A wheel set in motion long ago
rolling like a freight train down a steep track
barreling through the past
soon to arrive
perfectly on time
at your station
in the present
parallel lines converging
to a single point
of departure
from the known
In honor of this day I am re-posting a previous poem that I feel is appropriate to the occasion. I hope that this is not a cop-out. It probably is, and I will probably write a new piece to go with the occasion, but it is 11:35PM on “Bloggers Unite For Hunger and Hope” day and I want to post something before midnight and I want it to be good. Is it because I care or because I am vain? I do not know the answer. I eat one meal a day and live on trail mix and beef jerky the rest of the time lately. I know what it is to hunger, and I know what it is to hope against all odds. I have lived from day to day not knowing where my next meal will come from. I have eaten from trash cans. I have been homeless and destitute. Still, I have never starved, nor suffered from exposure beyond my body’s ability to bear in health. So here are a few words of hope and hunger for a better, more just world.
“I will Sing You a Dream”
Archetypal images
arising in my thoughts
dancing in my dreams
From whence do they come?
To what do they speak?
These answers I know
within myself
They are my own
they speak to me
Handed down
from my ancestors
from the dawn of man
and before there was time
The dream is speaking
It has it’s own language
speaks it’s own truth
follows it’s own design
These things I know
I cannot tell you how
or why
but if you take my hand
I will show you
I will sing you a dream
I will play the heartbeat on my drum
fill the shadows with my violin
paint the sky with my voice
I will fill the void with my flute
and raise the tide with sound of digiridoo
This dream I will paint for you
I will build a bridge for you
to walk across
between the worlds
as I am carried along
the dreamer and the dream
entwined as one
I will dream a path
as the path dreams me
Today I will clean my venita with my neighbor
We will open up the gate at the acequia
and celebrate Spring by irrigating our land
with water from the river
freshly melted snow
cold and pure
bringing life to this arid land
in a tradition kept
for over 300 years
we will open the gates
and let the water flow
April 17th
After brushing off the six inches of snow
from my windshield
I drove to work
and discovered
we were closed
due to the weather
I thought it was a lovely day
Today, April 16th, has been designated “Blog Reader Appreciation Day” at Bloggers Unite.
On that note, I sincerely thank all of my readers for your time and effort in reading and participating in conversation at my blog. You are part of what inspires me to write and I benefit greatly from your presence.
The woman and the child
how have they become so disregarded?
What is wrong with our world today
that life
and the bearer of life
are last in line?
Please do not think me ignorant or unrealistic
I know that this is not a new development
It’s just that
I stopped by Bloggers Unite
and found that today
is a day
to speak of such things
Think on it
if you will
Our future as a species
Our status as thinking and self-reflecting beings
Our connection with all of life
Third stone from the sun
Be kind
Take care
Remember what it means to “husband”
and aspire to deserve the term of “father”
(second draft, with a special thanks to Ieuan and Brad at the Poets.org Forum)
“When the Water Did Not Come”
When the water did not come
through my acequia
on Tuesday, as expected
I went out into my backyard
and turned on my hose
so I could start
I made a lovely ditch
with my new hoe
The first of many channels
The water flowed
from my hose
a taste from my well
of what is to come
The dry, clay soil
drank thirstily of what I offered
dreaming of the river
(first draft)
I was so excited…
When the water did not come
I went out into the back yard
and turned on the hose
so I could start
I made a lovely ditch
with my new hoe
The first of many channels
The water flowed
from my hose
a taste from my well
of what is to come
The dry, clay soil
drank thirstily of what I offered
dreaming of the river
It snowed last night
here at 7000 feet
It was only a little snow
We almost thought it might be frost
The funny thing is
It’s April
All of my musings cannot compare
to the splendor and mystery that is
Perhaps it is pointless that I write
but alas, I cannot stop
I am driven to a strange purpose
enthralled by the gods
to translate into words
that which cannot be spoken
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This work by Jim Spaulding is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
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