Thursday, 14 of December of 2017

Tag » machinery

Carl Sandburg – Wilderness

httptruelaurels.files.wordpress.comThere is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

GutenbergThere is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

yellow10There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

olivebaboon2There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot’s hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

Sea_EagleThere is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

Carl Sandburg

Paloma – The Forest Trembles


the mountain was silent
inhaled movement of a victim
hiding from death

shocked witnesses gingerly return
with the moon
rejoicing songs of sunrise
filtering through the canopy
were splintered by chainsaws
explosives, helicopters
and machinery of men
invading ancient homes

a bear den under a live tree
the trunk six feet wide
now blue marked to be cut
cutting the mountain
this mountain has survived glaciers
regenerating the coast
with uncounted diversity of life
live, lives, multi-layers of lives

old ones fall like bombs
reverberating up the mountainside
smashing everything in their way
these old ones
branches had danced
entwined each other in life
like a lover’s embrace
these old ones

i heard squealing
critter caught in the fall
where saws hacked marrow
slicing through rings
years of memories
cracking reeling
pinning the occupant
who mournfully wails
its death cry

an angry Chipmunk
as we photodocument the crime
chalk outlining the victim
as it is being stabbed
helplessly hoping for anything
anything to stop this madness
but settling for a better view
of the perpetrator

corporations mock
our futile attempts
by owning the government
they reserve us only a space
in their jails

(Ode to Sugarloaf, may timber
mongers spend eternity in the
wastelands they’ve created)


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