Posted in Current Affairs, Literature, Nature, Poetry, Politics, Science, Social Commentary, Society, tagged advance, aquifer, ash, avalanche, awake, beneath, bosom, breach, break, breath, cacophony, call, canyon, churn, clear, cliff, clock, clod, close, commentary, conifer, continent, crevice, crumble, day, deep, desert, disaster, distress, dry, ears, earth, eclipse, endangered, faint, field, final, fire, fjord, floor, force, gather, glacier, glide, gorge, grass, ground, grumble, gulf, gush, hear, helpless, hurricane, hymn, iceberg, impending, island, journey, keep, land, landslide, lava, levee, listen, locust, loud, mankind, mold, mood, mountain, Nature, new, ocean, oil, One, open, pace, peril, plume, poem, poetry, potter, pull, push, rainforest, recede, reckon, restless, rhythm, ride, river, rouse, run, sail, sand, scour, sea, seed, send, shape, shreline, sinkhole, skin, slumber, soil, someone, somnambulist, sound, spill, split, spring, stillborn, storm, stream, summon, swarm, swing, terrestrial, tick, tide, tree, up, vent, voice, wait, wave, whispers, wildlife, wind, womb, write on June 12, 2010|
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Someone had it written clear-
that one should not just keep pacing
on this earth, like a somnambulist do.
Instead, he should lay beside the grass.
Ears close to the ground hearing
faint sounds and whispers coming
from the earth’s bosom.
Hearing how the rhythmic breath
of stillborn seeds of coniferous trees
waiting to break out of its shell,
awakening to the hymn of the spring.
Hearing how aquifers running deep
into crevices, into rivers, carving
canyons, gorges, fjords to the open seas.
Sailing away, riding with the wind.
Hearing the tides keep pushing,
and pulling in. Or the breaking waves
into the cliffs. Scouring the shoreline
of an island down to the ocean floor.
Hearing how the mountains gliding
its terrestrial skin past each other.
Like a potter reshaping and remolding
the land into a new continent.
Hearing how it grumbles beneath,
venting out ash plumes and lava streams.
A force roused from deep slumber
churning mood swings in its womb.
Someone had it written clear-
that one should not just keep pacing
on this earth, like a somnambulist do.
We should hear the gathering storms
of the impending avalanche. Iceberg splitting.
The glacier receding. Oil gushes, spilling
over the gulf. Helpless cacophony of wildlife
endangered. Landslides and the levees
breached by hurricane. Rainforest on fire.
Desert sands advancing. Clods of soil
drying up. Locusts swarming over fields.
Ground crumbling into sinkholes.
We should hear how restless it gets
day after day, when the clock is ticking out.
Faint sounds becoming loud voices
sending distress call to reckon with,
summoning mankind to listen. The earth
finally eclipsing to its perilous journey.
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Flood
Posted in Current Affairs, Literature, Nature, Poetry, Politics, Social Commentary, Society, tagged above, afloat, ants, away, bailout, bell, blab, body, breach, bring, capture, cards, carry, chew, clock, constant, corporate, days, deadlines, deep, detergents, doomsday, down, downsizing, drain, dreams, drown, enjoy, excitement, fade, figure, file, fill, filth, flood, flotsam, forgetting, glide, gossip, habit, hidden, hope, hours, how, hunger, keep, labor become, laundry, letter, levee, limbo, line, machine, minutes, miss, morning, mountain, myself, necessity, news, next, note, numbness, oblivion, out, overflow, overtime, paperwork, people, pick, pile, poem, poetry, press, punch, race, ranks, rat, resonance, rim, rinse, ritual, rolling, rush, sandbag, silence, smell, soak, soap, sound, spell, stains, straw, stream, suffering, tap, termination, thank, thin, think, tick, time, train, treatment, tub, wait, wash, water, way, weekend, whine, worry, yesterday on June 7, 2013| 4 Comments »
The hours tick like sound of punch cards
in this corporate machine treating
people like ants filed into ranks.
Mountain of paperwork piled up
into sandbags. Bring it on, breach
my levee and let me drown forgetting.
Labor becomes a habit. Of numbness
and enjoying the suffering.
Like the sound of water from the tap
during a morning ritual in oblivion-
silence resonates like a hidden bell.
I wait until it fills the tub overflowing
down the rim and the clock raced
to the minutes rushing for the train.
Like the way the thinning soap glides
my body and the necessity to wash
away yesterday’s worry-rat smell-
that doomsday spell. A thank you note
and the termination letter. The downsizing
and the news keep rolling off the press.
People pick up some gossips to chew
and I am excited to blab my hunger.
Like the constant whining of the weekend
laundry, hoping detergents rinse the stains
and filth of missed deadlines. And overtime.
And I got the time to soak away thinking
about the next line to a poem, capturing it
before it goes down the drain. In limbo.
And I hope to keep afloat above it
like a flotsam of dreams in a stream
carried away in the fading of days.
Figuring it out how to bailout myself
like a straw in deep water.
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