The Ramblings and Wanderings

Posts Tagged ‘Poems’

W i n t e r

By Felix Salten

The leaves were falling from the great oak at the meadow’s edge. They were falling from all the trees. One branch of the oak reached high above the others and stretched far out over the meadow. Two leaves clung to it’s very tip. “It isn’t the way it used to be.” said one leaf to the other. “No,” the other leaf answered. “So many of us have fallen off tonight we’re almost the only ones left on the branch.” “You never know who’s going to go next,” said the first leaf.

“Even when it was warm and the sun shone, a storm or a cloudburst would come sometimes, and many leaves were torn off, though they were still very young. You never know who’s going to go next.” “The sun hardly shines now,” sighed the second leaf,” and when it does, it gives no warmth. We must have warmth again.” “Can it be true,” said the first leaf, “can it really be true, that others come to take our places when we’re gone and after them still others, and more and more?” “It really is true,” whispered the second leaf. “We can’t even begin to imagine it, it’s beyond our powers.” “It makes me very sad,” added the first leaf. They were very silent a while.

Then the first leaf said quietly to itself, “Why must we fall?” The second leaf asked, “What happens to us when we have fallen?” “We sink down .” “What is under us?” The first leaf answered, “I don’t know. Some say one thing, some another, but nobody knows.” The second leaf asked, “Do we feel anything, do we know anything about ourselves when we’re down there?” The first leaf answered, “Who knows? Not one of all those down there has ever come back to tell us about it.” They were silent again.

Then the first leaf said tenderly to the other, “Don’t worry so much about it you’re trembling.” “That’s nothing,” the second leaf answered, I tremble at the least thing now. I don’t feel so sure of my hold as I used to.” “Let’s not talk any more about such things,” said the first leaf. The other replied, “No, we’ll let it be. But-what else shall we talk about?”

It was silent, but went on after a little while, “Which of us will go first?” “There’s still plenty of time to worry about that,” the other leaf said reassuringly. “Lets remember how beautiful it was, how wonderful, when the sun came out and shone so warmly that we thought we’d burst with life. Do you remember? And the morning dew and the mild and splendid nights .?

“Now the nights are dreadful,” the second leaf complained, ” and there is no end to them.” “We shouldn’t complain, ” said the first leaf gently. “We’ve outlived many, many others.” “Have I changed much?” asked the second leaf shyly. “Not in the least,” the first leaf said. “You think so only because I’ve gotton to be so yellow and ugly. But it’s different in your case.” “You’re fooling me,” the second leaf said. “No, really,” the first leaf answered eagerly, “believe me, you’re as lovely as the day you were born. Here and there may be a little yellow spot. But it’s hardly noticeable and makes you only more beautiful, believe me.” “Thanks,” whispered the second leaf, quite untouched. I don’t believe you, not altogether, but I thank you because you’re so kind. You’ve always been so kind to me. I’m just beginning to understand how kind you are.

“Hush,” said the other leaf, and kept silent itself, for it was too troubled to talk any more. Then they were both silent. Hours passed. A moist wind blew, cold and hostile, through the treetops.” “Ah, now,” said the second leaf, “I ” Then it’s voice broke off. It was torn from it’s place and spun down.

Winter had come.

From the book: “Bambi a Life in the Woods”, by Felix Salten written in 1928

I am a messy little hedgewitch

I don’t want neat and clean

Nice and safe

Organized and orderly

Keep your sterilized spirituality

Keep your suburbs

Don’t try to save me

I like this mess

Keep your answers

I want to live in the questions

Give me dark and chaotic

Freedom and independence

Let me think for myself

I want to figure it out

Keep the mystery in Mystery please

I don’t want your textbook

I don’t wanna know what’s round the bend

I’m going there to find out

For myself

Yeah

ani difranco 2001

yes,

us people are just poems

we’re 90% metaphor

with a leanness of meaning

bordering on hyper-distillation

and once upon a time we were moonshine

rushing down the throat of a giraffe

yes, rushing down the long hallway

despite what the p.a. announcement says

yes, rushing down the long stairs

with the whiskey of eternity fermented and distilled

to eighteen minutes

burning down our throats

down the hall

down the stairs

in a building so tall

that it will always be there

yes, it’s part of a pair

there on the bow of noah’s ark

the most prestigious couple

just kickin back parked

against a perfectly blue sky

on a morning beatific

in its indian summer breeze

on the day that america

fell to its knees

after strutting around for a century

without saying thank you

or please

and the shock was subsonic

and the smoke was deafening

between the setup and the punch line

cuz we were all on time for work that day

we all boarded that plane for to fly

and then while the fires were raging

we all climbed up on the windowsill

and then we all held hands

and jumped into the sky

and every borough looked up when it heard the first blast

and then every dumb action movie was summarily surpassed

and the exodus uptown by foot and motorcar

looked more like war than anything i’ve seen

so far

so fierce and ingenious

a poetic specter so far gone

that every jackass newscaster was struck dumb and stumbling

over ‘oh my god’ and ‘this is unbelievable’ and on and on and on

and i’ll tell you what, while we’re at it

you can keep the pentagon

keep the propaganda

keep each and every tv

that’s been trying to convince me

to participate in some prep school punk’s plan to perpetuate retribution

perpetuate retribution

even as the blue toxic smoke of our lesson in retribution is still hanging in the air

and there’s ash on our shoes

and there’s ash in our hair

and there’s a fine silt on every mantle

from hell’s kitchen to brooklyn

and the streets are full of stories

sudden twists and near misses

and soon every open bar is crammed to the rafters

with tales of narrowly averted disasters

and the whiskey is flowin

like never before

as all over the country, folks just shake their heads

and pour

so here’s a toast to all the folks who live in palestine

and iraq, and el salvador

here’s a toast to the folks living on the pine ridge reservation

with gi joe still coming back for more

here’s a toast to all those nurses and doctors

who daily provide women with a choice

who stand down a threat the size of oklahoma city

just to listen to a young woman’s voice

here’s a toast to all the folks on death row right now

awaiting hot oil or guillotine

who are shackled there with dread and can only escape into their heads

to find peace in the form of a dream

cuz take away our playstations and we are a third world nation

under the thumb of some blue blood royal son

who bought the oval office in that phony election

and i’ll tell you what, while we’re at it

let me state unequivocally

he is not president of me

he is not president of me

cuz i am a poem heeding hyper-distillation

i’ve got no room for a lie so verbose

i’m looking out over my whole human family

and i’m raising my glass in a toast

here’s to our last drink of fossil fuels

let us vow to get off of this sauce

shoo away the swarms of commuter planes

and find that train ticket we lost

cause once upon a time the line followed the river

and peeked into all the backyards

where laundry was waving

and graffiti was teasing us from brick walls and bridges

we were rolling over ridges

through valleys

under stars

i dream of touring like duke ellington in my own railroad car

i dream of waiting on the big wooden benches

in a grand station aglow with grace

and then standing out on the platform and feeling the air on my face

give back the night its distant whistle

give the darkness back its soul

give the big oil companies the finger finally

and relearn how to rock-n-roll

yes, the lessons are all around us and the truth is waiting there

so it’s time to pick through the rubble, clean the streets

and clear the air

get our government to pull its big dick out the sand

of someone else’s desert

put it back in its pants

and quit the hypocritical chants of “freedom forever!”

cuz when one lone phone rang

in two thousand and one

at ten after nine

on nine one one

which is the number we all called

when that lone phone rang right off the wall

right off our desk and down the long hall

down the long stairs

in a building so tall

that the whole world turned

just to watch it fall

and while we’re at it, remember the first time around?

the bomb?

the ryder truck?

the parking garage?

the princess that didn’t even feel the pea?

remember joking around in our apartment on avenue D?

can you imagine how many paper coffee cups would have to change their design

following a fantastical reversal of the new york skyline!

it was a joke, of course

it was a joke

at the time

and that was just a few years ago

so let the record show that the FBI was all over that case

that the plot was obvious and in everyone’s face

and scoping that scene

religiously

the CIA

(or is it the KGB?)

committing countless crimes against humanity

with this kind of eventuality

as it’s excuse

for abuse after expensive abuse

and it didn’t have a clue

look, another window to see through

way up here

on the 104th floor

look

another key

another door

10% literal

90% metaphor

5000 some poems disguised as people

on an almost too perfect day

must be more than just pawns

in some asshole’s passion play

so now it’s your job

and it’s my job

to make it that way

to make sure they didn’t die in vain

listen…

baby

hear the train?

Hurry

Hurry up!

All these people speeding along

Going so fast they disturb the wind

Racing off to …

Where?

To work

To the Bar

To the store

To nowhere

Nowhere at all

They leave themselves no time

To smell the roses

To play with the children

To pray to the gods

To feel the wind

They worry

About a pile of bricks and mortar

And not their own heart and mind

They fill their lives with needless things

And restless activity

So they don’t have to smell the roses

Or play with the children

Pray to the gods

Feel the wind

Because if they did …

They would realise how stupid it is

To worry about a pile of bricks and mortar

And not your own heart and mind

To race off to work

And the Bar

And the store

To hurry up to go nowhere

Nowhere at all

~ Juni

If I could play any song, on any instrument, anywhere at all in front of anyone, and play it perfectly … I would …

Play that Christmas Bell song on a xylophone on Mars watching the sunrise over the giant red face the aliens left us.

Or it would be playing “Redemption Song” on guitar in Madison Square Garden in front of all the world leaders on one side, and as many of my friends, family, hippies and Pagans I can cram into the other side.

Oh yes.

Redemption Song

Old pirates, yes, they rob I;
Sold I to the merchant ships,
Minutes after they took I
From the bottomless pit.
But my hand was made strong
By the ‘and of the Almighty.
We forward in this generation
Triumphantly.
Won’t you help to sing
These songs of freedom? -
‘Cause all I ever have:
Redemption songs;
Redemption songs.

Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery;
None but ourselves can free our minds.
Have no fear for atomic energy,
‘Cause none of them can stop the time.
How long shall they kill our prophets,
While we stand aside and look? Ooh!
Some say it’s just a part of it:
We’ve got to fulfill de book.

Won’t you help to sing
These songs of freedom? -
‘Cause all I ever have:
Redemption songs;
Redemption songs;
Redemption songs.

~ Bob Marley

You don’t have to climb mountains
Go through complicated rituals
Or follow some guru around
All you have to do
Is accept that you are part of god
And god is part of you
Failures, mistakes and fuck ups included
To honor the Creator
Celebrate all of Creation
Look around you
The air moves, the trees grow
Cells divide, suns are born
solar systems spin, ants march
animals die, leaves fall
fruit rots, lava flows
You breathe
Everything is always going
Doing, moving, flowing, growing, and changing
Do you really expect all this to suddenly stop and be still and calm and peaceful
Just because you have decided to meditate for thirty minutes?
Do you really expect a spiritual experience to always be a kind of stillness?
You cannot blank your mind
Or stop the growth of your Self
Any more than you could stop the wind
They are all parts of the same Whole
Just be
Breathe with the land
Love what you love
Celebrate all of Creation
Including yourself