gravy

Once upon a time, when we all spoke the same language, the oak said,

“Come, sit in my arms, and listen to the sands that glisten,
To the wind, to the stars, to the gulls, to the planet called mars,
To the the pretty girls dancing below
In frilly flowery skirts,
Their slender ankles have a song or two to show.
Lean back in my embrace and look
To the fern, to the fox, to the finches, to the brook
They all have a tail or two to share,
And while you rest
The bees and butterflies will sit on your chest
For you too have a thing or three for them to see.”

Once upon a time
We All spoke the same Language
Of glances, of dances, of gestures, and postures
Of twittering chittering beating vibrations,
We still do
Just some of us don’t Know what we’re saying anymore
When we’re not speaking in Words,
Though we’re speaking all the same
In our thoughts become deeds
Sending messages on vibratory frequencies
To the Oak, the Foxes, the Finches and Bees
They here us loud and clear
Screaming about Ourselves, our One Human Self Being
Hear Hear Hear,
Who doesn’t?! The Ones who have gone
Taking with them their song
Until the woods are silent, dark, and deep
With no diversity this world to keep
And miles and miles of yawning sleep
In a masquerade, a homogenized parade

Where’s that southern flag? Lynched on the bridge by a mob led by a hag
Gone with Stonewall and Lee, gone with all the men at the university
With Thurman Clark and his Southern drawl, with Sylvie and his ramp foraging crawl
The pirate, the gunslinger, the wild man in the woods
The herbwife, the witch with her bag full of goods,
Where’s the red man, the yellow man, the black man, the brown?
Gone to mocha, capuccino, been taken down
In the service of tolerance and acceptance and some pithy state of grace
Where there’s one form, one shape, one vessel, one face
What comes then when we’re All so One?
I dinno but the butterflies are laughing laughing till they fall apart
And it’s all good, until the gravy’s all gone  . . .

Do you see them

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Your peace . . .

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