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ethome
Member Patricius
since 2000-05-14
Posts 11858
New Brunswick Canada

0 posted 2002-02-21 06:49 PM



This is an older poem of mine. Just thought I'd resubmit.

                   After a rain, after a branch soaked journey,
                   I sit near a clear cut watching silt filled
                   water lazily run off the open yard.
                   I stare at the torn floor,
                   my thinking fractured by the damage
                   and I imagine a small deer  
                   watching from the trees in the distance
                   a lonely spikehorn
                   safely from me.
                   The ground is overchurned brown mixed with green, trampled
                   remains; beyond all repair.
                   Wind scrapes the earth with a shrill voice, tempest
                   over the desolate barren waste,
                   and I pull out my clip held bullets.
                    
                   Inside, my heart stopped the hunt.
                   I think trying to get it straight, that once
                   there was shelter here to house and feed
                   kindred souls, gypsy hearts, while heaven's cool rains
                   would fully quench all yearning thirsts, and tenants
                   felt the moisture washing their blood.
                    
                   It's because of this
                   that I sit here in this torture
                   with my thoughts clinging to life -
                   and feel disconsolate.
                   The commercialized death of this once existing growth
                   generates a dark and looming doom
                   that lurks near this pervading to destruction.
                   In my head, I see a squirming ghost of sheer complacency,
                   while bold free enterprisers with wheels and knives
                   drive onward through forests with persistence,
                   processing mechanical money beds.
                    
                   But I sit here still alive,
                   no escape from the eyesore.
                   I try to imagine the confusion of the roar
                   the woodlands so dispersed, turning  
                   into such ravished striplands as their space
                   shrinks, and their home, is lost.
                    
                   But the truth remains unchanged.
                   The truth hides only as long as it takes to hurt
                   and the deer hides only as long
                   as the forest still stands
                   until his hiding places start turning
                   into man's cold spaces
                   into a final solutions
                   behind fences so ghastly unreal. Nowhere
                   left to run: species forced from their shelter -
                   and with this vision across this bare moonscape
                   and with this wind-swept air
                   lashing emptiness in front of me, the truth begins to hurt.
                    
                   Note: This poem is not actually about the deer. The deer is just being used as
                   the wildlife catalyst to get the message across.

The role of poetry is to utter the un-utterable; to open up
spaces of consciousness and resistance; to language oppressions; to
re-language historie

© Copyright 2002 Eric Lewis True - All Rights Reserved
Startime
Member Ascendant
since 2000-10-03
Posts 5918
Canada
1 posted 2002-02-21 06:59 PM


Gosh...this poem hit me so hard, Eric...I love wildlife and all the untouched forest our country has to offer and it scares me to death seeing how it is all being destroyed....Thank you for posting a poem that touches the very soul of the problem....**big big hugs**

Love I leave with you whether it is in your life now or yet the essense of your dreams.

Mistletoe Angel
Deputy Moderator 10 ToursDeputy Moderator 10 ToursDeputy Moderator 5 Tours
Member Empyrean
since 2000-12-17
Posts 32816
Portland, Oregon
2 posted 2002-02-21 07:36 PM




(tears fall down my cheeks) Oh Eric, this is so very sad, it too breaks my heart to see all the forests being cleared, for I too am a tree-hugger and I wish that eveone could learn and understand how important our environment is! (big hugggssssss) My heart goes out to Mother Nature with you, sweet friend, we all love you so much! You have such a beautiful heart, sweet Eric, thank you for sharing!



May love and light always shine upon you!

Love,
Noah Eaton

Sunshine
Administrator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-25
Posts 63354
Listening to every heart
3 posted 2002-02-21 08:04 PM



When I have opportunties to walk the land...I know this feeling...and see the wall, between then, and here, where I am right now on this piece of grass...

yes, I know this feeling...

Martie
Moderator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-09-21
Posts 28049
California
4 posted 2002-02-22 07:49 PM


Eric

You write well in free verse!  The message in this is so clear and well done...and sad.  I am so glad that beauty still lifts its head from cracks in cement and blossoms.  Hugs!

walker
Member Elite
since 2001-02-11
Posts 2240
Florida
5 posted 2002-02-22 08:35 PM


Deep thoughts here, loved the poem.
kaile
Deputy Moderator 1 TourDeputy Moderator 1 Tour
Member Ascendant
since 2000-02-06
Posts 5146
singapore
6 posted 2002-02-22 09:22 PM


an intense poem..i could feel the earnestness and frustration of the poet..
ethome
Member Patricius
since 2000-05-14
Posts 11858
New Brunswick Canada
7 posted 2002-04-21 06:21 PM


Thanks for the kind words from all! I appreciate the input so much!
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