when was the last time

you looked away
ignoring the pain
sometimes
a flood
is more than a rush of tears
streets spatter
even at midnight
& the constant hum
of grotesque machinery
chews what's left inside
burrowing deep
at the core principles
some regard
as sacred

--- e b bortz

offering

sri scooped up
a handful of rice
into a red bowl
then up to the altar
a golden glow

--- e b bortz

earth note 152

surat thani province, thailand

when the sun rises
near the equator
heat wakes the bodies
limitless imaginations
with a delicate song
as if to say
you have arrived
in this place by chance
will continue by chance
every being
flora and fauna alike
soil and water
surviving only
by equilibrium
an interdependency
of no excuses
no space
for negotiations

listen for the forest call
land and river
will answer

--- e b bortz

don't seek consensus

with your oppressor/abuser
evil or lesser evil sideshow illusion
acid reflux disappointment
in the morning

authentic flowers
bloom
without directions
& chemical stimulants

it has nothing to do
with feeling good or bad
moaning an idyllic history
that never existed
or finding the buried gem
or magic of 'correct framing'

sweep out the clutter
stop waiting for the perfect moment
you are real
& beautiful
in your original
being

--- e b bortz

(published in opednews.com, May 11, 2011)

earth note 151

water on the roof
collects a mirror image
green maples
shimmer along the avenue

--- e b bortz

earth note 150

weathered leathery face unravelling
rich brown lines
of age and of wisdom
of the land and of yesterday
when men and horses ran free
across the painted deserts
up over the snow capped peaks
voices of
hopi
apache
navajo
hualapai
havasupai
yavapai
spring from the belly of the canyon
do we hear them?
do we love the land enough
to listen?

rocky buttes stand straight up
bold and open mouths
as wind and sand
beat them down
carving signatures
harsh and jagged
across their torsos
are we as brave?

scruffy patches of piñon pine
hug the hillside
make their claim of water rights
elegant ponderosa spacing themselves
in the coolness of the mountain pass

only the cottonwoods
hog the wetland washes
squeezing bullying surviving
are we cottonwoods?

an orange sun burns on the edge of a dust storm
without fear or malice
tempting us to follow its course
and learn

--- e b bortz

(previously published as "wisdom" in Voices of a Wanderer, 1993)