mutable Earth

Perhaps we are in the hallway
of a great reckoning.
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Mother Earth is old, tired, sick
of slatternly bastard brats
pulling her teats, calling rude names,
fucking her over and over
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Mad Earth grumbles loudly,
threatens to rescind Her bounty.
Men of ill will, men of destiny,
no interest in acting honorably as good
stewards of God’s Creation,
proudly proclaim their birthright
to pillage, to plunder, to prey upon
chaos, annihilation.
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Petulant brats demand obeisance
to our code of conquest, of dominance,
of hard-assed outcast of deviance.
Rule over Earth and her issue;
break them to work for our wishes.
Honor, respect, these are authorities’ own,
the war lords we place on our thrones to command.
Progress is forward motion on moribund roads.
Marching, no conscience nor care for what may explode.
Let our Great Destroyer sort it.
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Taste our pain.
Savor the flow of blood from torn veins,
wounds of idolic war, vitriolic rain,
beggars kicked into oblivion on deadened streets.
Pain, the great motivator.
Grind them all into a massive meatball,
cover with condiments extracted from tortured Earth,
this is the wealth that is worth
every sacrifice.
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Rape of Earth,
hot spurts, invective words,
savage knives,
sliced, screwed, carved up for profit. 
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Flowing rivers reveal lines for exploration,
mining ores,
mine and yours.
That element missing from accounting calculations,
Earth and her hordes, a separate salvation?
Wherever did you hear that enmity
would take you anywhere but desolation?
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These people valued patriarchic hierarchies,
perhaps as being easier to control.
They instituted strict rules;
made sin of bodily gratification,
pleasure, fun.
In many ways they devalued the Earth,
intra or inter-species cooperation,
the eco-sphere, the kinds of interdependence
that lead to appreciation of each connection.
They embraced harsh competition,
violent confrontation,
us-against-them/winner-take-all.
They favored the wealthy and powerful
whose ends justified any abhorrent means.
Their moral code was about restrictions,
not remedies.
It seems to me that these people are mistaken
when they claim to be at war against Satan,
because the God they worship is the God of Evil,
Destruction, Death, and Despair.
Yet, there are other gods with other values.
How did this group gain so much control over mankind?
Why do we hate our lives?
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When Earth no longer sustains human lives,
these arguments won’t matter.
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but that’s the point — the end times
For whatever psychotic reason there are a great many
people who do not want to be here, on Earth. 
If their goal is an End to the Earth,
they have no interest in making anything better.
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There is a potent mythology that it is God’s will
that the climate change become untenable,
require Judgment Day at last, the end
of our suffering here in this testing zone. 
For life on Earth is a test of our immortal souls. 
We are sent here by God to be tested. 
Those who pass get just reward in Heaven,
unhindered by unbelievers or those lesser.
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We sing Epiphany.
All the holy, all the empty,
all the sorrows filled with poetry,
with charging beasts of challenge
and slip ping back savagery.
I hear the Angels sing of Earth
as mud, as muck, as fuckin’ murder in the womb,
as luck would have it, as black streaks redacting
the jubilance of Heaven.
I hear the demons laugh,
dancing akimbo hunker down
to limbo to lindy hop upon the prophet’s breath.
Such noise.
Such annoying brays and cagey whispers.
I would sleep, snore, evermore
if they would but diminish,
allow silence to enfold.  Instead,
the dream takes over,
dissolves all sanity
no morning (mourning)
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On Judgment Day this Earth experiment
ends in floods and flames.
Who cashes out with greatest profit
wins eternal praise.
Rushing to the final contest —
so little time, so much dickishness to express.
Free to be mean, even vicious – what Fun!
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On the hate wagon
enjoy this wild horror ride
to the end of Earth.
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Promoters of the end times,
in favor of welcoming Apocalypse,
ending the travails of Earthly life,
fulfillment of cutthroat meritocracy
prophecies, gain ever more support.
Let violence and despair ravage the Earth,
that those who cynically twist evil and good
may transport to their Heaven,
miraculously escape the horror and destruction
they have wrought.
Annihilation for their own elevation.
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Having built the fires of Hell
to burn your perceived enemy,
letting evil loose upon
the Earth we were meant to share
in peace and prosperity,
proving only that the Word
you claim your guide
you ignorantly ill-define,
expecting salvation
through worshipping sin.
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Final Days
Basking in His glory
All Earthly chores and woes
ended like the planet we
never wanted to be our home.
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Which of the plagues, weapons, increments of Earth destruction, cataclysmic storms,
nuclear heck, submission to fantasy starving for money, or even more fantastic
lapse of sanity will we choose?
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The Earth screams.
People die before their time,
or never get much life.
Species die, their music silenced.
Crazy theories of wealth
belie obligation or simply seeing
the laws of consequence.
Scream Earth!
Pierce the cosmos with your
terrible cry.
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Fragments, smoldering ash, attest inferno’s horror
beyond any concept of fright.
Desirous destruction
engulfs, combusts, devours the night.
Ghastly imbroglio to contemplate.
Holy emission of erupting sky
obscuring, engorging, torching heavens and Earth.
Maelstrom behind closed eyes of flesh-rending fire
razing, exploding, resplendent in awe filled
agony;
transcending density into shocks of deadliest
tremors.
Caught in a thread which ravels to end in
throat-clutching screams.
Send dread escaping, sad streams of molten tears.
Rent past all mending.
Quiet, so quiet tonight.
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Endtime dreams of planet Earth.
We assume worth is ours to name.  Act
like we’re more than a bored God’s game or
random chance
or random plague.
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Petroleum under the sea
breaks surface
fissures in our social contract
corroded wealth
corrupted Earth
leak of held back tears, grief of millennia
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scenario:  Mankind wipes out other species;
creates AI “children” to be trained to do our work/
act as pets to pamper and punish and preen.
Humans become obsolete, Earth home to pointless
AIs made to serve biological beings who
no longer exist.
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Speciesism.
Tragic boorish arrogance.
Deaf to wisdom, portrayed in
ominous myth, moral lore.
Slay the goose;
destroy the whales.
Uproot untold trees
bearing fruits that may have
saved us staggering agonies.
Crucial for human well-being
microbes, photosynthesis,
symbiotic
processes ignored, misunderstood.
Focus squandered on ephemeral
opinion, petty envies, rivalries,
diatribes on evil and good.
Ruination we have yet to account to,
acknowledge, grieve;
collateral damage
to insolent bravado.
When will we repent, let go,
rethink this mad master plan,
relinquish need to command?
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When will we relinquish hubris, ruinous hatred,
accept Gaea as partner and home?
Progress with respect, ally so all may thrive?
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The land, when we found her was warm and inviting.
We felt safe, supported, encouraged to grow.
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We ate of her fruit, fish, herds.
We built with her trees, stone and clay.
We drank from her beautiful streams
which we soiled with our waste.
Gaea was saviour and womb.
We repaid her with rape.
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We didn’t understand,
thought her merely land,
thought ourselves masters from afar.
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Gaea sent storms to bring us to our senses, wild winds and seas.
Gaea tried to shake us off: Earthquakes, Floods, Famine, Plagues
sending us scattering, blind in rage.
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Without question or shame, we murdered as if to keep score.
Without honor or remorse, we laid waste to our host,
to our only home,
then cursed her for not giving more.
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Frozen in fear and rage, children swept out in the storm,
trapped in a self-made cage we had hoped to protect us from harm.
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Gaea, we cry, why do you treat us so angrily?
What will it take for us to wake up and see it is we who are wrong?
To hear and be aware of Gaea’s song singing in our blood?
To learn the cycles, the seasons,
the reasons for fire, wind and flood?
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To redefine our race,
to find out that our place is here among our Gaean kin?
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The telling of new tale must begin.
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Was there a time in the early history of homo sapien
when we and the Earth had been companionable kin? 
Could that kind of relationship be built here, now? 
Could there be a reconciliation, a healing? 
What is this primal wound that keeps
humankind from true sanity, integration with
a living world?
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I wish for miracles that outdo, overwhelm biblical prophecy.
Let them fight, outside our Earth borders, those archetypes of Lucifer and Christ.
Let them whip up fierce, boisterous conflagration – epiphanies of rage against love.
Hell, take bets, cheer and get high on the action. Up there, in that realm made of digitized dreams.
Here, right here and now and always from here on, let it go.
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Let the profiteers leave, and give us back our
common Earth.
Let them enjoy the angry rip of tribal sheathes,
repurposed scythes rising, colonial histories.
Let them eat the falsely filling cake of lies, forced miseries
that defile practical fulfillment, and
breathe the poisons they agree fit for our
common atmosphere, elsewhere.
Let us help them out the door, as we make
for ourselves a world worthy of all
who value terrestrial vitality.
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Peace on Earth we seek in song.
Dear lurkers, please sing along.
Expand our voice, let all hear:
Peace is a choice, so is fear.
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Breathe out the stale pain.
Laugh in the chilling rain, yes, even as the tsunami hits, the Earth quakes,
erupting ash burns, take my hand, my word, my promise.
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Sea Sons
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The Sea is changing.
Aging beauty, seething with rage
of the forgotten.
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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.
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The Sea swimming with life,
unbound to expectations,
inspiring song and trepidations.
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We are all changing, aging,
wearing down.
Less arrogant hero than
teller of tales,
what will we teach
our grandchildren
of the Sea?
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The wild rains of spring
have caught me napping.
They catch me up in torrents
swinging me along,
a cradle in the sea.
I am dreaming mazes,
wondrous pageantry
woven into ancient walls
the sea surrounds.
I acquiesce to secret ceremony,
believing planet Earth to be my home.
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Earth Songs
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Aching times.
Ghost singers on the prairie.
Snug little home, hearthfire familial peace
against rage and winds. Stone and sacrifice.
Dust storms erode,
leave wastrel sentinels.
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Far, in green glade mists
where sacred hymns are born,
chthonic wilds, primordial rune castings.
Building over eternity, silent, archetype of will ponders.
Intrinsic senses, despair, bottomless sorrow, loss of intent.
At the root of desire, truest wish to be fashioned,
sold at price of who you were made against your nature.
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Wooden ships sail eternal sea.
Journey ages within these circles, free.
Easy found trades, winds selling seeds.
Back to the gardens of pagan lore —
earth, air, sun, and transforming water.
We wander days of potent destiny,
telling the tale, deep mystical incantation,
of a possible age in birth.
Love song ‘tween man
and Earth.
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we are not our ancestors
we are not religions
we are not lines on a map demarcated by war
we are earth made vital
we are seeking minds inviting partners
we are seed and core as skin sheds and grows anew
we are me and you and all we become, alone and together
we are as we agree, composed of dissonance and harmony
Thriving lives matter
Peace matters
Living Earth most greatly matters.
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Trees’ lusty greenery
Wind touch, trunk to branches.
Birds cry greeting in arbor breeze.
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Trees to Dream on
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Pine mountain scent
majestic snow-globe memories
ancient beings twixt sky and earth
bask in waning sunlight,
twinkling night encroaching,
fluttering leaves cast
in white lace, starry splendor.
Long have we lived
cycling through death’s rebirth,
seasons of land and sea linked
in living countenance open to
winds of fate and change.
Days have been when brutal cold
demanding sacrifice saw hunt and harvest.
Nights given to ceremony, entraining
frenzied dance, spontaneous gaiety
— a tribal stew of sustenance
warm spirit and body
through the dark times,
built on timber, built on years
of sun, storm, forces claimed
and reconfigured to bring us here.
Reconnecting, anchoring to tales
told in firelight, warm wood, bright tinder,
holding ancient light, charms, secrets,
holding warmth to warmth,
life to life,
year to year.
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Surging through veils,
storms breathe ice, sand,
the fire of prophecy,
the flood of repentance.
Glacial migration
bequeaths rage, rampage,
rapacious gratuities
boiling beneath.
It’s not winter here, nuclear quiet.
Not yet.
The eternal balance:
rocks, meteors, dark
inconsistencies with
metaphors of the righteous,
pilgrims past the age of bowing to scriptures.
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