• Vol. 09
  • Chapter 07
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listen to us

All over the world
  There are small communities of us
   Outside the margins.
    Poets in our living beliefs 
     With our home made songs
      Spontaneous dances
       And cheap musical instruments

We make art with thrown out wood
   And remnants in paint cans

We write messages on walls,
   Fences and tarmac
     Shouts of anger
     Wails of pain
     Calls to join together

We don’t understand the complicated science
   But in our little bits of nature
   Scrabbled from waste space in crowded cities
    We miss the bird song
    The drone and buzz and whine of insects
      From our own past
      And from our grand parents grief

There is relief 
      Home grown, home brewed
      Which succeeds then fails so badly


listen to us

We see the pictures of bare mountains,
   Cut forests,
   Trees in flames
      And mountains sliding down in huge rains

We hear of the wars of oil and wheat
   And shut out the pictures
     Of bleeding children - sad eyes
     Of starving infants - blank faces

We implore the spirits of the world
We beg the spirits
    Of the animals
    Of the trees 
    Of our ancestors
    Of the destroyed native cultures

We murmur a hopeful prayer
We sing a pleading magic incantation
We write a futile spell

Du bist beim

There is no listening being
No one hears