Saturday, October 22, 2016


The things that humans build and make,
in cities, factories—these
are often wasteful, monstrous and
disturbing to the soul.

And so we need the open space,
with sky—and water, earth,
and all the hues and sounds and scents
that heal and make us whole.
We need the plants, we need the beasts—
we need the rest of life.
We need the clouds, the rain and snow,
we need the open sky.
We need the dawn, we need the dusk,
we need the arcing sun.
We do not need to speed to work
and back—to race and run.
We need the curve of hill and branch,
the flow of water, wind.
With quadrants and with walls, we’ve penned
ourselves and we have sinned

against this world and all that lives
and all that gave us birth,
and all that still sustains this life
upon this whirling Earth.
We need the whispers of the winds,
the gurgling of the streams,
and all the softer sounds we heard
that soothed us in our dreams.
We need to savor what we do—
to labor slow, with love.
We do not need the overseer
who drives us from above.
We need the brightness of the day,
we need the heat and cold.
We need the darkness of the night,
we need the moon and stars.
We need to learn, we need to teach,
to care for young and old.
We do not need the speed, the din,
the factories and the wars.
We need to find or grow our food,
to spin and weave the string.
We need to feel, beneath our feet,
the earth, the grass, the moss…
We need to talk and touch and kiss,
we need to dance and sing.
We do not need to bend the knee
or bow to lord or boss.
2016 October 22nd, Sat., 1:47 am
Bensonhurst Park, Brooklyn, New York

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