Once upon a nightime grim
all creatures of Earth dreamed
our Mother was not enough for everyone,
This collective nightmare thunderously rolled out
Earth is insufficient for our needs!
We live in Closed Systems of immunity,
heading toward decay!
EarthTribe is not enough to sustain all this life!
I am not enough, yet!
I do not have enough, yet!
When someone grabs from me
they steal from my self-identity!
When someone strikes and hits to hurt,
is mean to those I care about,
I hit back!
with self-righteous flashing anger,
equity and integrity mere feckless values.
They must learn my right
or I may perish from their wrong!
With such dark dreams
our primal twins,
Yang and Yin,
thrashed about in tangled sheets
each unaware of Other's parallel flight
within this blue-black brackish night,
til Yang whacked Yin upside the head
completely unaware of how this would unfold.
So Yin hit back in fright
and soon this ruckus raised a violent alarm
among their household, neighbors, Tribe.
This outrage spread
sweeping across land and oceans
then back again to where it all began
until exhausted and dark bruised
all earthbound life fell down unconscious.
Within this loss of self-defense,
our open-handed peaceful nest,
dawn quietly crept toward abundant light
for all to feel and hear and touch
her sobbing singing warming beauty.
Scent of sun-baked cotton sheets
invites Yin's eyes to uncover sight
of radiant light
abundantly growing nutrient wealth,
a yeasty compost sustaining interweaving life,
incarnating karmic response
to each species' evolving wants
and worthy hope.
As her awareness of Earth's vast creation
lit her eyes of self-discovery
dawn's diastasis filled hearts and minds
of all coincidental early risers.
We woke uncovered to discover immensity of life
and color swarming far beyond our needs,
nutrients absorbed for taste, and touch, and scent, and sound,
and sight, freely accessed to fit each synchronic need,
each longing to belong,
each Self fading into and out of Other,
sufficient place for each species' time and space.
Last night's primal screams of insufficiency replaced
by dawn's ecology of karmic grace.
Yang woke alarmed at loss of cover.
His arms flew out to hide his fall
from dawn's radical gift of generosity
and harmonic praxis.
And, in so doing, he hit Yin's head.
This blow did smart
but seeded tears of redeemer healing.
Yin justly smiled and absorbed around
reminding Yang she is his graceful mentor
interpreting his dreams.
She sang with harmony
swallowing unredeemed dissonance and disease,
hope for suffering and insanity's dark lessons,
dawn's well-lit vocation for us all
softly individuating within Earth's optimizing life,
all brittle boundaries of mutual immunity
relaxing into resonance.
In this Transition Time from dark competing violence,
we remain cooperatively nested within Earth's well-being,
so, dear Yang,
return toward redemptive rest,
regenerating memory seeds,
stringing songs dancing back,
back to stardust's Ecologic Elders.
Fear and violence display synaptically sharp;
competitive "Loser!" economies;
love's just peace remains buoyant, resilient,
cooperation's mutual winner revolution
away from red skies of mourning.
Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2015
I do not know?
*A assignment was due in class. *
Every time a gun shoots
A tree looses its roots
Every time there is bloodshed
Along with it millions of tears are shed
Every time a heart is stabbed
Someone else’s life gets barren
As violence grows
Many more mothers moan
The sounds of destruction
Overpowers the voice of those
Who are innocent
Who suffer with no reason
Who beg for life
Who have heart full of innocence
Why do so much violence?
That the child’s cry cannot be heard
When his father is killed
Why do so much violence?
That a mother moans
Over her child’s dead remains
Why do so much violence
For winning any stupid battle
Which is taking lives
Of people who have wives
And mothers and children
When you can keep calm
Talk things out
Do whatever you can
To keep violence out
Because there is no sin as big as
Copyright © donna lu | Year Posted 2013
If I could take it back
When I can bring you back
make our bad word weapons disappear
so your heart and hope need not despair.
If I could repair your strong-heart soul
rich with vital confidence,
you can do this,
you can be this,
you are part of this,
in your way
which is a right way
for us to become with you,
you are doing this,
we are doing this together.
If I can take it back
absorb our black ballistic tones
in minor tragic keys I aimed your way
out of my own fears
I can not love you fierce enough
to remember you must know
this extended Earth-stream has your back,
is your back,
together with you,
part of you,
always voting Yes for mutual wins,
where love embraces our shared hope
and not despair.
If you could catch this hope from me,
Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016
You have your problems
And I have mine
I belong to the Lord
He doesn't want complaining
To waste my godly time
Don't come to sit
With if all your complaining
Is against God's Holy will
You come to be nosey
Don't even know His
Quietness in me
Will be my sword
So don't come to me
With your gossip classified
As Satan's foolish complaints
It shall not be tolerated
Among the Saints
You keep on wispering
Let all of your evil talk
To trouble my mind
Go right back to hell
Copyright © Akilah Babb | Year Posted 2015
Even young people like Fred
went from sad to mad,
thinking that happiness
was a wish not grated;
he succumbed to sickness,
he wished he were dead.
Changing moods in him persisted
and created a split personality;
he showed thoughts of insensibility,
a pitiful man unloved and afraid.
His mother stood by him and cried,
friends and family kept their distance;
once he was so loved and admired,
his grey eyes exuded confidence.
Resigned to his fate, he became a wreck
it got worse until he went completely beserk;
smashing everything he found in his way,
he impersonated an actor in his wild play.
He found pleasure in destroying a memory
too bitter for him to endure with gentleness;
when his fury was appeased by madness,
he calmed down and laughed deliriously.
At only eighteen, his destiny is sealed forever;
in a wheelchair he spends his days in distress,
not even his mom can comfort him with hugs...
he looks at her sadly, then bursts into laughter.
Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2016