What will be left?
What will be left?
A Poem by Coyote Poetry
We need to show concern for Nature. Before she disappears.
When the bear, wolf and the birds are gone. Man will follow. The great forest of our world supply medicine, air and food. We must protect the resources for the future generations.”‘
Signs are posted.
Do not swim.I will buy a K-mart pool and put in the backyard.
Damn we killed off the Great Lakes.
Cancer is running uncontrollable..
The slow death by pollution and greedy men.
Destroying our forest and woodlands.
Will my children be able to play outside?
Or will pollution eat away at their dreams.
We tell our children to be kind.
Skin color doesn’t matter.
You can do anything.
We tell them to be fair and not fight.
Fighting will not solve problems.
Yes, the children see our morals.
They see the hate and disappointment.
Their eyes see the thousands who are homeless and poor.
Our leaders sending soldiers to kill.
Not trying to have peace talks and solve problems.
We wonder why our children don’t want our leftovers.
We must stop the hate.
And the violence and the useless killing.
Keep the family together.
The healing must begin.
Or the eyes and mind of our children will turn against us.
For leaving nothing.
Coyote
Even if there could be life without nature, it would not be worth living.
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I agree. We must protect nature. One planet and one people.
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Powerful.
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The sad part the poem is true. The Great Lakes are polluted. Thank you for the comment.
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MEMORY OF NOTHING
Listen:
Drag branches comeback
Across the forest floor:
Knowledge of the rough¡
At water’s edge
I gather some things up:
“Happy Ending Story”.
We’ve the time to give the Babel Tower
A close reading.
Awful good, Tú
As Roy A. Rappaport’s
Ritual… as Communication and as State.
Our preferences might be
Toward more emphasis
On species places:
Smooth textures of dead wood
Knowledge of our hands on arms
The body-art of bullshit
Drinking cocoa
And tend to the faith
With a Vampire’s short stick
That smells of infinite urine
As Madonna.
History reveals itself to us
In this way:
Poetry, Tales, Essays are pamphlets
Of impossible interest
Multiplying voices-human, voices-animal
Voices-plant
Voice-life of Earth
As Dan O’Neill’s
Holiday for Cynics.
Look, little one
Courtney Love
We live this close to disaster
There is no turning back
From the tops of the trees
Which are so dense
Almost no sky is visible
Only the odor dilates the nostril
And quickens the heart
On a marijuana tortilla.
The buddhists have been tellig us
That the Self (Ego)
As we conceive of it
Is an illusion.
A good tip
Thinking about Gurney Norman’s
Jack and His Ego.
Is it?
It is that we are of a Time-Sexual
Wherein all species has been joined
To the Wo/Man
Of Homo Sapiens
And Life is a single exercise of Cannibals
In constantly elevating towers
Of Bureaucracy.
Nothing in Somethingg
Something in our Nothingness.
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Thank you for the poem. I wrote this poem after me and my daughter couldn’t swim in Lake Erie in 2004. Pollution had 40% of the Great lakes at dangerous levels. Even the powerful Lake Superior.
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It seems that humankind only wakes up when faced with imminent disaster – bloody crisis management. Curtis Mayfield sang about it back in ’73 on Future Shock!
Thanks for your worthwhile words to reiterate the facts, keep ’em coming. Peace.
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I will look up the song. I agree. I saw the million of diesel Iraq dropped into their water system. Killed off all living life in their only water source. Men can do foolish things.
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