Live at the 19th St. Coffeehouse, Milwaukee,
Earth Poets & Musicians 20th Anniversary Concert:
HT/composition/voc/guitar
Holly Haebig/flute
Jahmes Tony Finlayson/talking drum
Sandy Weisto, audio engineer
Inspired by the students of the City Montessori School, Lucknow, India
Where We Earthlings Dwell
I saw a headline in the paper:
Mother Earth Is In Intensive Care—
she's pictured in bloody bandages,
with IVs poked in everywhere.
A worried nurse checks the thermometer...
Mama's temperature is sky high—
we've got to get her fever down,
before the ice-caps melt and die.
A hospital spokesman says it's 'touch and go'...
doctors are doing everything they can—
it's hard to decide where to operate first,
whether the ocean or the land.
Mama's poor lungs are laboring...
too many forests have been whacked—
her pulse is getting awfully faint:
how in the world do we bring her back?
Put solar panels on every roof...
watch windmills go 'round and 'round—
leave coal inside the mountains,
and let oil stay deep underground.
Relatives gather at Mama's bedside...
We really want her to get well—
because after all, Mother Earth is
the sweet home where we Earthlings dwell.
And now I'm looking into my crystal ball...
O, what a glorious sight I see:
children laughing, birds singing,
and Mother Earth, healthy, and happy...
children laughing, birds singing,
and Mother Earth, healthy, and happy...
yes, put solar panels on every roof...
watch windmills go 'round and 'round—
leave coal inside the mountains,
and let oil stay where it belongs, underground
Survive, and Thrive
I'm lying on my belly, on the soft, warm earth
in my side yard, on the first sweet day of Spring,
shirt off, sunshine on my back,
relaxing after working in the garden.
I wasn't planning on looking closely at this patch of ground,
I just flopped down here to rest—
but here it is,
short, tender blades of grass,
a prickly thistle still hugging the earth,
Creeping Charley, a mint
whose leaves I use in teas,
violet leaves, nutritious and flavorful,
and, of course, this being my yard,
lots and lots of dandelions,
which I'll soon be picking,
for soups and salads.
There's so much happening right here,
so much subtlety, and interaction,
so many details, and that's just on the surface,
with a whole community extending below,
in the root-realm, the earthworm's domain,
and beyond.
And there's this:
no matter what the 'state of the world,'
no matter how many wars rage,
no matter what other bad news develops,
no matter the crazed headlines, and
feverish freak-outs on the internet,
the dandelions are not discouraged, far from it...
even after decades of genocidal persecution
by many members of my species, they survive, and thrive.
It's not just chlorophyll I'm after, when I gather their leaves...
I thank them for transfusions of spirit—
when I close my eyes,
I can already see
hundreds of little suns
blooming
