I’m sharing a few poems I’ve written in the past month for an Ekphrastic Poetry group (with deep gratitude to poet Laurel Benjamin who curated all images). To send them out now as Hurricane Milton lashes into the coast of Florida is my way of contending with fear for all beings in the path. I also read Bill McKibben’s post he wrote in the middle of the night, as his way of compassion, warning, and yes—fear. The climate crisis is here—and so is the election of a lifetime on November 5th. And what does poetry bring? I never know, except when I write in this form I often come to a new place—far from where I began. We urgently need new pathways, new ways of being, and always a place for poets, dreamers, and all who love and act on behalf of Mother Earth.
Firelei Báez "Of Love Possessed (lessons on alterity for G.D. and F.G. at a local BSS)" (Dominican Republic) 2016 - acrylic on Yupo paper
How else to snare your indifference?
*
My head sprouts a wedding bouquet,
Skin all silvery rabbit fur soft as flannel
sheets turned down on a queen bed.
*
What’s not to love? This frolicking pink
carnation, rose and orchid extravaganza
festooning lavender dusk. Floral whorls
perfuming mossy nooks of allure and desire.
*
Come. Twirl with me under an umbrella in the rain
on a wind not yet a Category 5 Hurricane. I am Gaia.
I am Mother. I am Turtle Island. Who are you?
A dust mote I could flick away.
*
And yet, here I am donning my best bonnet
one last time for you. Waving wildly as you
drive away fuming, high on fossil fuels
annoyed by my distracting flamboyance.
Becoming a Plant
Inspired by the fabulous book, The Light Eaters, by Zoe Schlanger
*
First my brain covers my entire body
No longer confined inside my skull
thoughts tremble in leaves
paddling smoky air.
*
Fantastic animals spray
from my expanding dreams,
a baby white elephant
escaped a circus
to teeter on my stems,
licking a silver spoon
held by a humanoid
scaling my stem
with sticky feet,
flower face,
deer heart
*
My lips are everywhere,
I’m drunk on sun kisses
butterfly wings
rain cocktails
bee feet
*
Tango and samba
Swaying in breeze
Loving this life--
Not knowing
the word...
ephemeral
Dorothy Morang "Ceremonial" (USA) 1953 - oil on wallboard panel
When We Were Birds (after witnessing this scene in the woods behind our house)
Blood and feathers. Pygmy owl plucks
chickadee on high branch. No
peaceful dining after the pounce,
Resigned to songbird mobbing
*
Clatter and din of nuthatches, chickadees
and finches. A lone rufous hummingbird
levitates a foot away, buzzing wings
embering a merciless sky, blue
as a killing morning. No ceremony
but a ritual since time immemorial.
Mountain chickadees chanting
dee-dee-dee-dee-dee-DEE!
*
More dees, higher threat. Reserved
for a diminutive daytime owl
no bigger than a fluffed sparrow,
Enough to rile up pygmy nuthatches
*
into piccolo piping. House finch whistles
lacerate ponderosa needles bunched
in threes, spearing dry late September air
where pine meets lava fields
*
where I witness from far below. Outsider.
Two feet pinned to ground. Wingless.
Craning my neck. Wondering
what it was when birds were people
*
and people were birds? Ringing every
danger in feathers, flutes, and flair.
Mingling beaks, song and flight
in communion.
Dorothy Morang "Untitled" (USA) 1955 - pastel on paper
In Praise of “roundy wells”
With line from Pied Beauty, by Gerard Manley Hopkins
*
Long before I caught the kingfisher fire
whitewater bright, streaking from sight
weaving willows of a sinuous stream
*
In my first poetry class at Ghost Ranch
among whitened bone, mesa stone, and grace
where Georgia O’Keeffe brushed beauty bare
*
I fell for Gerard Manley Hopkins. Tasting
tangy spell of alliteration the tongue tells,
“Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)"
*
My caress is Goddess and Bless
Love letters tucked in tipping cups
Poured poetry like a weasel slipping
*
from tree hollow, may I follow all
that is curvy, swervy, nervy, and bliss.
Praise her.