The world is losing
Gravity,
But no one can escape,
We're hurtling on our petrie dish
In a gel that seals our fate;
Gravitating
Towards black holes;
They're closer than you think.

In China
There's a wall of dust,
Seen clear from outer space;
Our living waters die
In a legacy of disgrace.
We're citizens
Wearing masks;
We should hide our faces,
But we're running daily tasks.
We're fossils burning
Fossil fuels
Found in cremation gas.

The amphibians
Are on the fringe;
Whales can't sound,
They run aground.
It's an environmental slaughter.

Our world has lost
Some gravity.
We need to plant our feet,
But  charnel fires
And greenhouse gas
Have hastened our retreat.
Migrating birds lose sense of time,
Confused by the lights.
The mourning dove coos at night,
The nightingale at dawn;
We're like
New turtles muddling,
Under lost starlight.
We must grasp
The gravity
Of burning
Burning  light.

talons extended
he take a bit of the lake
into the sunset

Just beneath the road insensate,
in the little creek that crawls through town,
the rains brought him.
Iron-blue, patient, slender, high sits his head –
a lance, now raised – now half-tilt as he sights his prey – raised again
as a drifting leaf disrupts his aim.
Upstream he prowls, that his prey sees
him not.
He stalks with long, slow strides, his legs thin and
graceful not to disturb the quiet current of the water and
give himself away to senseless quarry. Few call him spindly,
I imagine. Not I.
By the shore, fish-bones, whole
but for the flesh,
sink into the mud.
A thoughtless dart, a flash, a writhing
beast falls still on his speartip.
What am I, then, that
he flies when I draw close?

The Rockies sing to us at sunrise

      when crystal snow-capped peaks
chant iridescent matins to the dawn,
      the dawn of a fresh new mountain day.

Luminous pastel clouds
     hover across the horizon
painting the hills and valleys below
     in mysterial shades of
lavendar, amber and rose.

The Rockies sing to us at daybreak
      when every crest and vale
unites in raising anthems to the dawn,
      The dawn of a bright new mountain morn.

Forests and fields awaken.
      A bull elk grazes by an alpine lake.
An eagle soars through the morning mist
      over rainbows of Indian paintbrush.
A hilltop lake spills over its rim
      and cascades down the *****
etching serpentine streams in the valley below.

We can hear the mountains singing.
      In every creature, ridge and flower
They bring to us their jublilant songs
      of wilderness, wildlife and wonder
.

We can hear the Rockies singing.

      The mountains sing forever!

*June, 2009

नै अनजालु फरायसाफोर-
एबार आं नोँसोरनो फंनैसो खिन्थानि।
जिब-जुनारा जोँनि आंगो लोगो।
जोँनि बेसेबा बानजायग्रा अनजाथाव माहि।
जिब-जुनारखौ नेहाथ सान्ना
बुथारनो नाङा।
बिसोरहा दाय गैया।
अब्ला जोँहा मानि हिंसानाय?
माहारिनि बिफा गान्दीया बुंदोँमोन-
अहिंसा परम घर्म।
अदेबानि हिंसा खालामियानो सोरजिगिरि
जिउमानि गियान।
बेनो नंगैबै दोहोरोम।
जोँ मानसि माहारिया बुजिनो हायो
अब्लाबो मानोदि उन्दै उन्दै
जिब-जुनार आरो दाउसिन-दाउलाखौ बुथारो?
बिनि जाहोनखौ दिनै नोँसोरनो खिन्थानि।
जिब-जुनारा जोबोद बुजि गोरोँ जिबि
बिसोरो गियानि नाथाय राव रोङा।
राव रोङैनि थाखायनो बिसोरखौ सुबुंआ नेहाथ सानो।
बिसोरो राव रोङैनि थाखायनो उदांस्रि गैयै बादि जायो।
बिसोरो जेब्लाबो मानसिनि बादि राव रोङैनि थाखाय
लाजियो थाखोमाबायो
अब्लाबो बुजि रोङै मानसिया बिसोरखौ
होसोयो गावथारो, बुथारो बायदि
हिंसा खालामो।
फंबायफोर नोँसोर दिनैनिफ्राय
बेबादि हिंसा सान्नायखौ दाला
मोजां आखु सोलोँ गियानि जानो सोलोँ।
रामायाण खन्थाइमायाव मखनाय रामचन्द्र
आरो लक्षन मोना
गिलु बालु फोजोबस्रांनो हानाय
गोहोआ दंमोन अब्लाबो बिसोर
जिब-जुनारखौ हाग्रायाव थानाय समावबो बुथाराखै।
अर्जुनमोनबादि हाथियारनि बिगोमाफोरा
जिब हिंसा खालामामोन
बिसोरबादि अनसुला घोरोमिनि सल'खौ खोनासं।
बिसोरनि जिउमिन फराय।
हायोबा सम सम नोँसोरनि फोरोँगिरिफोरनाव सोँना ला।
गावनि जिउआ जेसेबां अनजाथाव
गुबुननि जिउखौबो अन।
जिउआ महर गैया जेरै
बयनिबो जिउआ समान अनजाथाव।

Sometimes I wish that I wasn’t born with a tall, magnificent, towering horn
Because I might be killed soon while my horn were torn.
Every 8 hours, one of us is dreadfully killed,
Only to make their dream fulfilled?

If I were to say we’re nothing special, we’re just like you it’s just not fair.
And if I say our horns are made like your nails and your hair.
Would people still **** us or let us be free?
Maybe they’ll laugh, as you can see.

We’re neither for sale, nor for medicine or as your house souvenirs.
I don’t want to be a display and stay there for years!
How can it be a work that they’re so proud of?
Then does that mean we’re just “stuff”?

There are not many of us now, only 5 species left and yes it is true.
White, Black, Greater one- horned, Sumatran and Javan too.
However, I’m afraid that one day we’ll be gone,
And by then whom will they look upon?

I know by far that many of you had protected us, and gave us support.
Though is it not enough to reach the hunter’s heart?
Don’t you think that we’ve had enough?
We have to stay strong and tough.

This is why we need your help, to spread the word and show us you care.
Help us make a difference, since we are considered as rare.
I want us to all get together and to be a part of this.
For a happy future that you’ll never miss!

It lays amongst an earthy mound
sweet venom rests on top
Strange figures pass without a glance
Until those old days stop

With not a whip it rests and hums
Lets out one desperate sigh
But petals hide it's secret dream
To make an easier fall and die

To be killed for a small misdeed of another
Must be an awful way to live  
But to you, a precious little flower
Is all that you can give

“What a wonderful world”, so the song says
yet its ruled so unjustly by mankind’s selfish ways.
Men in boats across our wide oceans sail
for the profit of killing just another Whale
and corporations with such a money lust
turning mighty rain forests into deserts and dust.
Tigers, Rhino and Elephants roam a land filled with sun
but there numbers diminished by a man with a gun.
Gorilla’s on mountains that border Zaire
populations so low that they soon won’t be there.
People on horseback follow dogs on a trail,
the prize of this ride is a dead foxes tail.
With pollution we destroy the layer of ozone
forgetting that this world is our only home.

“What a wonderful world”, so the song goes
but for the poor and deprived full of misery and woes.
Company’s lie in wait for an oil strike to reveal
whilst many young lie in graves for the lack of a meal.
Poverty, greed, ****** and hate
another dictator lying in state.
Honoured for his military might
of keeping a nation locked up in fright.
And for the young soldier who killed twenty-four
he’s made a national hero with medals galore.
The righteous who try to speak out of this wrong
are killed or rotting in prison cells for so long
and the holy who care for the lepers and plagued
they receive little thanks for the lives they have saved.

“What a wonderful world” so the song said.
Yet into our own destruction we seem to be led.
The priority of “our leaders” is to **** and destroy
treating our world as their unbreakable toy.
Billions of pounds spent on weapons to ****
whilst so many people lie dying or ill.
Governments globally tell us all lies
as an innocent child in a civil war dies.
This climate change that we call Global warming
Is the earth giving mankind its final warning.
For this world knows that it would be a far better place
with the total extinction of the human race.
Without mankind all other life would thrive.
Without mankind this world will survive.

While the globe crawls as
S L O W
as my bill is thin,
I've got places to go,
sunsets to chase
and mighty, invisible wings
to feed, so

              bring on the sugar water!

Feathers flickering furiously;
sweet Jesus!
where are my feet?
I am BUZZING through today,
routes as long as my tongue
repeated in an
unbroken line
thousands of times,

              hey, *******, you goon!
              That's MY nectar!
              Scram!

Planning my daily rounds,
relying on the donations
of fans who eye my turf war
with childish glee

              and I hope
              beyond hope to see
              pitcher after sweet pitcher
              waiting for me

Because neglect is starvation,
an end to the thrum
of tiny hearts.