I wait
And wait
And wait

Gaia waits
And waits
And waits

I wait
To be captivated
Gaia
Waits to be released

                                 We both wait

If the planet woke up,
And we had all disappeared,
Would it mourn our memory?

It depends on the way we go,
Somebody snapping their fingers, we fade away,
Or a blinding ball of light as nuclear weapons implode.

If God revoked our presence today,
What would happen with all the factories,
There's a chance they run until Earth runs out of fuel.

It seems that if that happened,
Then all these countries would sink into the sea,
With our glory and memory.

They done killed the working man
And wrote an album about them,
Wiped out all them Cheddar heads-
Milk men's dead.
Somewhere a queen is weeping,
Somewhere a king has no wife;
Something called Neanderthalis
As another word for a human, a person.
These, members of my family as relatives,
Who are bonded to us in blood
Both in the veins of our hands
As much as they stain them.
But to that bond,
There is a responsibility to honor
And a duty to you entrusted.
That is,
The depth to it is much more than this
Lest you be the least of us.
In paying respect to those come before
And bringing up those now born,
In endeavoring to do more & be more.
Whatever facet, whatever role;
Be kind and civil,
Stand up to injustice.
Protect the weak
As an advocate made strong
By virtue & wisdom.
Turn on, tune in, turn up, awaken;
There is nothing wrong with your television set,
Have you checked the programming?
As timeless as infinity,
In the middle-ground between
Light and shadow -
Between science and superstition.
Through holes in canvases
Of freshly painted things,
Strange & otherworldly,
Aching to be discovered
And dying to be seen.

Gray wolves howl invisible
on the granite shoreline
waiting for the sea’s answer-

standing tall on the headland,
against a wind that allows no trees,
signatures the stones with ageless storms—

howling to know why this once lush place
where endless fields of poppy intertwined with pine
is now defaced with crops of suburban homes.

Above, a falcon startled from its rocky perch soars
in its time- seeing in the shadows withdrawing
from clouds- the last glint of  beautiful stones.

scattershot strikes as a shattered damocloid
sending warning ripples through clouds
glimpses of sundered villages atop cumuli
not a gasp among the crowd

i lift my shoulders and hunch my back
don't look at me don't look at me don't look at me
walking faster, heart racing, i feel the presence getting closer
leave me alone leave me alone leave me alone
i break into a futile sprint

it's not as though i can speak
tell it to leave my sight
tell it i have nothing left for it to take
hope it believes me
while i shove the final page of my story deeper into my pocket

i know better than to lie to this thing
my legs are growing heavy as i try to outpace it
but it's no use
an experienced hunter, the creature waits for me to exhaust myself running from it, then moves in for the ****
at least there, i have the last laugh-
i have already died from fear

A thousands spires that whirl and dervish,
high upon the scorching currents in the air.
Across the empty desiccated wastelands,
so long parched without waters soft repair.

Like gyrating embodied souls rotating,
to lay scar deeply carved upon the land,
driving clouds of rock like pelting hail,
headlong until all is shattered into sand.

Flashes of lightening and thunders call,
clouds cast in iron, observers of the scene,
testament in muted light from up on high,
sole recall of still waters that once had been.

Desolate open and forsaken landscape,
where only wind gives motion to the world.
Leaden clouds of rain without a falling,
static charged clouds constantly re-curled.

How long ago it was that life had left,
its own scars and marks upon the soil.
until through life's' own achievements,
a once beautiful world was left to broil.

In that not so distant time when remnants
of the miracle that was life is erased and gone.
not one thing that we have ever seen or know,
nor memory of who we once were shall live on.

I throw more words
into the emptiness of the ether
like a whale calling for home
an unheard song
one day forced
into extinction

listen to them wingmongers
circling round
squawking about how
there be tiny cities on the ground
moss barble asphalt
laid down
betwixt twig-mud megatowers
architecture of invisible sound
leaves decomposing, ants scurrying
spider weaving her web,
connecting flowers like power
lines buzzing beetles hurrying
all the way down the naturebound
highway,
off-ramps to the nine burrows
past the dead squirrel,
through the downpour
of fungal spores more
self-sustainable than any city of yours,
screech the wingmongers,
and from dirt level
i understand their song
these tiny cities will be
long past
when our civilization's long gone