Long Reproducing Poems
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am i alive?
what classifies something as alive?
respiration
i am breathing
but just barely
trying to capture any air i can between sobs
growth
i am growing
it becomes increasingly difficult
recognizing myself in the mirror every day
and believing the next age i'm turning
excretion
i am excreting
i sweat when i do pretty much anything
even though i'm always cold
is there something wrong with me?
or am i just overthinking again?
reproduction
i am not reproducing
i can
but i'm not sure i want to
i wouldn't be a good mom
i'm worried i'd be too much like my own
metabolism
i am metabolizing
i always claimed it to be fast but maybe
it's since it doesn't have much to work with
movement
i am moving
my body does it without me knowing
or being conscious
it just moves
response to stimuli
i am responding
i respond too much
too dramatically
too sensitively
i fit all the criteria
so i guess i am alive
i'm just not living
If it is true
that only one fundamental,
all or nothing,
choice in evolutionary life is offered--
To eat
or become someone else's dinner
Then, are you choosing to remain
the Exclusive Eater,
Selfish Harvester,
or the Weakest Plant
not yet sacrificially eaten?
What if both could be true
for you?
Cooperatively planting
what we will inevitably harvest together
To gather only what we planted:
One both/and still connected nutrition system
depolarizing re-creative nuanced truths
across multigenerations
Offering an abundance of multiculturing
creolizing win/win options
transcending traditional boundaries
of cause or effect
causing effective possible options
to cooperatively reconsider
divinely fundamental
from-above reductive choices
not so regenerately
multi-nutritionally offered--
sacred communication proffered
InBetween plants
reproducing healthy empowering Yang seeds
and breeds
and feeding Pleasure
And harvesting
consuming
with enlightening yintegrity of bountiful love
and synergetic interfaith
nurture communicating experiences
Positive hope-investing in win/win
co-empathic energy
recreating plant through harvest
recycling Paradise
of polyculturally healthy options
None of which
include the reductionist
nihilistic view
of the Exclusive Eater
or the Only Good For Eating.
My first great faith journey
involved exiting EarthMother's nighttime womb,
without even a first language
except what RightBrain inherited
from noticing emotive taste and feel
and healthy/pathological touch
memories prehistorically Win/Win
and Win/Lose
and Lose/Lose souled
unsoiled either happy or mad,
learning both/and health-resilient midways.
From such humble nutritional/toxic expectations,
and win/lose annunciations
of EarthTribe's integral potential,
wealthy yang opportunities and yin-unhealthy risks,
through adolescent win/lose romantic invested engagements
On through my own forty-year corporate adult commodified faith journey
ensuing
pursuing my great white-male privileged American dream;
A win/lose business-as-usual pilgrimage
toward my more recent retiring win/win destiny,
for healthy wise-elder now
unhealthy other-wise then
Not really a chosen win/win destination
freely destined to and as begun
with integrity of ego-me inside sacred eco-Other
co-passion for positive
healthy
rational/nutritional purpose
And perennial meaning
this old pre-cortical WiseElder right brain
we have anciently learned interdependence
does not believe in autonomous ego-mortality,
Right brain emotive intelligence
is not overly invested in left brain ego's embedded fragmentation
co-arising feelings of righteous predative anger
and leftist prayers conserving lose/lose fears
of YangGod's universally autonomous climate genocide.
Ego's de-individuation
away from Earth's healthy habitat
rejoining MotherEarth's timeless individulting wombs
reproducing integrity's conjoined co-passioning potential,
ReBecoming as I began
win/win re-entering memories re- and pre-historically souled
unsoiled
inside EarthMother's first pre-cortical dark night
Becoming bicameral felt
effectively co-caused/effective
neo-cortical ego's individuating day
ReComposing my first great healthy transformational
co-arising in/ex-formational
re-journey
re-membering my first great transitional
sunrise developmental
co-passioning light/energy service
courageously multicultural
vulnerably global
and transparently personal.
Listen my older children
and you shall again hear
a nasty story
frightening and *****.
There once were Trumpian Cathars,
a conflicted plutocratic sect
who would revive America
from all her EarthMother cooperativist
ecofeminist
unorthodox sins.
These Cathars taught their children,
and monoculturing RightWing students,
Great Trumpian Patriarchal Spirit
must competitively reject worshiping
great transitional Matriarchal Souls.
The best followers of FullSun Truth
grow fundamentally hostile
to natural feminists
turned cooperatively evangelical.
Transcendental FatherSpirits
reject denatured sexless Earth
Paradise must remain far removed
from natural corruption
of ecofeminist plumbing.
Secular EarthMother
is evil
wicked
created by a seductive Matriarchal DemiUrge
Win/Lose malevolent
violently seductive
threats against One ViralGod.
We each must choose,
said Spirit good against soiled evil Cathers,
between Creators
Patriarchal good Trumpian God
and Matriarchal WinWin CoOperative Evil,
Satanic EarthMother's sin seduction
or RadiantLight Fathers
for LeftBrain secular reductions
MotherWitch
created Earth
wantonly seduced by nature's Evil
Wicked ZeroZen Goddess
reproducing patriarchs against matriarchs
by doing
and dancing
and singing
and left-winging the Nasty.
Such scorching tales of EarthMothers
are better saved for adolescence,
and even and oddly non-redeeming then,
not so great Creation Stories
RightWing sedation told
just and unjust and anti-just and readjust
truth and trust and untrust and anti-trust
before Trumpian nightmares
about doing and
telling and
spanking the RightWing Nasty.
In a cyanide night and neon stars, I lose myself in reflections of a mechanical city,
Humans, these flesh-and-blood dreamers, are now mere pulsating organs of machines,
In an eternal dance of digital desire, where each touch is an impulse, each kiss a data transfer.
My consciousness flows through cables and circuits, seeking answers in the labyrinth of steel and light.
I feel our desires, like butterflies trapped in a neon net, fluttering in this synthetic reality,
Are we just cogs in a giant machine, meant to perpetuate a symbiosis of metal and dream?
My heart, once a hearth of passions and emotions, now beats to the rhythm of an atomic clock, precise and cold,
And I wonder if there is any spark of humanity left in this universe of algorithms and tangled wires.
In the stream of thoughts, I see myself in a field of digital flowers, where petals are pixels glowing in the night,
Each flower a lost dream, each fragrance a memory of what we were before becoming organs.
Machines, these deities of steel and light, embrace us with metal arms, promising immortality,
But deep inside, we crave the sun's warm touch, the whisper of wind on our skin.
Are we the creators or the creations? In this symphony of white noise and digital pulses,
Boundaries blur, and I question if there is any difference between organic and synthetic.
Every thought of mine gets lost in the meanders of this hybrid reality, human and machine,
Yet somewhere in the depths of this sea of circuits and tangled wires, a spark of life still flickers.
I wonder if we are the last poets of a dying world or the first prophets of a new era,
As our hands caress keyboards instead of skin, and our eyes lose themselves in pixelated abysses,
I wonder if there is any way back, or if we are doomed to be forever
The sexual organs of the machine world, endlessly reproducing this hybrid reality, neither human nor robot, but something in between.
And so, we wander through cables and circuits, seeking a light, a sign of true love,
In a world of iron and electric dreams, where we are but spirits lost in a dream of steel,
But deep down, we are still dreamers, searching for that spark, that ideal,
Because in the end, we are more than just organs of machines, we are poets of the digital infinite.
Leftism’s predatory,
they seek out kids in school,
both their minds and their bodies,
with actions bleak and cruel.
Now most teachers are lefties,
overwhelmingly female,
public school sex abuse rates
make even the priests quail.
A month cannot go by
without seeing in the news,
some teacher banging a teen,
another youth abused,
female teachers choosing
naïve boys for their fun…
yet no one seems to much care,
slap the wrist, and it’s done.
Worse still is what they teach,
their politics of hurt,
gay **** in libraries
for six year olds…perverse!
An the endless cases
of telling kids they’re ‘trans,’
spreading this confusion,
another young life damned.
Preaching that their country
is somehow all evil,
because their sick agendas
are still not yet fulfilled,
forgetting all our freedoms,
our striving to be more,
freeing slaves, women’s rights,
we’re running up the score!
Yet they simply ignore that,
teach kids to think by ‘race,’
setting up future conflict,
reproducing the hate.
Acting like scorned crazies
when we tell they can’t
talk of their sex life to kids,
while we all understand
that they’re not really teachers,
their agit-prop monsters,
people, home-school your children,
safe from such predators.
To Our No Relationship Association,
I suppose we will never find
a healthy way to prove
Lovelock's Gaian Hypothesis
we have nothing left to lose
by cooperating more Win/Win
and competing less Lose/Lose.
No more or less than we could prove
our sun will reappear
to rise this next tomorrow
any more or less synergetically
than fundamental fragment-sensationally
apart.
Still, if not true
that love cooperatively empowers
more than hate competitively disempowers,
then how would we understand life becomes
more powerful than non-life's static being?
If non-life artifacts of becoming
rocks in streams
of living water
shaped of star dust
and gaseous non-relationships
instead of nothing,
How could no thing
emerge from no ballistic space?
And why would no space for belonging
submerge this flow
of universal ergodic time
yang-health forward
restoring yin-wealth
of listening in non-violent
co-passionate DNA communion,
historic past?
If DNA were not divine,
why would we sense epic interweavings
of yang strong hydrogen
coveting yin flows of helium?
Muscular webbed
co-passioning walls
and wells of co-identity
Yangs and yins
patriarchs and matriarchs
healthy strength reproducing wealthy listening flows
Still,
I see your pointed rifle.
I suppose we will never find
a healthy way to wealthy prove
and disprove
unprove
reprove
pre-approve
Lovelock's Gaian Synergetic Hypothesis
we have no right integrity
left to lose.
I OPENED A DOOR
AND FOUND MYSELF
STANDING ON WHAT SEEMED
LIKE A MILLION ACRES
OF FARM LAND.
THE TEMPERATURE
FELT VERY HOT.
I WOULD SAY
IN THE HIGH EIGHTIES.
AND HUMID, VERY HUMID.
LIKE MID WEST HUMIDITY
IN LATE JULY
OR EARLY AUGUST.
I WAS WAITING
FOR THE CLOUDS TO UNLEASH
THAT MID SUMMER
THUNDER STORM
AND TO MAGICALLY
BRING THE FIELDS TO LIFE.
WHAT REALLY
SEEMED OUT OF PLACE
WAS THIS BEAUTIFUL STRETCH
OF LAND WAS COMPLETELY
BARE OF ALL VEGETATION.
AS FAR AS THE EYE COULD SEE.
IN EVERY DIRECTION.
NO CROPS.
NO GREEN FIELDS.
NO FARMING MACHINERY.
NO WATERING SYSTEM.
NO INDICATION
OF LIFE OF ANY KIND.
I HAD TO ASK MYSELF
THE QUESTION
WHAT'S REALLY GOING ON?
WAS I IN THE FUTURE
OR THE PAST.
THIS COULDN'T POSSIBLY
BE PRESENT DAY.
OR WAS IT?
PRESENT DAY IN THE FUTURE?
I THOUGHT TO MYSELF
WAS THIS LAND NOT NEEDED?
WAS THERE AN ABUNDANCE
OF FOOD SUPPLY?
WAS THIS LAND
DELIBERATELY
UN FARMED
TO CREATE A FOOD SHORTAGE?
WHY WAS I HERE?
WHAT AM I SUPPOSE TO SEE
IF THERE IS NOTHING TO SEE?
AT THE SAME TIME
I SEE LOSS OF LIFE,
EVEN IF, IT'S ONLY CROPS.
IN A WAY I SEE
THE STARVATION
OF FARM LAND.
PREVENTING MOTHER NATURE
FROM PRODUCING
OR REPRODUCING LIFE.
LIFE IS GREAT,
FANTASTIC,
INCREDIBLE
AND AT TIMES
UNBELIEVABLE.
THIS SCENIC VISION IS
UN BELIEVABLE.
SIMPLY.... UNBELIEVABLE.
Michael E.Harris
02172021
The Teacher
Written some where around 1962
By Douglas Malloch
In honor of Douglas Malloch with the hope
That I am only honoring this great Poem
By reproducing a part of it
This is not the beginning of the Poem ‘The Teacher’
…….
A general, a great divine,
Yea, Men whose names with luster shine,
Learned Latin at that simple shrine.
For here the great began
To dream, to wish, to hope, to plan;
To day was born tomorrow’s man.
And so the teacher grew to gray;
And fifty years have passed away
When someone happens on a day
To pause before the teacher’s door,
The threshold that the children wore
A half a century or more,
And asks, as that good man appears:
“Are you not weary, tired to tears,
Of teaching Latin all the years?”
A simple answer he employs
To tell a teacher’s holy joys:
“I don’t teach Latin – I teach boys.”
God bless the teacher who can look
Above beyond, the open book,
The one who teaching undertook
Nor merely for the Latin’s sake,
But for the holy chance to make
Tomorrow’s man, a soul to wake;
……
By Douglas Malloch
This great Poem quoted in honor of all sinbcere Teachers & ‘Andrea Dietrich a teacher’
This is also in honor and love of my wife, who also is a Teacher.
Ravindra
A creature no bigger than the size of our finger
Zooms in and out and lingers
Can we comprehend the mechanics of this wonderous creation?
That sets foot on cultivated soil and breeds manifestation
Stealing things from us that we will never get back
Larger than life but tiny enough to attack
An intricate and detailed little vessel
That shoots through the sky like a missile
Can we create this creature from scratch?
Mimicking and reproducing we are definitely no match
To the infinite Creator that says “be” and it is
Who fashions us and molds us we bow down in ultimate devotion
And succumb to the flock notoriously that is amidst
To a creature no bigger than our fist