No Words

image from facebook, by indosurflife.com

Dani's prompt over at Poetry Jam this week is: painting a picture with words.

Humankind's imprint on

the ocean's gyres:

no words for so much shame

5 million tons of tsunami debris washed out of Japan in March 2011 flowing along the gyres (large spinning currents) to the shores of the Pacific.

The Great Pacific Garbage Patch, already in existence before the tsunami, is now roughly the size of Texas.

Plastic debris is frequently found in the stomachs of albatross and sea turtles. A scientist  recently watched an albatross unsuccessfully try to cough up a plastic toothbrush. Whales and porpoises are often entangled in ropes and wire and  driftnets.

100 million tons of plastic debris has accumulated in the ocean over the last fifty years. The mass increases by a factor of ten every two to three years.

Depressing.

Source: NationalGeographic.com

Dwelling in Possibility

from google

When people tell you 

it's impossible,

don't listen.

Even the impossible

is possible -

it just might take

a little longer.

Live in expectation,

with the possibility

that anything can happen

at any moment.

Do you remember

the day you met your true love,

and how golden everything

so suddenly became?

That happened in a moment,

and in the fluttering of your heart,

the world was made new.

No one knows

when a knock at the door

will bring news that

changes everything.

Even world peace

is possible.

It just takes six billion people

changing their minds

to make it so.

Your future is as

bright and unlimited,

as expansive and shining,

as it is possible for you to dream.

Dream big!

The Fully Mechanical Conscienceless Device

google image

Kerry's challenge at Real Toads today is steampunk, a sub-genre of fantasy and  speculative fiction.




Banish all the libraries,
and send all poets and literateurs 
to the outback.
Deprive them of pens
and imprison them singly, 
so they may not tell stories aloud.


They have all been replaced by 
The Fully Mechanical Conscienceless Device,
robots and androids
that can pen full tomes
in place of human bards.


It is said these automatons
will be fully functional
within five years
and one will win the Pulitzer Prize
for Literature 
in twenty.


Forgive me if I still prefer
the feeling of a book in my hands,
and to have my stories come
from the minds and hearts  
of their authors.


I'm just old-fashioned that way.


This is actually not fantasy. On CBC Radio last week, they were discussing a new robot/computer that is already writing stories. The journalist doing the interview was understandably nervous at the possibility of being replaced by a robot, but the interviewee was excited about the possibility of reaching wide audiences with programmed books written by robots.


Yikes.

The Great Invocation

My beloved West Coast

This morning I feel moved to post The Great Invocation. The more of us who repeat this beautiful mantra, the more the transformation of consciousness will be assisted across this beautiful and perilous planet, which needs all the help it can get right now.

From the point of Light within the Mind of God

Let light stream forth into the minds of men.

Let Light descend on Earth.

From the point of Love within the Heart of God

Let Love stream forth into the hearts of men.

May Christ return to Earth.

From the centre where the Will of God is known

Let purpose guide the little wills of men --

The purpose which the Masters know and serve.

From the centre which we call the race of men

Let the plan of Love and Light work out,

And may it seal the door where evil dwells.

Let Light and Love and Power restore the Plan on Earth.

This invocation can be made more powerfully if we envision a triangle of light above our heads as we say it, and see it connecting to triangles of light all across the planet.

A Day Graced by Doves

God sent me a morning

bathed in sunlight,

horse in the pasture,

wash on the line.

God sent me a morning

graced by doves,

with everything golden.

 I'll make it mine.

I'll wrap it around me

to keep me safe,

to comfort and hold

my inner waif.

I'll breathe it in,

till the day is done,

then God will send me

another one.

It is a most beautiful morning, syrupy sunlight, doves cooing, everything peaceful, and my sister is driving me to the Coast to see my doctor. Likely no time for a beach walk, but we will LOOK at some spectacular scenery, and that will reassure me that it is all still there, waiting for me.

The Doves of Morning

image from google

Thirty mourning doves

have come to live 

in my yard.

Their soft coos

serenade

all my remembering

of years gone past.

Their song 

 is telling me

the sands of time

are hastening

swiftly

through the hourglass.

Time to

make each day

count.

Stardreaming

This is Daryl Edelstein's photo of artist Isaiah Zagar's work in mosaics. At Real Toads, the prompt is to write to one of the pieces presented by the two artists. If you click on the link to Toads, you can see more of their work.

In the blues and the mauves,

you can see me dreaming.

In the center of the real world,

I withdraw to a vantage point

that sees above,

that flies beyond,

that finds the purpose 

and the meaning

which I translate into art.

Under all of the batterings

and the losses,

the cageings and freeings,

there has been this Voice,

for a hundred years,

keeping up a constant commentary-

life seen through

the poet's eyes,

stardreaming.

With our pens

we can take a massacre

and find something of honor.

We can take a chained slave

and set her free.

We can paint the world

as we wish it to be,

as it should and could be,

if every poet had

a magic wand.

We can paint the world

as beautiful

as our eyes

will let us see.