear the planet explode in ashen
wails, voodoo helpless against Haiti's steaming wounds.

Here we fight the planned explosions: chemo shots
for the earth's womb. Friends and faces: idealists, few,

stubborn, ponchoed, grizzled, wet, weighted with backpacks.
How to entice more youth to fight the gas drill and bit?

Wes, our leader, tall hemlock of a man, bearded, suited,
torn from farming by flood, misses his homestead.

Outstretched, aloft, his son calls over the gray-headed:
I speak for all the kids of the world. We want clean water!

His small fist punches the air, raises our tired voices,
pulls plugs from our ears, lifts our hands, clears our view.

Lisa Wujnovich]]>
From the Catskills, we hear the planet explode in ashen
wails, voodoo helpless against Haiti's steaming wounds.

Here we fight the planned explosions: chemo shots
for the earth's womb. Friends and faces: idealists, few,

stubborn, ponchoed, grizzled, wet, weighted with backpacks.
How to entice more youth to fight the gas drill and bit?

Wes, our leader, tall hemlock of a man, bearded, suited,
torn from farming by flood, misses his homestead.

Outstretched, aloft, his son calls over the gray-headed:
I speak for all the kids of the world. We want clean water!

His small fist punches the air, raises our tired voices,
pulls plugs from our ears, lifts our hands, clears our view.

Lisa Wujnovich]]> 1047422 no no Tue, 20 Mar 2012 06:09:41 +0100 2012-03-20T06:09:41+01:00 3:13 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-nature-sounds-jerry-martien-at-the-foot-of-the-mountain/
Only there–where the water
comes down against rock–
knees of rock, shinbone rock, squat
on heels, rock
set across the creek from my tent
where the water comes down
against this first steep coastal rising
only there–
where water last speaks to rock
the forest
against that rock
water
taking every sound to its numberless song
chain saw rising, whining out of a cut, falling
thump of a log, limbed & bucked & loaded
and where it spills over rocks as if another
truck pulling back up the ridge, empty
only there–
there was no hearing it
only water and the rock where it turns
the water singing
the forest cut down
and there only rock to hear it fall.

–Upper Jacoby Creek in Humboldt County, California
]]>
Only there–where the water
comes down against rock–
knees of rock, shinbone rock, squat
on heels, rock
set across the creek from my tent
where the water comes down
against this first steep coastal rising
only there–
where water last speaks to rock
the forest
against that rock
water
taking every sound to its numberless song
chain saw rising, whining out of a cut, falling
thump of a log, limbed & bucked & loaded
and where it spills over rocks as if another
truck pulling back up the ridge, empty
only there–
there was no hearing it
only water and the rock where it turns
the water singing
the forest cut down
and there only rock to hear it fall.

–Upper Jacoby Creek in Humboldt County, California
]]> 1047424 no no Thu, 15 Mar 2012 10:26:11 +0100 2012-03-15T10:26:11+01:00 2:54 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-nature-sounds-zefora-zebra-dana-gioia-becoming-a-redwood/
See the full presentation here: http://armedwithvisions.com/2012/03/14/dana-gioia-becoming-a-redwood

Becoming A Redwood

Stand in a field long enough, and the sounds
start up again. The crickets, the invisible
toad who claims that change is possible,

And all the other life too small to name.
First one, then another, until innumerable
they merge into the single voice of a summer hill.

Yes, it's hard to stand still, hour after hour,
fixed as a fencepost, hearing the steers
snort in the dark pasture, smelling the manure.

And paralyzed by the mystery of how a stone
can bear to be a stone, the pain
the grass endures breaking through the earth's crust.

Unimaginable the redwoods on the far hill,
rooted for centuries, the living wood grown tall
and thickened with a hundred thousand days of light.

The old windmill creaks in perfect time
to the wind shaking the miles of pasture grass,
and the last farmhouse light goes off.

Something moves nearby. Coyotes hunt
these hills and packs of feral dogs.
But standing here at night accepts all that.

You are your own pale shadow in the quarter moon,
moving more slowly than the crippled stars,
part of the moonlight as the moonlight falls,

Part of the grass that answers the wind,
part of the midnight's watchfulness that knows
there is no silence but when danger comes.]]>
See the full presentation here: http://armedwithvisions.com/2012/03/14/dana-gioia-becoming-a-redwood

Becoming A Redwood

Stand in a field long enough, and the sounds
start up again. The crickets, the invisible
toad who claims that change is possible,

And all the other life too small to name.
First one, then another, until innumerable
they merge into the single voice of a summer hill.

Yes, it's hard to stand still, hour after hour,
fixed as a fencepost, hearing the steers
snort in the dark pasture, smelling the manure.

And paralyzed by the mystery of how a stone
can bear to be a stone, the pain
the grass endures breaking through the earth's crust.

Unimaginable the redwoods on the far hill,
rooted for centuries, the living wood grown tall
and thickened with a hundred thousand days of light.

The old windmill creaks in perfect time
to the wind shaking the miles of pasture grass,
and the last farmhouse light goes off.

Something moves nearby. Coyotes hunt
these hills and packs of feral dogs.
But standing here at night accepts all that.

You are your own pale shadow in the quarter moon,
moving more slowly than the crippled stars,
part of the moonlight as the moonlight falls,

Part of the grass that answers the wind,
part of the midnight's watchfulness that knows
there is no silence but when danger comes.]]> 1047426 no no Thu, 15 Mar 2012 03:46:05 +0100 2012-03-15T03:46:05+01:00 3:58 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-bj-elzinga-remembering-the-dead/
Sinuously curving road
early morning quiet
disturbed by logging trucks,
fat, belching accomplices
in a mass murder.
Looking north, I wince;
clearcuts deface the land
as acne on skin.

Smell of fresh asphalt
penetrates my nostrils.
Trucks roar by
leaving an ache in my heart.
Tall, naked trees
callously chopped
bound tightly
on a flat bed.

In the forest
smell of fresh cuts
overpowers the stench of humanity.
Rings attest
a longevity
beyond human endurance.
How long have these gentle giants
stood strong and proud?
What have they seen?

As another truck screeches by
eyes focus on flat bed.
Tears, like sawdust, fly.
I hate piles of trees
riding horizontally
but what hurts most
are grand old ones
filling the truck
alone.

B.J. Elzinga
September 23 1987 Earth First!]]>
Sinuously curving road
early morning quiet
disturbed by logging trucks,
fat, belching accomplices
in a mass murder.
Looking north, I wince;
clearcuts deface the land
as acne on skin.

Smell of fresh asphalt
penetrates my nostrils.
Trucks roar by
leaving an ache in my heart.
Tall, naked trees
callously chopped
bound tightly
on a flat bed.

In the forest
smell of fresh cuts
overpowers the stench of humanity.
Rings attest
a longevity
beyond human endurance.
How long have these gentle giants
stood strong and proud?
What have they seen?

As another truck screeches by
eyes focus on flat bed.
Tears, like sawdust, fly.
I hate piles of trees
riding horizontally
but what hurts most
are grand old ones
filling the truck
alone.

B.J. Elzinga
September 23 1987 Earth First!]]> 1047428 no no Tue, 13 Mar 2012 09:28:49 +0100 2012-03-13T09:28:49+01:00 3:43 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-rabinowitz-goose-music/
I heard them today
swinging past the pines
wings beating strong, sure
dropped my saw and kindling
to look for them
craning neck to deep blue sky
over soft deep white of winter
great boughs suddenly quivering
as white powder cascades in a cloud
falling and the limb shakes free
there--they must be rounding
behind our small hill--
funny I didn't see them
in that long stretch
above the open pasture--
I take several steps quickly
for a view past the bend
goose music calling me
honking so clear now
I can hear the nuances of joy,
the one talking to another,
friend to friend
ecstasy singing of wild high flight
I can see them in my mind
long necks reaching
bright dark eyes far past the bodies
of the flock
following desire
visions from past years
the warmth of vigorous movement
the invigorating chill
of minute ice crystals in the air
wheeling panorama of vast plateaus
deep winding canyons below
I can almost hear the atmosphere
through wingtips whistling
yet all at once
the sound is fading
the distance between us
as tangible as a familiar taste on my tongue
I know without doubt
where they are
and the place is empty blue air
I blink but the last distant calls
where they should be
nothing but clear bright air
dazzling
stunning my mind into recognition
a vision--
I never saw their passage
across the vast, whirling sky
but they were there
where I looked
more real
than the modern megalomaniac
nightmares
of "downloading" consciousness
into computers,
doing away with our bodies
as with Nature
a world run by machines
producing more machines
nothing but empty gears
with no substance
for we--not abstract thought
but the spirit music
the feeling that carries us aloft
with the geese
our illogical shared ecstasy
of life
singing our creation
the blood pulsing
wings sweeping
eyes taking in
a breathing unfathomable world
the goose music
our music
irreplaceable, timeless
Feel!

1/15/93
Rabinowitz
]]>
I heard them today
swinging past the pines
wings beating strong, sure
dropped my saw and kindling
to look for them
craning neck to deep blue sky
over soft deep white of winter
great boughs suddenly quivering
as white powder cascades in a cloud
falling and the limb shakes free
there--they must be rounding
behind our small hill--
funny I didn't see them
in that long stretch
above the open pasture--
I take several steps quickly
for a view past the bend
goose music calling me
honking so clear now
I can hear the nuances of joy,
the one talking to another,
friend to friend
ecstasy singing of wild high flight
I can see them in my mind
long necks reaching
bright dark eyes far past the bodies
of the flock
following desire
visions from past years
the warmth of vigorous movement
the invigorating chill
of minute ice crystals in the air
wheeling panorama of vast plateaus
deep winding canyons below
I can almost hear the atmosphere
through wingtips whistling
yet all at once
the sound is fading
the distance between us
as tangible as a familiar taste on my tongue
I know without doubt
where they are
and the place is empty blue air
I blink but the last distant calls
where they should be
nothing but clear bright air
dazzling
stunning my mind into recognition
a vision--
I never saw their passage
across the vast, whirling sky
but they were there
where I looked
more real
than the modern megalomaniac
nightmares
of "downloading" consciousness
into computers,
doing away with our bodies
as with Nature
a world run by machines
producing more machines
nothing but empty gears
with no substance
for we--not abstract thought
but the spirit music
the feeling that carries us aloft
with the geese
our illogical shared ecstasy
of life
singing our creation
the blood pulsing
wings sweeping
eyes taking in
a breathing unfathomable world
the goose music
our music
irreplaceable, timeless
Feel!

1/15/93
Rabinowitz
]]> 1047431 no no Mon, 12 Mar 2012 00:15:48 +0100 2012-03-12T00:15:48+01:00 5:12 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-kirk-lumpkin-here-before/
Grizzly lived here
before my people came
Grizzly lived here
before my people
And the way that they lived,
the way that they lived
They could’ve lived that way forever
They could’ve lived that way forever
Here
here on the brink of the world
here on the brink of the world
Salmon lived here
before my people came
Salmon lived here
before my people
And the way that they lived,
the way that they lived
They could’ve lived that way forever
They could’ve lived that way forever
Here
here on the brink of the world
here on the brink of the world
Cougar lived here
They could’ve lived that way forever
They could’ve lived that way forever
Here
here on the brink of the world
here on the brink of the world
People lived here
before my people came
People lived here
before my people
And the way that they lived,
the way that they lived
They could’ve lived that way forever
They could’ve lived that way forever
Here
here on the brink of the world
here on the brink of the world

Kirk Lumpkin
Dec.-Jan. 2001 Earth First!]]>
Grizzly lived here
before my people came
Grizzly lived here
before my people
And the way that they lived,
the way that they lived
They could’ve lived that way forever
They could’ve lived that way forever
Here
here on the brink of the world
here on the brink of the world
Salmon lived here
before my people came
Salmon lived here
before my people
And the way that they lived,
the way that they lived
They could’ve lived that way forever
They could’ve lived that way forever
Here
here on the brink of the world
here on the brink of the world
Cougar lived here
They could’ve lived that way forever
They could’ve lived that way forever
Here
here on the brink of the world
here on the brink of the world
People lived here
before my people came
People lived here
before my people
And the way that they lived,
the way that they lived
They could’ve lived that way forever
They could’ve lived that way forever
Here
here on the brink of the world
here on the brink of the world

Kirk Lumpkin
Dec.-Jan. 2001 Earth First!]]> 1047435 no no Mon, 05 Mar 2012 23:20:18 +0100 2012-03-05T23:20:18+01:00 2:56 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-christien-gholson-order-within-order-without-Mfq/
there are pieces of our minds
we forgot,
lying highwayside–
shreds of black plastic
on barbed wire.

Christien Gholson
March 1996 Earth First!]]>
there are pieces of our minds
we forgot,
lying highwayside–
shreds of black plastic
on barbed wire.

Christien Gholson
March 1996 Earth First!]]> 1047436 no no Sun, 04 Mar 2012 21:06:33 +0100 2012-03-04T21:06:33+01:00 1:24 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-meadowood-methow-river/
One

We awoke, tumbling out of sleep the way
a fawn might tumble out of a snow drift
and we began to speak of waters.
I remembered the great horned owl
just across the river,
hearing it the previous night
and nights before.
The bear we saw crossing the river,
running scared through the vine maples
after detecting our human scent.
The way the bear utilized
the spindly skeleton boughs for refuge
and the way I might use them to fashion
a structure or a fire.
I left the river that day,
and I've not returned since.

Two

The day we saw salmon spawning,
finishing their anadramous journey.
They were as long as my arm,
their dorsal fins protruded above the water's surface.
Having come through the locks at Portland
and u the ladders at Bonneville, Umatilla Rapids,
Rocky Reach and Grand Coulee,
we watched these two Chinooks swim the last mile of a thousand.
A stick I threw into the river once,
remembering how I thought of its own travels to the ocean,
thinking that it, like me but unlike the salmon
would not return.

Three

The day we cooked a stone killed grouse
over a small, smokeless fire.
The time I spent a feverish and frightening
fourth day of fast,
lying and listening to the water's salubrious sounds.
the evening we all spent planning our sweat lodge,
speaking of food, equality and biology.
Nights we jumped naked into the river after sweating
amidst sage smoke, yarrow tea and other naked, sweating bodies.
We spoke of all our days by the Methow,
and dreamed of staying there forever.

Chuck Brushwood
Sept. 1996 Earth First!]]>
One

We awoke, tumbling out of sleep the way
a fawn might tumble out of a snow drift
and we began to speak of waters.
I remembered the great horned owl
just across the river,
hearing it the previous night
and nights before.
The bear we saw crossing the river,
running scared through the vine maples
after detecting our human scent.
The way the bear utilized
the spindly skeleton boughs for refuge
and the way I might use them to fashion
a structure or a fire.
I left the river that day,
and I've not returned since.

Two

The day we saw salmon spawning,
finishing their anadramous journey.
They were as long as my arm,
their dorsal fins protruded above the water's surface.
Having come through the locks at Portland
and u the ladders at Bonneville, Umatilla Rapids,
Rocky Reach and Grand Coulee,
we watched these two Chinooks swim the last mile of a thousand.
A stick I threw into the river once,
remembering how I thought of its own travels to the ocean,
thinking that it, like me but unlike the salmon
would not return.

Three

The day we cooked a stone killed grouse
over a small, smokeless fire.
The time I spent a feverish and frightening
fourth day of fast,
lying and listening to the water's salubrious sounds.
the evening we all spent planning our sweat lodge,
speaking of food, equality and biology.
Nights we jumped naked into the river after sweating
amidst sage smoke, yarrow tea and other naked, sweating bodies.
We spoke of all our days by the Methow,
and dreamed of staying there forever.

Chuck Brushwood
Sept. 1996 Earth First!]]> 1047439 no no Thu, 01 Mar 2012 07:07:17 +0100 2012-03-01T07:07:17+01:00 4:52 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-laura-woodswalker-cry-from-the-belly-of-the-beast/
They say that it’s “deadening”
living in the belly of the Beast
But I’m not dead yet. My life is a battle
an every day battle for my soul.
A fight to keep from being mangled by the time clock
a struggle to keep from being run over
by rush hour traffic
a struggle to hear the Mother beneath the concrete.
How I envy the noble tree-sitting warriors
who know that they are heroes carrying on the fight
wrapped in the strength of the forest and the Mother’s closeness.
But pity us pathetic denizens of the Monster.
The sheep compelled to march on the treadmill
and breathe the auto stench
along with the knowledge that We Are Part Of The Problem.
How much harder here, to cling to the scraps of defiance
to draw up the quiet strength
while imprisoned in enemy lands.
All we have for solace is the ragged remnants:
State Parks for Sunday picnics
the empty lot… the last field of weeds…
the forgotten trail… the abandoned railroad woods…
the deer and raccoons that hide in the thickets
the willow fringe along the garbage-choked stream–
the stream that still remembers
the living channel beneath the concrete.
And make no mistake! I love these remnants of the Wild,
the broken brave holdouts,
every bit as much as you love the noble oldgrowth
that’s never seen the blade.
And if I could muster an army of warriors
on behalf of these desperate guerrilla creatures
and these weeds, still lush with exuberant hope,
struggling to reclaim the waste,
I would fight just as hard for them.
Because I love my Mother Earth
not only in her majesty and bounty,
but also when She lies broken in chains,
struggling and gasping for life.

Laura Woodswalker
September-October 2000 Earth First!]]>
They say that it’s “deadening”
living in the belly of the Beast
But I’m not dead yet. My life is a battle
an every day battle for my soul.
A fight to keep from being mangled by the time clock
a struggle to keep from being run over
by rush hour traffic
a struggle to hear the Mother beneath the concrete.
How I envy the noble tree-sitting warriors
who know that they are heroes carrying on the fight
wrapped in the strength of the forest and the Mother’s closeness.
But pity us pathetic denizens of the Monster.
The sheep compelled to march on the treadmill
and breathe the auto stench
along with the knowledge that We Are Part Of The Problem.
How much harder here, to cling to the scraps of defiance
to draw up the quiet strength
while imprisoned in enemy lands.
All we have for solace is the ragged remnants:
State Parks for Sunday picnics
the empty lot… the last field of weeds…
the forgotten trail… the abandoned railroad woods…
the deer and raccoons that hide in the thickets
the willow fringe along the garbage-choked stream–
the stream that still remembers
the living channel beneath the concrete.
And make no mistake! I love these remnants of the Wild,
the broken brave holdouts,
every bit as much as you love the noble oldgrowth
that’s never seen the blade.
And if I could muster an army of warriors
on behalf of these desperate guerrilla creatures
and these weeds, still lush with exuberant hope,
struggling to reclaim the waste,
I would fight just as hard for them.
Because I love my Mother Earth
not only in her majesty and bounty,
but also when She lies broken in chains,
struggling and gasping for life.

Laura Woodswalker
September-October 2000 Earth First!]]> 1047441 no no Tue, 28 Feb 2012 21:19:46 +0100 2012-02-28T21:19:46+01:00 3:31 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mikemercker-laura-ramnarace-hiding/
I’m tucked away now
From the rest of the crazy world
Looking out over the mountains
Beyond the river below me
I’m not so afraid of the world anymore
Because although I know it’s still out there
There is all this peace around me
Keeping me hid
I’m safe

Laura Ramnarace
May 1 1988 Earth First!]]>
I’m tucked away now
From the rest of the crazy world
Looking out over the mountains
Beyond the river below me
I’m not so afraid of the world anymore
Because although I know it’s still out there
There is all this peace around me
Keeping me hid
I’m safe

Laura Ramnarace
May 1 1988 Earth First!]]> 1047445 no no Sun, 26 Feb 2012 22:38:21 +0100 2012-02-26T22:38:21+01:00 4:53 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-dochollywood-lone-wolf-circles-couriers-quandry/
How do you package what really needs sending?
Solitude, which no one but one's self can deliver,
Salvation slipping through the cracks of every box,
Sentience that can bring pain as well as joy
to anyone who picks it up.
A dream feral as bobcats in the suburbs,
A wildness too big to contain.
How does one mail awakeness,
When it can infect office clerks and web servers
And who then can take off the uniforms to play?
The e-mail queues bursting with crazy eyed salmon,
Fur and feathers no stamp will stick to,
Mountains too heavy to lift or weigh.
Rivers that soak through their wrappings,
Crawdads scurrying to escape the fluorescent lights,
Hormone-addled elk running madly down the aisles.

How do you market what matters most?
Hard to swallow insights,
served-up with self evident assignments.
Revolution with no profit.
Dreams that swim freely without sleep,
An artful life that few may ever see,
Restoration requiring sweat and toil.
Hope without logic or reason,
Revolution without profit,
A theatre of truth with no way out.
A sixpack of enchantment,
A round of responsibility,
A baggie stuffed with purpose.
And who will pay
For the challenges and struggles
That make us worthy,
Of the darkest nights
That define our brightest days.

Who will name this great hunger,
And who will feed it?
Who will name the cure,
And who will admit to needing it?

Lone Wolf Circles (aka: Jesse Wolf Hardin)
February-March 2002 Earth First!
]]>
How do you package what really needs sending?
Solitude, which no one but one's self can deliver,
Salvation slipping through the cracks of every box,
Sentience that can bring pain as well as joy
to anyone who picks it up.
A dream feral as bobcats in the suburbs,
A wildness too big to contain.
How does one mail awakeness,
When it can infect office clerks and web servers
And who then can take off the uniforms to play?
The e-mail queues bursting with crazy eyed salmon,
Fur and feathers no stamp will stick to,
Mountains too heavy to lift or weigh.
Rivers that soak through their wrappings,
Crawdads scurrying to escape the fluorescent lights,
Hormone-addled elk running madly down the aisles.

How do you market what matters most?
Hard to swallow insights,
served-up with self evident assignments.
Revolution with no profit.
Dreams that swim freely without sleep,
An artful life that few may ever see,
Restoration requiring sweat and toil.
Hope without logic or reason,
Revolution without profit,
A theatre of truth with no way out.
A sixpack of enchantment,
A round of responsibility,
A baggie stuffed with purpose.
And who will pay
For the challenges and struggles
That make us worthy,
Of the darkest nights
That define our brightest days.

Who will name this great hunger,
And who will feed it?
Who will name the cure,
And who will admit to needing it?

Lone Wolf Circles (aka: Jesse Wolf Hardin)
February-March 2002 Earth First!
]]> 1047447 no no Thu, 23 Feb 2012 12:08:37 +0100 2012-02-23T12:08:37+01:00 2:46 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-dennis-fritzinger-nature-delights-me/
i am a naturalist
and as such
celebrate the seasons
and the celestial turnings
like the solstices,
of which the winter one
is coming up.
i admire the stars
and their location
in the sky,
appreciate the earth
doing its job,
circling the sun,
the sun
making its long circuit
around the milky way.
nature delights me
at every level,
so why shouldn't i
celebrate it?

Dennis Fritzinger
Earth First! Warrior Poet]]>
i am a naturalist
and as such
celebrate the seasons
and the celestial turnings
like the solstices,
of which the winter one
is coming up.
i admire the stars
and their location
in the sky,
appreciate the earth
doing its job,
circling the sun,
the sun
making its long circuit
around the milky way.
nature delights me
at every level,
so why shouldn't i
celebrate it?

Dennis Fritzinger
Earth First! Warrior Poet]]> 1047450 no no Wed, 22 Feb 2012 05:19:40 +0100 2012-02-22T05:19:40+01:00 3:07 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-art-goodtimes-pruning/
it is the midmark
bark gnarled on the heart
head strong & rooted

age is our axe
what burns brings us heat
what rots gets recycled

what grows
is our choice
not to cut

Art Goodtimes
March 20 1987 Earth First!]]>
it is the midmark
bark gnarled on the heart
head strong & rooted

age is our axe
what burns brings us heat
what rots gets recycled

what grows
is our choice
not to cut

Art Goodtimes
March 20 1987 Earth First!]]> 1047453 no no Tue, 21 Feb 2012 02:24:16 +0100 2012-02-21T02:24:16+01:00 2:11 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-jenny-mcbride-turtle/
I work at a tree museum
So nice to be among like-minded
Nature-noticing humans.
Rolling into the research lot
One morning on my two-wheeler
I saw the cracked shell
Of a sparkling turtle stopped in its tracks
By employee traffic.
Eyes still open, dying in place
But I couldn’t stop
Because there was a pick-up truck
Coming fast: work to do.
Later someone had scraped it up
Tossed it aside, away with poor taste
I wear a turtle pendant
Absentee vote for Turtle Island
Every day on my bike
I, like the turtles,
Wait patiently, confidently,
For the end of the oil era.

Jenny McBride
July-August 2006 Earth First!]]>
I work at a tree museum
So nice to be among like-minded
Nature-noticing humans.
Rolling into the research lot
One morning on my two-wheeler
I saw the cracked shell
Of a sparkling turtle stopped in its tracks
By employee traffic.
Eyes still open, dying in place
But I couldn’t stop
Because there was a pick-up truck
Coming fast: work to do.
Later someone had scraped it up
Tossed it aside, away with poor taste
I wear a turtle pendant
Absentee vote for Turtle Island
Every day on my bike
I, like the turtles,
Wait patiently, confidently,
For the end of the oil era.

Jenny McBride
July-August 2006 Earth First!]]> 1047455 no no Fri, 17 Feb 2012 22:03:06 +0100 2012-02-17T22:03:06+01:00 1:40 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-phillip-r-knight-medical-waste/
Amongst the tidepools,
barnacles and bracken
lies a sack of human blood.
Atop a dune of gleaming sand
syringes drip filth.
Human intestines and even limbs
are carried high by the tide,
a ghastly modern flotsam.
Beachcomber beware!
The womb of life
spits back death.

Phillip R. Knight
December 21 1988 Earth First!]]>
Amongst the tidepools,
barnacles and bracken
lies a sack of human blood.
Atop a dune of gleaming sand
syringes drip filth.
Human intestines and even limbs
are carried high by the tide,
a ghastly modern flotsam.
Beachcomber beware!
The womb of life
spits back death.

Phillip R. Knight
December 21 1988 Earth First!]]> 1047457 no no Wed, 15 Feb 2012 21:09:19 +0100 2012-02-15T21:09:19+01:00 1:57 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-stephen-meadows-umpqua/
In a logged over meadow
looking down into the mouth
of the valley at dusk
it is quiet here
but for the sound
of the oncoming wind
in the stunt growth fir
the long crease
that Suicide Creek makes
toward the dim lights
on the Umpqua river
falls away into shadow
there is still red sky
to the west
where the sun parts again
the logger’s slash
far toward Coos Bay
they have left nothing here
but the names
and the brain like silence

Stephen Meadows
May 1 1988 Earth First!]]>
In a logged over meadow
looking down into the mouth
of the valley at dusk
it is quiet here
but for the sound
of the oncoming wind
in the stunt growth fir
the long crease
that Suicide Creek makes
toward the dim lights
on the Umpqua river
falls away into shadow
there is still red sky
to the west
where the sun parts again
the logger’s slash
far toward Coos Bay
they have left nothing here
but the names
and the brain like silence

Stephen Meadows
May 1 1988 Earth First!]]> 1047459 no no Mon, 13 Feb 2012 20:13:21 +0100 2012-02-13T20:13:21+01:00 2:30 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-w-cody-lasell-siskiyou/
there is a forest in my memory
where youth found me barefoot and unafraid
dashing deep within the silence
like a quarried animal seeks cover
I would dance to the sounds of total solitude
within judgment range of only self
I would move without direction
seek without purpose of finding
sometimes I became the wind
sometimes the wind became me
high above a hawk would circle
guarding the secrets of yesterday
and dreaming of lost horizons
limited only by the skies within his soul
the untouched forest is gone
alive only within the memories
of those who bonded to the beauty of its essence
lost… like a lover unforgotten

W. Cody Lassell
November 1994 Earth First!]]>
there is a forest in my memory
where youth found me barefoot and unafraid
dashing deep within the silence
like a quarried animal seeks cover
I would dance to the sounds of total solitude
within judgment range of only self
I would move without direction
seek without purpose of finding
sometimes I became the wind
sometimes the wind became me
high above a hawk would circle
guarding the secrets of yesterday
and dreaming of lost horizons
limited only by the skies within his soul
the untouched forest is gone
alive only within the memories
of those who bonded to the beauty of its essence
lost… like a lover unforgotten

W. Cody Lassell
November 1994 Earth First!]]> 1047460 no no Sun, 12 Feb 2012 22:51:47 +0100 2012-02-12T22:51:47+01:00 2:50 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-sid-bridges-born-of-myth/
Tumbling out of the dawn
born into the warm cocoon
of myth and tribe
in a world of time circular
Seasons that have been
return again and again
Nature’s plants and creatures
die but are soon replaced
with like kind
Humankind lived within this dream
through millennia swaddled in
this cocoon of myth and of time
which never failed to return
Then of a sudden man and
woman were stripped naked of
nourishing myth and thrown
into a world where the arrow
of time had come to be
Time now was a straight line
with a long past, uncertain future
and infinitesimal present
Thrown into a world of specialists
but no wise men
into a mass society
without tribe or family
under fluorescent glare
in sweatshops or shoebox
workshop staring at the
dull glow of the computer
and believing nature is something
the Disney Company provides
and yet, and yet
the myth is still alive
over yonder hill and
in that grove of trees
or comes to you as you lie
in tall prairie grasses
or in the voice of coyote
yipping under a full moon
Man, Woman, Wake up!
this machine dream you’re living
is not a dream but a nightmare!
wake up and jump back into myth
and out of your technical tomb
and run howling naked
under the friendly glow
of the rising moon

Sid Bridges
March-April 2000 Earth First!
]]>
Tumbling out of the dawn
born into the warm cocoon
of myth and tribe
in a world of time circular
Seasons that have been
return again and again
Nature’s plants and creatures
die but are soon replaced
with like kind
Humankind lived within this dream
through millennia swaddled in
this cocoon of myth and of time
which never failed to return
Then of a sudden man and
woman were stripped naked of
nourishing myth and thrown
into a world where the arrow
of time had come to be
Time now was a straight line
with a long past, uncertain future
and infinitesimal present
Thrown into a world of specialists
but no wise men
into a mass society
without tribe or family
under fluorescent glare
in sweatshops or shoebox
workshop staring at the
dull glow of the computer
and believing nature is something
the Disney Company provides
and yet, and yet
the myth is still alive
over yonder hill and
in that grove of trees
or comes to you as you lie
in tall prairie grasses
or in the voice of coyote
yipping under a full moon
Man, Woman, Wake up!
this machine dream you’re living
is not a dream but a nightmare!
wake up and jump back into myth
and out of your technical tomb
and run howling naked
under the friendly glow
of the rising moon

Sid Bridges
March-April 2000 Earth First!
]]> 1047461 no no Fri, 10 Feb 2012 21:11:45 +0100 2012-02-10T21:11:45+01:00 2:40 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-sasha-paris-flood-and-fire/
Iron-gray clouds hang heavy across the sky
Cold rain pours, patters, pours again
Creeks become raging brown torrents
Cascading in white falls of roaring mist
The swollen lake is beige for days
Elsewhere...
Relentless drought withers plants and people alike
Fires race insatiable, unstoppable, turning all to lifeless ruin
Rivers trickle, streams and ponds are but cracked earth
Water is priceless yet pricey, a treasure to kill for
This rain cannot quench that fire
Flood here won't water crops across mountain or sea
Here too much
There too little
Balance is gone

Sasha Paris
Beltane 2010 Earth First!
]]>
Iron-gray clouds hang heavy across the sky
Cold rain pours, patters, pours again
Creeks become raging brown torrents
Cascading in white falls of roaring mist
The swollen lake is beige for days
Elsewhere...
Relentless drought withers plants and people alike
Fires race insatiable, unstoppable, turning all to lifeless ruin
Rivers trickle, streams and ponds are but cracked earth
Water is priceless yet pricey, a treasure to kill for
This rain cannot quench that fire
Flood here won't water crops across mountain or sea
Here too much
There too little
Balance is gone

Sasha Paris
Beltane 2010 Earth First!
]]> 1047462 no no Thu, 09 Feb 2012 20:19:15 +0100 2012-02-09T20:19:15+01:00 3:37 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-marcy-marchello-natural-sacrifice-area/
The land gives gently
spinning the wind with dustdevil talk.
A lone cow
trots into the road
after we pass
and dark green juniper bushes
speckle the reds, the grays
of moving fleshrock.
Rivers like lightning
streak the ground.
Look again!
The earth has opened wide and deep
spread raven’s wings
canyon walls
a part
so you can soar and see and spin
look at your insides again
but don’t just look at the tissue pink view
while the sky spits and heaves
Run down in there!
roll in the bloodstone and bones
soak up the smell of death
Run back up the rock!
Peek out across the sun slanted vastness
and gasping for breath, ask yourself
What shall I sacrifice to keep this place sacred?

Marcy Marchello
March 20 1988 Earth First!]]>
The land gives gently
spinning the wind with dustdevil talk.
A lone cow
trots into the road
after we pass
and dark green juniper bushes
speckle the reds, the grays
of moving fleshrock.
Rivers like lightning
streak the ground.
Look again!
The earth has opened wide and deep
spread raven’s wings
canyon walls
a part
so you can soar and see and spin
look at your insides again
but don’t just look at the tissue pink view
while the sky spits and heaves
Run down in there!
roll in the bloodstone and bones
soak up the smell of death
Run back up the rock!
Peek out across the sun slanted vastness
and gasping for breath, ask yourself
What shall I sacrifice to keep this place sacred?

Marcy Marchello
March 20 1988 Earth First!]]> 1047463 no no Wed, 08 Feb 2012 05:25:44 +0100 2012-02-08T05:25:44+01:00 1:48 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-robert-frost-the-most-of-it/
He thought he kept the universe alone;
For all the voice in answer he could wake
Was but the mocking echo of his own
From some tree-hidden cliff across the lake.
Some morning from the boulder-broken beach
He would cry out on life, that what it wants
Is not its own love back in copy speech,
But counter-love, original response.
And nothing ever came of what he cried
Unless it was the embodiment that crashed
In the cliff’s talus on the other side,
And then in the far-distant water splashed,
But after a time allowed for it to swim,
Instead of proving human when it neared
And someone else additional to him,
As a great buck it powerfully appeared,
Pushing the crumpled water up ahead,
And landed pouring like a waterfall,
And stumbled through the rocks with horny tread,
And forced the underbrush–and that was all.]]>
He thought he kept the universe alone;
For all the voice in answer he could wake
Was but the mocking echo of his own
From some tree-hidden cliff across the lake.
Some morning from the boulder-broken beach
He would cry out on life, that what it wants
Is not its own love back in copy speech,
But counter-love, original response.
And nothing ever came of what he cried
Unless it was the embodiment that crashed
In the cliff’s talus on the other side,
And then in the far-distant water splashed,
But after a time allowed for it to swim,
Instead of proving human when it neared
And someone else additional to him,
As a great buck it powerfully appeared,
Pushing the crumpled water up ahead,
And landed pouring like a waterfall,
And stumbled through the rocks with horny tread,
And forced the underbrush–and that was all.]]> 1047464 no no Fri, 03 Feb 2012 22:02:57 +0100 2012-02-03T22:02:57+01:00 3:44 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-de-grow-footprints-in-snow/
You gotta be crazy
to walk out in that cold,
a little bit lonesome
to need that much room to think.
Most times I just don’t know
but the air is so sweet
where the pinyon grows
and the canyon exposes
the beauty that lies within.


De Grow
August 1 1984 Earth First!]]>
You gotta be crazy
to walk out in that cold,
a little bit lonesome
to need that much room to think.
Most times I just don’t know
but the air is so sweet
where the pinyon grows
and the canyon exposes
the beauty that lies within.


De Grow
August 1 1984 Earth First!]]> 1047465 no no Fri, 03 Feb 2012 09:18:01 +0100 2012-02-03T09:18:01+01:00 1:12 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-heidi-mary-de-la-valette-rapture/
Come away
With me
To the real world.
To the wind
Sighing for love
Of the red-tailed hawk.
To the tall fir
Reaching unrequited
For a luminous moon.
To the marsh grasses
Softly rippling
To the ocean’s pulse.
Come with me
To the forest’s heart
Where the green tapestry
Starred with jewelled birds
And fragrant flowers
Enters the blood
And calls you home.
And come with me
To the black pond’s night
To the pulsing voice
Of a thousand dark, silk frogs
Singing a latticework skyward.
And stay with me
When high summer
Enfolds the Earth
In passion’s heat
And the earthblood runs swift
And urgent
And life is the message,
The meaning
And all that has ever mattered
Or will ever matter.

Mary de La Valette
May 1, 1994 Earth First!]]>
Come away
With me
To the real world.
To the wind
Sighing for love
Of the red-tailed hawk.
To the tall fir
Reaching unrequited
For a luminous moon.
To the marsh grasses
Softly rippling
To the ocean’s pulse.
Come with me
To the forest’s heart
Where the green tapestry
Starred with jewelled birds
And fragrant flowers
Enters the blood
And calls you home.
And come with me
To the black pond’s night
To the pulsing voice
Of a thousand dark, silk frogs
Singing a latticework skyward.
And stay with me
When high summer
Enfolds the Earth
In passion’s heat
And the earthblood runs swift
And urgent
And life is the message,
The meaning
And all that has ever mattered
Or will ever matter.

Mary de La Valette
May 1, 1994 Earth First!]]> 1047466 no no Thu, 05 Jan 2012 23:51:02 +0100 2012-01-05T23:51:02+01:00 4:18 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-chris-cummings-tree-upright-member-of-standing-nation-speaks/
We are the standing nation.
We connect earth and sky – a solid rod of connectivity gracefully flowing we are.
We speak little… at least not a language familiar to many of you…
at least not usually.
Once upon a time centuries ago we roamed
Freely on the mountains and countrysides.
No, you didn’t see us move about, at least not very often.
We are a steadfast people, taking root deep in the soil we drink
Deeply of the minerals and nourishments of the earth,
Mixing it with the sunlight returning sweetness to the air.
We even are willing at our own expense to make places
For creatures who make their homes in and on us.
In communities we decide among ourselves who shall grow the
tallest and how closely we want to live next to one another.
We protect our little ones until they are strong and then let
Them grow as high and as far as they can.
Wisdom is ours. We know the lightning and the thunder and the rain.
We are wise enough to know how to bear all things – well almost all things.
When the bipeds stopped asking us questions, communing with us,
and stopped listening to our songs, they also decided to rearrange us.
In neat little rows they planted our young carefully spaced so the intimacy
of our dance was sedate and almost unnoticeable.
Our young ones cried out for us and we longed to be near them.
At night we sometimes moved closer,
but at the break of day always we had to maintain that measured distance.
This was not all.
They chopped down our old ones.
Our wise ones could no longer teach us the dignities of
Death as their lives well lived were cut ever shorter.
By buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz saws.
Cruel metal machines, mowing us down.
Generation after generation.
We weakened since we knew we would not grow old – not really old anymore.
Only the young — until we were big enough to harvest — were encouraged to grow.
Then we were quickly replaced by younger weaker members.
Our species increasingly knew survival of the weakest
As the fittest were laid waste by that horrible metal sound.
And why should we grow, we asked ourselves, when we were
Only rewarded with an early unnatural death?
Some humans knew our silent screams. We know this.
Some of us fixated on that hated metal man until something curious happened.
As our dust lay in chards around their yards, a few of our atoms changed.
Some of us stuck to the blades and instead of wood we became metal.
What had happened to our hearts? Eventually that blade that we
Hated also became part of us.
We realized we were the blade.
Curiously, somehow we had become entwined with our own wanton destruction.
Now, let me take a moment to explain that metal
Evolves much more slowly than we trees.
Fire burns us, but we still stand.
Metal melts and loses all sense of itself – at least of its form.
As we buzzed ourselves and forgave our brothers who buzzed us,
We also transformed again.
We did not know how to become not metal, but we did know how to change our shape.
After years we gradually became metal pointed things that men held in their hands.
We tried to find good men so they would use us well since,
Worse than being planted trees,
We were now extremely portable and could be used
By another – an extension of his nature.
Some of us found our way to becoming pens and were covered with ink.
Over time, we also learned we could transfer our atoms mixed
With the ink to the paper where we lived for centuries.
On scrolls of parchment we became a sort of living word.
We also hoped we would one day become trees again. Free ones.
To anyone who reads this, please tell my tree bretheren that there is hope.
They, too, can live forever.
Tell them to grow tall and to trust themselves.
Tell them to grow strong and let those tender little ones live close by.
Tell them to grow old and respect age.
Tell them to let their older friends die wisely and listen to what they want to
Tell you – especially as they prepare themselves to cross over.
Tell them to connect to the earth, drink deeply of her, and
Stretch up high waving in the heavens.
Tell them they are a sweetness and a perfume to this earth.
Tell them we love them.
We always will.]]>
We are the standing nation.
We connect earth and sky – a solid rod of connectivity gracefully flowing we are.
We speak little… at least not a language familiar to many of you…
at least not usually.
Once upon a time centuries ago we roamed
Freely on the mountains and countrysides.
No, you didn’t see us move about, at least not very often.
We are a steadfast people, taking root deep in the soil we drink
Deeply of the minerals and nourishments of the earth,
Mixing it with the sunlight returning sweetness to the air.
We even are willing at our own expense to make places
For creatures who make their homes in and on us.
In communities we decide among ourselves who shall grow the
tallest and how closely we want to live next to one another.
We protect our little ones until they are strong and then let
Them grow as high and as far as they can.
Wisdom is ours. We know the lightning and the thunder and the rain.
We are wise enough to know how to bear all things – well almost all things.
When the bipeds stopped asking us questions, communing with us,
and stopped listening to our songs, they also decided to rearrange us.
In neat little rows they planted our young carefully spaced so the intimacy
of our dance was sedate and almost unnoticeable.
Our young ones cried out for us and we longed to be near them.
At night we sometimes moved closer,
but at the break of day always we had to maintain that measured distance.
This was not all.
They chopped down our old ones.
Our wise ones could no longer teach us the dignities of
Death as their lives well lived were cut ever shorter.
By buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz saws.
Cruel metal machines, mowing us down.
Generation after generation.
We weakened since we knew we would not grow old – not really old anymore.
Only the young — until we were big enough to harvest — were encouraged to grow.
Then we were quickly replaced by younger weaker members.
Our species increasingly knew survival of the weakest
As the fittest were laid waste by that horrible metal sound.
And why should we grow, we asked ourselves, when we were
Only rewarded with an early unnatural death?
Some humans knew our silent screams. We know this.
Some of us fixated on that hated metal man until something curious happened.
As our dust lay in chards around their yards, a few of our atoms changed.
Some of us stuck to the blades and instead of wood we became metal.
What had happened to our hearts? Eventually that blade that we
Hated also became part of us.
We realized we were the blade.
Curiously, somehow we had become entwined with our own wanton destruction.
Now, let me take a moment to explain that metal
Evolves much more slowly than we trees.
Fire burns us, but we still stand.
Metal melts and loses all sense of itself – at least of its form.
As we buzzed ourselves and forgave our brothers who buzzed us,
We also transformed again.
We did not know how to become not metal, but we did know how to change our shape.
After years we gradually became metal pointed things that men held in their hands.
We tried to find good men so they would use us well since,
Worse than being planted trees,
We were now extremely portable and could be used
By another – an extension of his nature.
Some of us found our way to becoming pens and were covered with ink.
Over time, we also learned we could transfer our atoms mixed
With the ink to the paper where we lived for centuries.
On scrolls of parchment we became a sort of living word.
We also hoped we would one day become trees again. Free ones.
To anyone who reads this, please tell my tree bretheren that there is hope.
They, too, can live forever.
Tell them to grow tall and to trust themselves.
Tell them to grow strong and let those tender little ones live close by.
Tell them to grow old and respect age.
Tell them to let their older friends die wisely and listen to what they want to
Tell you – especially as they prepare themselves to cross over.
Tell them to connect to the earth, drink deeply of her, and
Stretch up high waving in the heavens.
Tell them they are a sweetness and a perfume to this earth.
Tell them we love them.
We always will.]]> 1047468 no no Thu, 05 Jan 2012 03:01:51 +0100 2012-01-05T03:01:51+01:00 5:58 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-chris-cummings-civilization/
Linear is not
naturally straight

Circular would
rather be an ellipse

Our thoughts loop backwards
toward themselves and the
land exaggerates the good and
bad that's been done to it

Consequence is often
what's not planned for

Serendipity can be
much much more

Our desires are of unreal
necessities unreached and the
land's most alive when we again
help thrive the ever-living leaf

DeaneTR 2011]]>
Linear is not
naturally straight

Circular would
rather be an ellipse

Our thoughts loop backwards
toward themselves and the
land exaggerates the good and
bad that's been done to it

Consequence is often
what's not planned for

Serendipity can be
much much more

Our desires are of unreal
necessities unreached and the
land's most alive when we again
help thrive the ever-living leaf

DeaneTR 2011]]> 1047469 no no Mon, 02 Jan 2012 09:40:08 +0100 2012-01-02T09:40:08+01:00 1:23 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-heidi-jenny-mcbride-cougar/
Well now I’ve seen everything
From the coyote in the downtown Chicago sandwich shop
To the cougar shot in the same city
Having walked all the way from South Dakota

To tell us that Earth is still alive.
Wild things bursting at her seams
Our planet glows with
The answers to our problems.

Life springing back to life all around us
Wild things running through our cities
On a relay of hope
The thrill of living]]>
Well now I’ve seen everything
From the coyote in the downtown Chicago sandwich shop
To the cougar shot in the same city
Having walked all the way from South Dakota

To tell us that Earth is still alive.
Wild things bursting at her seams
Our planet glows with
The answers to our problems.

Life springing back to life all around us
Wild things running through our cities
On a relay of hope
The thrill of living]]> 1047470 no no Sat, 31 Dec 2011 12:14:56 +0100 2011-12-31T12:14:56+01:00 1:35 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-heidi-mary-de-la-valette-what-is-it-you-do/
"What is it you do?"

Little green bug
Crawling on my arm,
What is it you do?
Are you merely food
For some other important being
In an infinitesimal order
We barely comprehend?
Or are you, yourself
Some irreplaceable function
Of Gaia?
(like mycorrhizal fungi)

Which brings me
As always
Full circle
To ask
What is it humans do?

Mary de La Valette
May 1995 Earth First!]]>
"What is it you do?"

Little green bug
Crawling on my arm,
What is it you do?
Are you merely food
For some other important being
In an infinitesimal order
We barely comprehend?
Or are you, yourself
Some irreplaceable function
Of Gaia?
(like mycorrhizal fungi)

Which brings me
As always
Full circle
To ask
What is it humans do?

Mary de La Valette
May 1995 Earth First!]]> 1047471 no no Fri, 30 Dec 2011 10:09:50 +0100 2011-12-30T10:09:50+01:00 4:45 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-vibetribe-healing-djinn-pssst/
Pssst...Quit your job. (You know who you are.)
Become a baker, dress-maker, home-builder,
weaver, furniture maker, gardener, flute-maker,
clothing-maker, beer-maker, candle-maker, solar
oven builder, builder of solar hot water heaters,
cobbler, healer, yogi, shaman, dancer, singer,
musician, herbalist, boat-maker, bicycle repair
person, potter, tool-maker, hunter, gatherer, brick-
maker, actor, trader, artist, innkeeper, or something
else useful, local and non-destructive. Or, do many
things, and enjoy the variety.
Sell to your neighbors. Buy from your
neighbors. (Everyone is a neighbor who shares the
same water source.)
Learn about the land, plants and animals
around you.
Create a new social security in a circle of
friends.
Spend more time with your family.
Work harder in certain seasons. Hang out and
cuddle up in others.
Take it easy when you or a loved one is ill. Or
when the weather is especially beautiful.
Travel less, and slower, where you please, and
with less pressure.
Breathe fresher air. Drink purer water.
Daydream more. Remember your dreams.
Create.
It's your life.
(Their promises of security are not true.)
Even the CEOs will enjoy getting back in the
garden for a change.
Change the world.
Pass it on.

Djinn
March-April 2007 Earth First!
]]>
Pssst...Quit your job. (You know who you are.)
Become a baker, dress-maker, home-builder,
weaver, furniture maker, gardener, flute-maker,
clothing-maker, beer-maker, candle-maker, solar
oven builder, builder of solar hot water heaters,
cobbler, healer, yogi, shaman, dancer, singer,
musician, herbalist, boat-maker, bicycle repair
person, potter, tool-maker, hunter, gatherer, brick-
maker, actor, trader, artist, innkeeper, or something
else useful, local and non-destructive. Or, do many
things, and enjoy the variety.
Sell to your neighbors. Buy from your
neighbors. (Everyone is a neighbor who shares the
same water source.)
Learn about the land, plants and animals
around you.
Create a new social security in a circle of
friends.
Spend more time with your family.
Work harder in certain seasons. Hang out and
cuddle up in others.
Take it easy when you or a loved one is ill. Or
when the weather is especially beautiful.
Travel less, and slower, where you please, and
with less pressure.
Breathe fresher air. Drink purer water.
Daydream more. Remember your dreams.
Create.
It's your life.
(Their promises of security are not true.)
Even the CEOs will enjoy getting back in the
garden for a change.
Change the world.
Pass it on.

Djinn
March-April 2007 Earth First!
]]> 1047472 no no Tue, 27 Dec 2011 21:51:59 +0100 2011-12-27T21:51:59+01:00 2:03 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-vibetribe-healing-robert-frost-stopping-by-woods/
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.]]>
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.]]> 1047474 no no Thu, 22 Dec 2011 11:16:04 +0100 2011-12-22T11:16:04+01:00 4:33 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-vibetribe-healing-rebecca-swan-what-is-that-sound/
What is that sound?

Ah, the sound of
natural world
rubbing up against
man-made world

Tree branch against
tin roof

Rebecca Swan
November-December 2008 Earth First!]]>
What is that sound?

Ah, the sound of
natural world
rubbing up against
man-made world

Tree branch against
tin roof

Rebecca Swan
November-December 2008 Earth First!]]> 1047475 no no Wed, 21 Dec 2011 08:13:58 +0100 2011-12-21T08:13:58+01:00 2:49 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/heidi-mike-deanetr-maria-quintana-on-the-road/
dedicated to the Mazda Miata

Mall mall mall mall
strip mall, deluxe mall with waterfall
Nicaraguan Sweetwater malls four to a corner
Dadeland, big air conditioned mall
car mall, food mall, big parking lot
lots of parking lots with every mall
Road road road road
getting bigger
just around my neighborhood
Red Road, Dixie Highway
Bird Road, and the up-and-coming
roads for smart drivers
way ahead of their time
who have been around
Miami more than since yesterday
Alhambra, Blue Road, all Coral Gables shortcuts
Road road mall mall parking parking
air conditioned parking with a
fast food restaurant at the exit
they all look alike, flashing discrete income categories
Romance of the road, the road to nowhere
used to be the road was filled with mystery
like pioneers going over the plains
watching for the mountains in the distance
the mountains are still there, but as for the mystery…
the malls of Los Angeles, I can see them
rising behind the Hollywood Hills, taller even
even more deluxe than the Aventura
Burger kings more luxurious
I can hardly wait to get in the car
It was a time of hopelessness
There was a sense of doom
The first traffic shootings occurred
Wild animals began to disappear along with forests
air and clean water
It made great rock and roll

Maria Quintana
September 22 1990 Earth First!]]>
dedicated to the Mazda Miata

Mall mall mall mall
strip mall, deluxe mall with waterfall
Nicaraguan Sweetwater malls four to a corner
Dadeland, big air conditioned mall
car mall, food mall, big parking lot
lots of parking lots with every mall
Road road road road
getting bigger
just around my neighborhood
Red Road, Dixie Highway
Bird Road, and the up-and-coming
roads for smart drivers
way ahead of their time
who have been around
Miami more than since yesterday
Alhambra, Blue Road, all Coral Gables shortcuts
Road road mall mall parking parking
air conditioned parking with a
fast food restaurant at the exit
they all look alike, flashing discrete income categories
Romance of the road, the road to nowhere
used to be the road was filled with mystery
like pioneers going over the plains
watching for the mountains in the distance
the mountains are still there, but as for the mystery…
the malls of Los Angeles, I can see them
rising behind the Hollywood Hills, taller even
even more deluxe than the Aventura
Burger kings more luxurious
I can hardly wait to get in the car
It was a time of hopelessness
There was a sense of doom
The first traffic shootings occurred
Wild animals began to disappear along with forests
air and clean water
It made great rock and roll

Maria Quintana
September 22 1990 Earth First!]]> 1047476 no no Tue, 20 Dec 2011 00:02:31 +0100 2011-12-20T00:02:31+01:00 4:06 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-chris-cummings-stanley-kunitz-snakes-of-september/
All summer I heard them
rustling in the shrubbery,
outracing me from tier
to tier in my garden,
a whisper among the viburnums,
a signal flashed from the hedgerow,
a shadow pulsing
in the barberry thicket.
Now that the nights are chill
and the annuals spent,
I should have thought them gone,
in a torpor of blood
slipped to the nether world
before the sickle frost.
Not so. In the deceptive balm
of noon, as if defiant of the curse
that spoiled another garden,
these two appear on show
through a narrow slit
in the dense green brocade
of a north-country spruce,
dangling head-down, entwined
in a brazen love-knot.
I put out my hand and stroke
the fine, dry grit of their skins.
After all,
we are partners in this land,
co-signers of a covenant.
At my touch the wild
braid of creation
trembles.]]>
All summer I heard them
rustling in the shrubbery,
outracing me from tier
to tier in my garden,
a whisper among the viburnums,
a signal flashed from the hedgerow,
a shadow pulsing
in the barberry thicket.
Now that the nights are chill
and the annuals spent,
I should have thought them gone,
in a torpor of blood
slipped to the nether world
before the sickle frost.
Not so. In the deceptive balm
of noon, as if defiant of the curse
that spoiled another garden,
these two appear on show
through a narrow slit
in the dense green brocade
of a north-country spruce,
dangling head-down, entwined
in a brazen love-knot.
I put out my hand and stroke
the fine, dry grit of their skins.
After all,
we are partners in this land,
co-signers of a covenant.
At my touch the wild
braid of creation
trembles.]]> 1047477 no no Sun, 18 Dec 2011 21:36:22 +0100 2011-12-18T21:36:22+01:00 3:31 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-vibetribe-healing-jen-eddy-close-to-nature/
Special thanks to 365Breaks for providing beat sample

Spider webs flash silver lines
across dark green shadows.
Sunlight slants hot promises
through leafy branches,
spotlighting insects dancing
their short lives away.

I sit swinging my feet
on a flatbed truck parked
beside a dirt road,
listening to the woods,
inhaling sweet summer morning
smells.

A truck pulls up, on its back
a heavy bulldozer bursting at chains.
Released, the 'dozer grumbles to life,
noses down the ramp,
lumbers into the woods
pushing brush and brambles,
ripping evergreens by the roots
to reveal violated forest floor.

diesel fumes and dirt billow.
Clatters, shrieks and throbs
kill the early silence.
The sun clears the treetops.
Men sweat heavily.
Behind the behemoth
crushed fern, bruised spruce,
uprooted cedar, cleat-chewed
ground. Smells mingle.

The 'dozer spreads earth
like frosting. Contours flatten.
Where once old logs lay,
decaying base for lichens,
lizards and pungent fungi,
all scattered.

It departs,
clanking across the road,
climbing onto the truck,
an obedient beast
tethered with stout chains.

Dust settles.
Birds return to warble evening songs.
We survey the silence,
walk the curving slash in the woods
and dream of living close to nature.

Jen Eddy
July-August 2006 Earth First!]]>
Special thanks to 365Breaks for providing beat sample

Spider webs flash silver lines
across dark green shadows.
Sunlight slants hot promises
through leafy branches,
spotlighting insects dancing
their short lives away.

I sit swinging my feet
on a flatbed truck parked
beside a dirt road,
listening to the woods,
inhaling sweet summer morning
smells.

A truck pulls up, on its back
a heavy bulldozer bursting at chains.
Released, the 'dozer grumbles to life,
noses down the ramp,
lumbers into the woods
pushing brush and brambles,
ripping evergreens by the roots
to reveal violated forest floor.

diesel fumes and dirt billow.
Clatters, shrieks and throbs
kill the early silence.
The sun clears the treetops.
Men sweat heavily.
Behind the behemoth
crushed fern, bruised spruce,
uprooted cedar, cleat-chewed
ground. Smells mingle.

The 'dozer spreads earth
like frosting. Contours flatten.
Where once old logs lay,
decaying base for lichens,
lizards and pungent fungi,
all scattered.

It departs,
clanking across the road,
climbing onto the truck,
an obedient beast
tethered with stout chains.

Dust settles.
Birds return to warble evening songs.
We survey the silence,
walk the curving slash in the woods
and dream of living close to nature.

Jen Eddy
July-August 2006 Earth First!]]> 1047478 no no Sat, 17 Dec 2011 07:13:40 +0100 2011-12-17T07:13:40+01:00 2:45 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-chris-cummings-bs-southern-utah-sunrise/
Wrapped in my sleeping bag
I watched the sun rise over the valley
Curious if any scorpions might lay by my feet
Unseen

The redrock walls cast in an angelic glow
The silence of the desert surrounding me
The sand between my toes
It is easy to find religion in moments like this

In the growth of the morning the reality of heaven
would reveal itself
First in the songs of birds
Then the scent of bacon frying over an open fire
the taste of cold Mexican beer
the laughter of friends
And the coolness of the Colorado waters
enveloping my sand stained body on the way to the sea

Or so I like to believe

This is the wilderness
Things are as they should be
open, free
and full of joy

Why should the rest of the world be any different?

In the isolation of the sandstone it is easy to hold
on to such ideas

Bart Semcer
February-March 2002 Earth First!]]>
Wrapped in my sleeping bag
I watched the sun rise over the valley
Curious if any scorpions might lay by my feet
Unseen

The redrock walls cast in an angelic glow
The silence of the desert surrounding me
The sand between my toes
It is easy to find religion in moments like this

In the growth of the morning the reality of heaven
would reveal itself
First in the songs of birds
Then the scent of bacon frying over an open fire
the taste of cold Mexican beer
the laughter of friends
And the coolness of the Colorado waters
enveloping my sand stained body on the way to the sea

Or so I like to believe

This is the wilderness
Things are as they should be
open, free
and full of joy

Why should the rest of the world be any different?

In the isolation of the sandstone it is easy to hold
on to such ideas

Bart Semcer
February-March 2002 Earth First!]]> 1047479 no no Tue, 06 Dec 2011 23:03:06 +0100 2011-12-06T23:03:06+01:00 2:15 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-john-moffitt-to-look-at-anything/
To look at any thing,
If you would know that thing,
You must look at it long:
To look at this green and say,
“I have seen spring in these
Woods,” will not do – you must
Be the thing you see:
You must be the dark snakes of
Stems and ferny plumes of leaves,
You must enter in
To the small silences between
The leaves,
You must take your time
And touch the very peace
They issue from.

~ John Moffitt ~]]>
To look at any thing,
If you would know that thing,
You must look at it long:
To look at this green and say,
“I have seen spring in these
Woods,” will not do – you must
Be the thing you see:
You must be the dark snakes of
Stems and ferny plumes of leaves,
You must enter in
To the small silences between
The leaves,
You must take your time
And touch the very peace
They issue from.

~ John Moffitt ~]]> 1047480 no no Wed, 30 Nov 2011 21:53:03 +0100 2011-11-30T21:53:03+01:00 2:58 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-chris-cummings-wkawin-pethakwanink-beaver-speaks-frog-sings/
Beaver said to ring the trees,
Beaver said to cut the roots,
Beaver said the trees would fall,
Beaver said the soil would loosen.
He said this would happen behind the dam.

Frog begins to sing for rain,
Frog's vision becomes clouds,
Frog's voice turns to thunder,
Frog is happy when it rains.

They said to listen to them
and they would show how to break
a dam.

They showed this to me behind the dam.
Listen! For Beaver speaks and Frog sings.

W'Kawin Pethakwanink]]>
Beaver said to ring the trees,
Beaver said to cut the roots,
Beaver said the trees would fall,
Beaver said the soil would loosen.
He said this would happen behind the dam.

Frog begins to sing for rain,
Frog's vision becomes clouds,
Frog's voice turns to thunder,
Frog is happy when it rains.

They said to listen to them
and they would show how to break
a dam.

They showed this to me behind the dam.
Listen! For Beaver speaks and Frog sings.

W'Kawin Pethakwanink]]> 1047481 no no Mon, 28 Nov 2011 21:14:34 +0100 2011-11-28T21:14:34+01:00 1:18 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-ralph-waldo-emerson-fable/
The mountain and the squirrel
Had a quarrel;
And the former called the latter "Little Prig."
Bun replied,
"You are doubtless very big;
But all sorts of things and weather
Must be taken in together
To make up a year
And a sphere.
And I think it's no disgrace
To occupy my place.
If I'm not so large as you,
You are not so small as I,
And not half so spry.
I'll not deny you make
A very pretty squirrel track;
Talents differ: all is well and wisely put;
If I cannot carry forests on my back,
Neither can you crack a nut."]]>
The mountain and the squirrel
Had a quarrel;
And the former called the latter "Little Prig."
Bun replied,
"You are doubtless very big;
But all sorts of things and weather
Must be taken in together
To make up a year
And a sphere.
And I think it's no disgrace
To occupy my place.
If I'm not so large as you,
You are not so small as I,
And not half so spry.
I'll not deny you make
A very pretty squirrel track;
Talents differ: all is well and wisely put;
If I cannot carry forests on my back,
Neither can you crack a nut."]]> 1047482 no no Sat, 26 Nov 2011 03:47:42 +0100 2011-11-26T03:47:42+01:00 1:18 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-chris-cummings-stephen-strunk-dreaming-of-rivers/
All day long I've been dreaming of Rivers
My tasks elude me
eyes wandering East
following the backbone of ridges
between which the Delaware flows
South

Finally, all day in the heat
I pump the old farm pump
handle worn smooth
like river stones
by generations of calloused hands

Bowing I drink from the Cold Clear Water!

-------

Congrats on another victory on the Nov. 21st Delaware Riverkeeper!

"The issue of shale gas drilling has finally moved out of the political arena and is now being treated as an issue of genuine public policy concern,” said Delaware Riverkeeper van Rossum." From: http://www.delawareriverkeeper.org/resources/PressReleases/press_release_on_cancellation.pdf]]>
All day long I've been dreaming of Rivers
My tasks elude me
eyes wandering East
following the backbone of ridges
between which the Delaware flows
South

Finally, all day in the heat
I pump the old farm pump
handle worn smooth
like river stones
by generations of calloused hands

Bowing I drink from the Cold Clear Water!

-------

Congrats on another victory on the Nov. 21st Delaware Riverkeeper!

"The issue of shale gas drilling has finally moved out of the political arena and is now being treated as an issue of genuine public policy concern,” said Delaware Riverkeeper van Rossum." From: http://www.delawareriverkeeper.org/resources/PressReleases/press_release_on_cancellation.pdf]]> 1047483 no no Wed, 23 Nov 2011 10:39:13 +0100 2011-11-23T10:39:13+01:00 1:39 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-chris-cummings-robinson-jeffers-oh-lovely-rock/
We stayed the night in the pathless gorge of Ventana Creek, up the east fork.
The rock walls and the mountain ridges hung forest on forest above our heads, maple and redwood,
Laurel, oak, madrone, up to the high and slender Santa Lucian firs that stare up the cataracts
Of slide-rock to the star-color precipices.

We lay on gravel and kept a little camp-fire for warmth.
Past midnight only two or three coals glowed red in the cooling darkness; I laid a clutch of dead bay-leaves
On the ember ends and felted dry sticks across them and lay down again. The revived flame
Lighted my sleeping son's face and his companion's, and the vertical face of the great gorge-wall
Across the stream. Light leaves overhead danced in the fire's breath, tree-trunks were seen: it was the rock wall
That fascinated my eyes and mind. Nothing strange: light-gray diorite with two or three slanting seams in it,
Smooth-polished by the endless attrition of slides and floods; no fern nor lichen, pure naked rock...as if I were
Seeing rock for the first time. As if I were seeing through the flame-lit surface into the real and bodily
And living rock. Nothing strange...I cannot
Tell you how strange: the silent passion, the deep nobility and childlike loveliness: this fate going on
Outside our fates. It is here in the mountain like a grave smiling child. I shall die, and my boys
Will live and die, our world will go on through its rapid agonies of change and discovery; this age will die,
And wolves have howled in the snow around a new Bethlehem: this rock will be here, grave, earnest, not passive: the energies
That are its atoms will still be bearing the whole mountain above: and I, many packed centuries ago,
Felt its intense reality with love and wonder, this lonely rock.]]>
We stayed the night in the pathless gorge of Ventana Creek, up the east fork.
The rock walls and the mountain ridges hung forest on forest above our heads, maple and redwood,
Laurel, oak, madrone, up to the high and slender Santa Lucian firs that stare up the cataracts
Of slide-rock to the star-color precipices.

We lay on gravel and kept a little camp-fire for warmth.
Past midnight only two or three coals glowed red in the cooling darkness; I laid a clutch of dead bay-leaves
On the ember ends and felted dry sticks across them and lay down again. The revived flame
Lighted my sleeping son's face and his companion's, and the vertical face of the great gorge-wall
Across the stream. Light leaves overhead danced in the fire's breath, tree-trunks were seen: it was the rock wall
That fascinated my eyes and mind. Nothing strange: light-gray diorite with two or three slanting seams in it,
Smooth-polished by the endless attrition of slides and floods; no fern nor lichen, pure naked rock...as if I were
Seeing rock for the first time. As if I were seeing through the flame-lit surface into the real and bodily
And living rock. Nothing strange...I cannot
Tell you how strange: the silent passion, the deep nobility and childlike loveliness: this fate going on
Outside our fates. It is here in the mountain like a grave smiling child. I shall die, and my boys
Will live and die, our world will go on through its rapid agonies of change and discovery; this age will die,
And wolves have howled in the snow around a new Bethlehem: this rock will be here, grave, earnest, not passive: the energies
That are its atoms will still be bearing the whole mountain above: and I, many packed centuries ago,
Felt its intense reality with love and wonder, this lonely rock.]]> 1047484 no no Mon, 21 Nov 2011 21:30:32 +0100 2011-11-21T21:30:32+01:00 4:32 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-chris-cummings-zen-oleary-mind-bones2/
Pigeons walk around behind my eyes,
slide in the hollow bones.
I trip on feathers and sibilant whispers
and the scratch of feet.
They have been with me everywhere,
these rock doves flown from ancient cliffs
to become city dwellers like ourselves,
feral souls in camouflage who walk
with measured and wary steps.
Glints of lavender wings tickle my eyes like
poems that live but the length of a breath
and never reach the page, or the memory
of a lover’s skin that is now touchable
only as words, as pen strokes, as piano notes
heard in distant rooms on dying afternoons.
Pigeons are the grace notes in the margins,
their soft coos lullabies from a forgotten womb.]]>
Pigeons walk around behind my eyes,
slide in the hollow bones.
I trip on feathers and sibilant whispers
and the scratch of feet.
They have been with me everywhere,
these rock doves flown from ancient cliffs
to become city dwellers like ourselves,
feral souls in camouflage who walk
with measured and wary steps.
Glints of lavender wings tickle my eyes like
poems that live but the length of a breath
and never reach the page, or the memory
of a lover’s skin that is now touchable
only as words, as pen strokes, as piano notes
heard in distant rooms on dying afternoons.
Pigeons are the grace notes in the margins,
their soft coos lullabies from a forgotten womb.]]> 1047485 no no Fri, 18 Nov 2011 20:06:26 +0100 2011-11-18T20:06:26+01:00 2:55 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-robert-drake-tailgated/
He's there in your rear-view mirror.
When's the last time you checked?
The epitome of progress approaches.
He's breathing down your neck!

He's rude and inconsiderate
And bent on setting the speed
At which you are daily driven
To (in this world) succeed.

He's bearing down upon you,
And his countenance will show
Impatience with sluggish Nature,
With anything slow!

Speed limits are a nuisance.
Tarry longer and you'll find
He doesn't believe in limits--
Limits of any kind.

So, next time you're running late,
Do yourself a favor--
Just let progress pass you by
And take the time to savor!

Robert Drake]]>
He's there in your rear-view mirror.
When's the last time you checked?
The epitome of progress approaches.
He's breathing down your neck!

He's rude and inconsiderate
And bent on setting the speed
At which you are daily driven
To (in this world) succeed.

He's bearing down upon you,
And his countenance will show
Impatience with sluggish Nature,
With anything slow!

Speed limits are a nuisance.
Tarry longer and you'll find
He doesn't believe in limits--
Limits of any kind.

So, next time you're running late,
Do yourself a favor--
Just let progress pass you by
And take the time to savor!

Robert Drake]]> 1047486 no no Tue, 15 Nov 2011 20:03:35 +0100 2011-11-15T20:03:35+01:00 3:26 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-johnmuir-grand-show-is-eternal/
This grand show is eternal.
It is always sunrise somewhere:
the dew is never all dried at once:
a shower is forever falling, vapor is ever rising.
Eternal sunrise, eternal sunset, eternal dawn and gloaming,
on sea and continents and islands, each in its turn,
as the round earth rolls.
--John Muir
]]>
This grand show is eternal.
It is always sunrise somewhere:
the dew is never all dried at once:
a shower is forever falling, vapor is ever rising.
Eternal sunrise, eternal sunset, eternal dawn and gloaming,
on sea and continents and islands, each in its turn,
as the round earth rolls.
--John Muir
]]> 1047487 no no Fri, 11 Nov 2011 22:08:22 +0100 2011-11-11T22:08:22+01:00 1:37 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-crickets-linda-hogan-deer-dance/
Deer Dance

This morning
when the chill that rises up from the ground is warmed,
the snow is melted
where the small deer slept.
See how the bodies leave their mark
The snow reveals their paths on the hillsides
the white overcrossing pathways into the upper meadows
where water comes forth and streams begin.
With a new snow the unseen becomes seen.
Rivers begin this way

At the deer dance last year,
after the clashing forces of human good and evil,
the men dressed in black,the women mourning for what was gone
the evergreen sprigs carried in a circle
to show the return of spring.
That night, after everything human was resolved,
a young man, the chosen, became the deer.
In the white skin of its ancestors,
wearing the head of the deer
above the human head
with flowers in his antlers, he danced,
beautiful and tireless, until he was more than human,
until he, too, was deer.

Of all those who were transformed into animals,
the travelers Circe turned into pigs,
the woman who became the bear,
the girl who always remained the child of wolves,
none of them wanted to go back
to being human. And I would do it, too, leave off being human
and become what it was that slept outside my door last night,
rested in my sleep.

One evening I hid in the brush south of here
and watched at the place where they shed their antlers
and where the deer danced, it was true,
as my old grandmother said,
water came up from the ground
and I could hear them breathing at the crooked river
The road there I know. I live here,
and always when I walk it
they are not quite sure of me,
looking back now and then to see that I am still
far enough away, their gray brown bodies,
the scars of fences
the fur never quite straight,
as if they'd just stepped into it.

Linda Hogan
American Poetry Review
September-October 2005


]]>
Deer Dance

This morning
when the chill that rises up from the ground is warmed,
the snow is melted
where the small deer slept.
See how the bodies leave their mark
The snow reveals their paths on the hillsides
the white overcrossing pathways into the upper meadows
where water comes forth and streams begin.
With a new snow the unseen becomes seen.
Rivers begin this way

At the deer dance last year,
after the clashing forces of human good and evil,
the men dressed in black,the women mourning for what was gone
the evergreen sprigs carried in a circle
to show the return of spring.
That night, after everything human was resolved,
a young man, the chosen, became the deer.
In the white skin of its ancestors,
wearing the head of the deer
above the human head
with flowers in his antlers, he danced,
beautiful and tireless, until he was more than human,
until he, too, was deer.

Of all those who were transformed into animals,
the travelers Circe turned into pigs,
the woman who became the bear,
the girl who always remained the child of wolves,
none of them wanted to go back
to being human. And I would do it, too, leave off being human
and become what it was that slept outside my door last night,
rested in my sleep.

One evening I hid in the brush south of here
and watched at the place where they shed their antlers
and where the deer danced, it was true,
as my old grandmother said,
water came up from the ground
and I could hear them breathing at the crooked river
The road there I know. I live here,
and always when I walk it
they are not quite sure of me,
looking back now and then to see that I am still
far enough away, their gray brown bodies,
the scars of fences
the fur never quite straight,
as if they'd just stepped into it.

Linda Hogan
American Poetry Review
September-October 2005


]]> 1047488 no no Thu, 10 Nov 2011 21:22:31 +0100 2011-11-10T21:22:31+01:00 2:17 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-kirk-lumpkin-savor-it/
From our faucets in San Francisco
we drink
sierra snowmelt
delivered by
Hetch Hetchy Dam--
some of the cleanest city water
one can find these days
But hidden deep within this water
is the taste of blood,
the blood of the creatures
that used to live there
before the valley was drowned,
and the blood of John Muir

with its taste
of a love and faith
that knows better
than to move mountains.
Savor it

for it still carries the wild taste
of Life
that will one day burst
these dams.]]>
From our faucets in San Francisco
we drink
sierra snowmelt
delivered by
Hetch Hetchy Dam--
some of the cleanest city water
one can find these days
But hidden deep within this water
is the taste of blood,
the blood of the creatures
that used to live there
before the valley was drowned,
and the blood of John Muir

with its taste
of a love and faith
that knows better
than to move mountains.
Savor it

for it still carries the wild taste
of Life
that will one day burst
these dams.]]> 1047489 no no Mon, 07 Nov 2011 03:42:52 +0100 2011-11-07T03:42:52+01:00 1:05 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-crickets-latif-harris-corn-poem/ http://armedwithvisions.com/2011/11/05/latif-harris-corn-poem

The corn is plowing a field of tractors
whose plumes of carbon smoke
have spread a kind of deadly pollen
on the iron soaked fields

The corn received so much genetic attention
that it became intelligent

It gained control over the insects
it gained control over the rats
the hares the horses and finally
it gained control of the tractors

The corn was plenty mad by this time
and it began harvesting the tractors

When the corn raised enough tractors
it had the tractors take it into the towns and cities
and made demands of the men and women
who were running the show

It demanded that all humans on the earth
return immediately to the sea
from whence they had come

The corn gave humans just ninety days
to get off the land

--Latif Harris (1983)]]> http://armedwithvisions.com/2011/11/05/latif-harris-corn-poem

The corn is plowing a field of tractors
whose plumes of carbon smoke
have spread a kind of deadly pollen
on the iron soaked fields

The corn received so much genetic attention
that it became intelligent

It gained control over the insects
it gained control over the rats
the hares the horses and finally
it gained control of the tractors

The corn was plenty mad by this time
and it began harvesting the tractors

When the corn raised enough tractors
it had the tractors take it into the towns and cities
and made demands of the men and women
who were running the show

It demanded that all humans on the earth
return immediately to the sea
from whence they had come

The corn gave humans just ninety days
to get off the land

--Latif Harris (1983)]]> 1047490 no no Sat, 05 Nov 2011 21:07:08 +0100 2011-11-05T21:07:08+01:00 0:57 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/walkin-jim-stoltz-bat-cave/
In the full heat of mid-day
Waiting in the brushed wall of the canyon
I found the cave
Proud of my direction
Water dripped, somewhere
In the cool dark
I wetted my cracked lips
Trying hard to swallow
Ginger steps of braille
Feeling toward that sound
Willing eyes to penetrate the void.

That's when the cave came to life
Walls waving to a hum of nervous wings
Ceiling, a threat of bursting thousands
To fly away
Whirring,
Those waiting
Moving masses
Like a sound track to a scary movie
Chilling hair stood on end
As I suddenly remembered
I could probably go a while yet
Without the water.
]]>
In the full heat of mid-day
Waiting in the brushed wall of the canyon
I found the cave
Proud of my direction
Water dripped, somewhere
In the cool dark
I wetted my cracked lips
Trying hard to swallow
Ginger steps of braille
Feeling toward that sound
Willing eyes to penetrate the void.

That's when the cave came to life
Walls waving to a hum of nervous wings
Ceiling, a threat of bursting thousands
To fly away
Whirring,
Those waiting
Moving masses
Like a sound track to a scary movie
Chilling hair stood on end
As I suddenly remembered
I could probably go a while yet
Without the water.
]]> 1047491 no no Wed, 02 Nov 2011 22:56:51 +0100 2011-11-02T22:56:51+01:00 1:11 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-philip-wright-the-red-buffalo/
When Wildfire ran forever,
before our Westward-Ho,
Native Americans knew it
as the Red Buffalo.
Then came the pilgrims of progress
fleeing persecution,
God’s own white man:
the Crown of Evolution.
They cleared the land of Natives
with applied genocide,
and changed the Natural Order
with traps and cyanide.
They claimed the precious soil
with axes and deceit,
and introduced the eco-ethic
of the balance sheet.
A drumming beat summons
Eagle, Wolf, Arapaho;
The Circle is waiting
For the Red Buffalo.
Commerce marches on
with no sign of stopping
our competitive consumption
and aerobic shopping.
Yet to starving masses
we’re so damned thick-skinned
we let our cow-feeding fields
waste away on the wind.
And multinational bankers
trade a currency of disgrace,
killing tribal cultures
with a lap-top data base.
They are the Christian soldiers
spreading democracy
for global competition
and political hypocrisy.
Broken spirits weep
and dreams escape
from the unsustainable madness
of planetary rape.
When their babies die of hunger
and they’re begging on their knees
we’ll ship them toxic garbage
in exchange for all their trees.
We stand at the abyss
Watching Eternity flow
As fires of anger rage
In the Red Buffalo.
One delightful moon-mad night
within our lunatic dreams
we’ll wake ourselves up choking
on each other’s screams.
We will stand upon the gallows
of what we have let loose,
for Nature gladly gave us
both–the rope, and the noose.
Unwept and forgotten
On greed’s death row
Dreaming of revenge
Is the Red Buffalo.
When unquenchable fires
on Wild Prairies rise
from Earth’s stirring bones
and unquiet eyes,
Bison will again thunder
like a rolling drum,
as Dust Winds shake
and Snake Rattles hum.
Honor our Earth
Or you will know
The avenging flame
Of the Red Buffalo.

Philip Wright

The Red Buffalo was written as a tribute to the Illinois State University chapter of EF! which chose that name for their new chapter.]]>
When Wildfire ran forever,
before our Westward-Ho,
Native Americans knew it
as the Red Buffalo.
Then came the pilgrims of progress
fleeing persecution,
God’s own white man:
the Crown of Evolution.
They cleared the land of Natives
with applied genocide,
and changed the Natural Order
with traps and cyanide.
They claimed the precious soil
with axes and deceit,
and introduced the eco-ethic
of the balance sheet.
A drumming beat summons
Eagle, Wolf, Arapaho;
The Circle is waiting
For the Red Buffalo.
Commerce marches on
with no sign of stopping
our competitive consumption
and aerobic shopping.
Yet to starving masses
we’re so damned thick-skinned
we let our cow-feeding fields
waste away on the wind.
And multinational bankers
trade a currency of disgrace,
killing tribal cultures
with a lap-top data base.
They are the Christian soldiers
spreading democracy
for global competition
and political hypocrisy.
Broken spirits weep
and dreams escape
from the unsustainable madness
of planetary rape.
When their babies die of hunger
and they’re begging on their knees
we’ll ship them toxic garbage
in exchange for all their trees.
We stand at the abyss
Watching Eternity flow
As fires of anger rage
In the Red Buffalo.
One delightful moon-mad night
within our lunatic dreams
we’ll wake ourselves up choking
on each other’s screams.
We will stand upon the gallows
of what we have let loose,
for Nature gladly gave us
both–the rope, and the noose.
Unwept and forgotten
On greed’s death row
Dreaming of revenge
Is the Red Buffalo.
When unquenchable fires
on Wild Prairies rise
from Earth’s stirring bones
and unquiet eyes,
Bison will again thunder
like a rolling drum,
as Dust Winds shake
and Snake Rattles hum.
Honor our Earth
Or you will know
The avenging flame
Of the Red Buffalo.

Philip Wright

The Red Buffalo was written as a tribute to the Illinois State University chapter of EF! which chose that name for their new chapter.]]> 1047492 no no Tue, 01 Nov 2011 04:10:07 +0100 2011-11-01T04:10:07+01:00 3:40 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-wallace-stevens-planet-on-the-table/ 1047493 no no Sat, 29 Oct 2011 08:53:07 +0200 2011-10-29T08:53:07+02:00 2:19 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-3-poems/ Recorded live on a Zoom H4N via Mackie mixer & speakers w/Eventide Ultraharmonizer.... Each poem will be covered in coming days at http://armedwithvisions.com]]> Recorded live on a Zoom H4N via Mackie mixer & speakers w/Eventide Ultraharmonizer.... Each poem will be covered in coming days at http://armedwithvisions.com]]> Recorded live on a Zoom H4N via Mackie mixer & speakers w/Eventide Ultraharmonizer.... Each poem will be covered in coming days at http://armedwithvisions.com]]> 1047494 no no Fri, 28 Oct 2011 21:41:02 +0200 2011-10-28T21:41:02+02:00 7:00 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-mike-mercker-a-poem-by-rosemerry-wahtola-trommer-from-these-headwaters/ angles southwest toward the sea.
As one crest surges, succumbs to the next,
their thin gurgles merge,
rise into the white roar of rapids,
like distant drumming or laughter.

Just as each wave vanishes, one into the other,
the San Miguel disappears,
losing its name once it joins the Dolores,
River of Sorrow, which marries the brown Colorado.

The waves do not care what we name them,
the water knows only to jig till it adds its bright voice
to the thunder of tide, to the echoing bass of the surf.

But six dams, six systems of droning turbines
overwhelm the river's hum:
Glen Canyon, Hoover, Davis, Parker,
Imperial & Laguna,
siphoning 90 percent of the flow,
wet giggles stifled into flaccid, slack water.

Shriveled, the river at last makes the delta.
There is no surging anthem of wave greeting wave.
The water greyly seeps into vast flats of silent mud,
barely bleeds beneath islands formed by
shells of dead clams
and cannot muster enough volume to meet
the salt sting of the sea.

Is it from mercy or misery that the Gulf of California
forges an inlet to fill the river's vacant bed?
Now that the voiceless Colorado can't reach the ocean,
the ocean swells and flows upriver instead.

Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer
August-September 2002 Earth First!]]> angles southwest toward the sea.
As one crest surges, succumbs to the next,
their thin gurgles merge,
rise into the white roar of rapids,
like distant drumming or laughter.

Just as each wave vanishes, one into the other,
the San Miguel disappears,
losing its name once it joins the Dolores,
River of Sorrow, which marries the brown Colorado.

The waves do not care what we name them,
the water knows only to jig till it adds its bright voice
to the thunder of tide, to the echoing bass of the surf.

But six dams, six systems of droning turbines
overwhelm the river's hum:
Glen Canyon, Hoover, Davis, Parker,
Imperial & Laguna,
siphoning 90 percent of the flow,
wet giggles stifled into flaccid, slack water.

Shriveled, the river at last makes the delta.
There is no surging anthem of wave greeting wave.
The water greyly seeps into vast flats of silent mud,
barely bleeds beneath islands formed by
shells of dead clams
and cannot muster enough volume to meet
the salt sting of the sea.

Is it from mercy or misery that the Gulf of California
forges an inlet to fill the river's vacant bed?
Now that the voiceless Colorado can't reach the ocean,
the ocean swells and flows upriver instead.

Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer
August-September 2002 Earth First!]]> 1047495 no no Fri, 28 Oct 2011 11:29:56 +0200 2011-10-28T11:29:56+02:00 2:36 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetr-evan-flory-barnes-charles-bukowski-lady-mountain-lion/ ]]> ]]> 1047496 no no Sat, 22 Oct 2011 23:34:35 +0200 2011-10-22T23:34:35+02:00 2:28 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/deanetrevanflorybarnes-barbara-meyn-at-the-planning-commission/ 1047497 no no Wed, 12 Oct 2011 22:14:28 +0200 2011-10-12T22:14:28+02:00 1:38 https://hearthis.at/warriorpoets-ir/david-chorlton-interstate/ David Chorlton
December 1989 Earth First!

http://armedwithvisions.com]]> David Chorlton
December 1989 Earth First!

http://armedwithvisions.com]]> 1047498 no no Tue, 11 Oct 2011 09:06:25 +0200 2011-10-11T09:06:25+02:00 1:49