Old Robert Bly can make you stop
kicking the can down the road,
make you want to speak
with the tongues of angels.
But what can a tiny church mouse
say that might be heard
amidst the din
of the already self-anointed.
I live in a time
when the dumb won't speak
and the talkative won't be silent.
I'd really like to thin the herd.
But that's been done,
and the allowing God
is willing to wait us out
til there's not one Comanche left.
Don't get me started
on Bosnia, Abraham's children,
Kenya, Kosovo or Serbia,
all of whom have their own Martins and Johns.
The lazy part of us
defaults to being killers,
in imagination and for real,
when things don't go our way.
We've raped the sea,
and if we could dive deeper
would gladly coitus something new.
Just ask the dolphin or the shark.
We maim if we don't feel like killing today,
for some ivory or want of some fun.
Or we trample our own respect just to watch up close
the whale or tiger or their other wild chums.
This is not all that we are,
but it's certainly what we've become,
and I wonder how far we can go
before Eden rises up for some good old fashion revenge?
I can't apologize for you;
only for me.
I have a part
because I am just like you.
We need a good strong wind of regret
to move our lazy tumbleweed ass down the road
to silence the talking heads
and get the dumb to speak.
Broken gates and fallen fences don't ever fix themselves.
Abraham, Mohammed and Jesus aren't going to come again.
But if you listen, truly listen, our ancestors, the ravens, even the whales,
are all calling our names to take our turns.
They are calling us awake,
to be present each moment,
to not be tied to the expired past
or an imagined future.
Our seas are on fire,
the warmth of our hearts have grown cold.
Our thinking is tainted.
There isn't much left to be sold.
Take a cold shower
and sing like you mean it.
The climate of change
depends on it.
kicking the can down the road,
make you want to speak
with the tongues of angels.
But what can a tiny church mouse
say that might be heard
amidst the din
of the already self-anointed.
I live in a time
when the dumb won't speak
and the talkative won't be silent.
I'd really like to thin the herd.
But that's been done,
and the allowing God
is willing to wait us out
til there's not one Comanche left.
Don't get me started
on Bosnia, Abraham's children,
Kenya, Kosovo or Serbia,
all of whom have their own Martins and Johns.
The lazy part of us
defaults to being killers,
in imagination and for real,
when things don't go our way.
We've raped the sea,
and if we could dive deeper
would gladly coitus something new.
Just ask the dolphin or the shark.
We maim if we don't feel like killing today,
for some ivory or want of some fun.
Or we trample our own respect just to watch up close
the whale or tiger or their other wild chums.
This is not all that we are,
but it's certainly what we've become,
and I wonder how far we can go
before Eden rises up for some good old fashion revenge?
I can't apologize for you;
only for me.
I have a part
because I am just like you.
We need a good strong wind of regret
to move our lazy tumbleweed ass down the road
to silence the talking heads
and get the dumb to speak.
Broken gates and fallen fences don't ever fix themselves.
Abraham, Mohammed and Jesus aren't going to come again.
But if you listen, truly listen, our ancestors, the ravens, even the whales,
are all calling our names to take our turns.
They are calling us awake,
to be present each moment,
to not be tied to the expired past
or an imagined future.
Our seas are on fire,
the warmth of our hearts have grown cold.
Our thinking is tainted.
There isn't much left to be sold.
Take a cold shower
and sing like you mean it.
The climate of change
depends on it.
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