Saturday, 30 of April of 2016

Jack Collum – Ecology

humansarenature_com_sherbrooke-yatra
gaia-peggy-kane 
 
 
 
 
Surrounded by bone, surrounded by cells
by rings, by rings of hell, by hair, surrounded by,
hair-is-a-thing, surrounded by silouette, by honey-wet bees, yet
by skeleton of trees, surrounded by actual, yes, for practical
purposes, people, surrounded by surreal
popcorn, surrounded by the reborn: Surrender in the center
to surroundings. O surrender forever, never
end her, let her blend around, surrender to surroundings that
surround the tender endo-surrender, that
tumble through the tumbling to that blue that
curls around the crumbling, to that, the blue that
rumbles under the sun bounding the pearl that
we walk on, we talk on; we can chalk that
up to experience, sensing the brown here that’s
blue now, a drop of water that’s surrounding a cow that’s
black and white, the warbling Blackburnian twitter that’s
machining midnight orange in the light that’s
glittering in the light green visible wind. That’s
the ticket to tunnel through the thicket that’s
a cricket’s funnel of music to correct & pick it out
from under the wing that whirls it up over & out.


Bob Finkbine – Bury My Heart

Colorado_River

Save-the-Colorado-photo-web
 
Fluid thief Colorado
ferrying silt, carving rock,
spawning catclaw and catfish.

Shadowed symmetry
of subtle
lines latticed
on upcurved canyon walls;
sheerwall rising above
narrow plateaus
where ocotillos wave
twisted arms
and seep springs feed spraygrass.

Swallowtail butterflies flit
along porous lava, cracked crosscuts
slicing down to where light splays
Colorado-River-Basinon water, spangling above depths
where unslackened, the current
never rests.

Digging,
my fingers scratch away pebbles,
scoop out handfuls of sand and dirt
fashioning a place
for my heart,
covering it over,
letting soil work.

Nursed in cretaceous darkness,
Colorado_River_Watershedroots tentacle out to pierce
close-moleculed masks of stone.
Man earth, earth man,
skin dissolved, flesh gone,
bones sinking into a lost sea,
into sacred ribbons of water
chattering off the backs of mountains,
licking the wounds of the earth,
folding and unfolding her seasons
like pages of a book
we
have
forgotten
how
to
read.

Bob Finkbine
September 1994 Earth First!




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