Wednesday, 22 of November of 2017

Tag » Rocky Mountains

Carl Sandburg – Wilderness

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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


Sue Ring De Rosset – Mother Earth Her Witness

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East of the sporting goods store:
a once-neglected patch of shortgrass prairie.
Powerlines crackle on humid mornings,
people pass on the bicycle trail.

Year after year, corner of Conifer
and Redwood, the prairie dogs
have raised their pups in the neighborhood.

They take walks and squeak and bark,
groom each other, stretch and graze,
keep watch for hawks and foxes.
Tunnel their underground homes,
prairie-dogspile up the dirt, run across the street.
A busy life. So much to do.

Sometimes I see them standing
upright to observe the close of day,
the purpling of Rocky Mountains in shadow,
the wind in the cottonwoods and grass.

The smog, the traffic, the FOR SALE
sign on the lot in spring—such things
as I haven’t the heart to witness
myself—they too observe.

Past few weeks, I’ve been hiking
into town using alternate streets.
I cannot bear to see what’s happening;
but today I—somehow—forgot.

East, then south on Redwood, old habit.
Realizing my error, I brace for the worst:
mounds of fill dirt, a leveled field, alien
prairie-dogs33trespass of gigantic white dump trucks,
prairie dogs dead on the road. Already

I resent the humans who will someday
occupy the as-yet unbuilt houses, whose true
costs they’ll never know. I blame the developers,

especially this morning: I see a prairie dog
standing on the curb, her back to the street,
watching the dumped dirt fall from a truck
with a rattle and earth-shaking thump;

braver by far than I, she faces the terror
head on—upright and full of grace.

Sue Ring deRosset
March-April Earth First!


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