When the voice of a seventeen year old girl holds more wisdom, sanity and truth than those who lead us.
When our leaders trade a prophet for a profit.
When there is easy money to be made from recovery rather than investment in change for the longer term.
When billionaires with vested interests set the policy.
Devastation and disaster, death and starvation have no political bias.
When will you add your voice and when will it be too late for you?
When eyes and ears give rise to voices that call out in fear for our very world will your apathy hold true?
Close your eyes.
Close your ears.
But even so your house will not be immune.

The rain is falling down the winter sky
the fog is wrapped like moss around the house
a fire is burning in the stove and I
am curled up in my hole, an elder mouse
who's seen the wars and lived to tell the tale
who's belled the cat and stolen all the cheese
who's climbed the stair and slid down on the rail
who's lived through summer's heat and autumn's freeze.
That is the past, for now the days are warm
even in this winter-time of life
although I'd take the snows to rainy storms,
for burrowing beneath avoids the strife
of dodging hawks and cats, and also owls
but in the sky the future softly growls.

His plane sailed into a milk-white sky,
white mare's tails spiraling in pale water.
Mind and time became elastic as he
vanished away and then returned.
I look for days like this in winter,
with hints of soft sunshine
and opalescent clouds.
Sometimes the harshest season
is the kindest, and paints a scene
that soothes artist and lover,
when wishing hands part the cloth
of reality with dream.
Or when the earth itself
Seems to remember soft interglacials
And seasons seemingly spun
Like cotton candy to soothe
The wounds inflicted by us.
Earth is like the mother spider,
eaten by its young.

The world's ablaze
Filled with rage
Mother nature is to blame

Not your God who is supposed to save
Not your God whose hands create
It's mother nature, the one who gives

Mother nature, the one who shares
Mother nature, the one who loves
Not your God who turns his back, no

The God who cares more
About your "unholy" bedroom life
More about your uncharitable deeds
Than he does the state of peace

Blame it on our mother
Who gives us her breath so we may live
Who gives the fauna from her back so we may eat
Who is crying silent tears so we can drink in peace

Yet you praise God
For his Mercy
For his 'generosity'
While he steals all her credit

Our dying mother, mourning her broken body all alone
While we dance across her continent sized bruises
And blame her abuse on herself alone

knit, purl, knit, purl, knit, purl, stitch
cable front, cable back, knit, knit, knit
slip one over, yarn in front
knit back into place
put one stitch marker there
keep up with the pace
Outside there's snow and now it's sun
White out snow squalls
Then clear blue sky
Mother Nature what's going on?
Is this your attempt at trying to cry?
The world is burning, the ice it melts
We are a virus blistfully unaware
Oh well...
knit, purl, knit, purl, knit purl, stitch
cable back, cable front, knit, knit, knit

Are we there yet when everything
we know turns upside down like
it did during Noah's time? No!, but
global warming is taking us there.