*Mother Is A Song
I was born on the wind
swirling through tall trees,
downstream fed valleys
into open, high grass plains
where nights twinkle stars
and days are a warm yellow
because Mother is a song.
I was raised on her voice,
carried by wrens’ wings,
spoken in blue jay chatter
that told of black soil
giving life to African Violets
sprinkled neath tall Sequoia
as each word whispered her name,
cause Mother was a song
and I was born
to be her singer.
She often spoke in violins
sounding like a fast-moving rill
cascading over smooth rock
and deep cello metaphor
dancing gleefully through
the eons old gorge
while oboeing calmly
toward the delta’s sea.
Her seas, symphonies of blue-green
waves playing with whale pod sonatas,
dolphin leaping concertos
as clown fish nestle among coral
listening to tides and meter
where all life began
and now witnessing death.
Mother is a song
and I am born on her cymbals,
loud and angry like thunder;
raised to be her lightning singer.
Mother is a song
no one listens to anymore.
Aztec Warrior/redzone 11.30.16
(NOTE: an ode to the large death of coral in Australia’s Great Barrier Reef due to rising sea temperatures and pollution)*