OLYecology: We are the Album

Portions of “I shall Not Be Moved”
by Maya Angelou

Listen Here:Play here:[Audio:When the great tree falls – Maya Angelou.mp3]

Download Here: http://forestpolicyresearch.com/audio/When the great
tree falls – Maya Angelou.mp3

When great trees fall,
rocks on distant hills shudder,
lions hunker down
in tall grasses,
and even elephants
lumber after saftey.

When great trees fall
in forests,
small things recoil into silence,
their senses
eroded beyond fear.

When grest souls die,
the air around us becomes
light, rare, sterile.
We breathe, briefly.
Our eyes, briefly,
see with
a hurtful clarity.
Our memory, suddenly sharpened,
gnaws on kind words
promised walks
never taken.

Great souls die and
our reality, bound to
them, takes leave of us.
Our souls,
dependent upon their
now shrink, wizened.
Our minds, formed
and informed by their
fall away.
We are not so much maddened
as reduced to the unutterable ignorance
of dark, cold

And when great souls die,
after a period of blooms,
slowly and always
irregularly. Spaces fill
with a kind of
soothing electric vibration.
Our senses, restored, never
to be the same, whisper to us.
They existed. They existed.
We can be. Be and be
better. For they existed.

The Calls From the Earth
By Tre Arrow (while in Prison)

Listen Here:Play here:[Audio:Tre Arrow – Deane TR – June29th2009.mp3]

Download Here:http://forestpolicyresearch.com/audio/Tre Arrow – Deane
TR – June29th2009.mp3

Beyond these walls and razorwire fences, there is a greater world;
beyond the concrete and steel, the polluting cars and chemical plants,
beyond the humyn (sic) -made buildings and machines, there is another
world.  It is a place where time and age melt together and become
meaningless; a place where wisdom, truth, solace and beauty weave
their magic through all life; a place where the ancient wisdom of the
universe flows through the water’s currents, seeps from the tree’s
exhale, pours forth from the dancing of animals, pulsates from the
rocks and the dirt.

Take a walk outside the world of lights, cars, roads and buildings,
and find yourself sitting quietly among the flora and fauna.  Here you
will find peace and beauty which is beyond humyn creation, which is
the source of all life on the planet, which flows through every living
thing and binds us together as family, and which brings certainty that
there is more at work than the busy-ness of capitalism, consumerism,
and material acquisition. This peace and beauty is worth protecting;
it is worth saving.  It is from the womb of our Mother that we all
emerge, and She is being attacked and assaulted.  We have an
obligation and responsibility to protect Her, as we would
instinctually protect our biological mother.

Will you join in; will you listen to the calls for help; will you
stand up and oppose the crimes against life, against all life?  We are
all inextricably interconnected, and an injustice to one, humyn or
non-humyn, is an injustice to all life on this sacred planet.

If not now, then when?  If not you and I, then who?

Three Poems:

McCoy – Buffalo Time
Meliors Simms – Firehorse                                                                                                  Michael Fried – Summer Night

Listen Here:Play here:[Audio:Buffalo-fire-horse-summer-night.mp3]

Download Here:http://forestpolicyresearch.com/audio/Buffalo-fire-horse-summer-night.mp3

The universe has reached the limit of its expansion and time is in a
state of collapse. By noon, it’s the 1870s and steam locomotives pull
into town loaded down with buffalo hides. Believing that by morning
we’ll be experiencing the fourth Ice Age, the old man next door buys
500 hides and spends his early adulthood nailing them to his house.


Meliors Simms

What is this firehorse to make of this fire forest,
smouldering into stark beauty?

What a long line of sight between the trees:
it is a place to aim far.
Aim big, this place tells me, and don’t act alone.

I bring my arid heart
to this arid land
and set fire to my feelings.

To look through the fire forest
is to see myself from afar:
the undergrowth flared off,
scorching my stiff scars
setting off my untamed heart again
thump thump thump
leaping across the landscape like a kangaroo

There is such sweetness here in the regenerating green
life comes bursting out of the ashes
like water sparkling between rocks.


A Summer Night

Alone confused dyslexic
I sit down where I find myself
in the middle of a field.
Around me the night expands
in concentric circles each
a different color: green, red, purple.
In a nearby ditch frogs
chant their sacred literature
at the bottoms of their voices.
I look up but the stars
are nowhere to be seen. Clouds
churn from skyline to skyline.
It takes a while but my breathing
returns to normal, the colors
contract to a single stone.
As I reenter the barn
my daughter standing at her easel
completes the letter A
triumphantly. The conclusive brushstroke
ploughs from left to right
with the force of the sun.

Michael Fried
The Next Bend in the Road
The University of Chicago Press


Mary Oliver – Bone
Mary Oliver – Yes

Listen Here:Play here:[Audio:Mary Oliver – Bone – Yes! No!.mp3]

Download Here:http://forestpolicyresearch.com/audio/Mary Oliver – Bone
– Yes! No!.mp3

Understand, I am always trying to figure out
what the soul is,
and where hidden,
and what shape –
and so, last week,
when I found on the beach
the ear bone
of a pilot whale that may have died
hundreds of years ago, I thought
maybe I was close
to discovering something –
for the ear bone
is the portion that lasts longest
in any of us, man or whale; shaped
like a squat spoon
with a pink scoop where
once, in the lively swimmer’s head,
it joined its two sisters
in the house of hearing,
it was only
two inches long –
and thought: the soul
might be like this –
so hard, so necessary –
yet almost nothing.
Beside me
the gray sea
was opening and shutting its wave-doors,
unfolding over and over
its time-ridiculing roar;
I looked but I couldn’t see anything
through its dark-knit glare;
yet don’t we all know, the golden sand
is there at the bottom,
though our eyes have never seen it,
nor can our hands ever catch it
lest we would sift it down
into fractions, and facts –
certainties –
and what the soul is, also
I believe I will never quite know.
Though I play at the edges of knowing,
truly I know
our part is not knowing,
but looking, and touching, and loving,
which is the way I walked on,
through the pale-pink morning light.
~ Mary Oliver ~

(Why I Wake Early, 2004)


Yes! No!

How necessary it is to have opinions! I think the spotted trout
lilies are satisfied, standing a few inches above the earth. I
think serenity is not something you just find in the world,
like a plum tree, holding up its white petals.

The violets, along the river, are opening their blue faces, like
small dark lanterns.

The green mosses, being so many, are as good as brawny.

How important it is to walk along, not in haste but slowly,
looking at everything and calling out

Yes! No! The

swan, for all his pomp, his robes of grass and petals, wants
only to be allowed to live on the nameless pond. The catbrier
is without fault. The water thrushes, down among the sloppy
rocks, are going crazy with happiness. Imagination is better
than a sharp instrument. To pay attention, this is our endless
and proper work.
~ Mary Oliver ~

(White Pine)


Two Poems By DeaneTR

Listen Here:Play here:[Audio:DeaneTR – Ocean Poem – Rescue.mp3]

Download Here:http://forestpolicyresearch.com/audio/DeaneTR – Ocean
Poem – Rescue.mp3

Many birds lined along a phone line
In Perch watch listen say to all of us
Feet grip wire send signals to us
A flying tribe hidden voice sending
talon song mixed and disguised amidst
all phone line phone calls
we’re hearing-speaking on…
Dolphins play round sunken buoys
Swimming and jumping first under then
out into air above flotsam
then back under…
Those of wings wonder
Who are the loser
of so much bright plastic?
Who lost all the hard to
hear and see
nets lines and hooks*
No ocean free
of plastic scattered surface and sunken tangle
No ocean free of fooling
us into drawing
us close the way food does?
Albatross diving into meal and
swallowing before it knows
this plastic is not meal but death…
And we really want to learn to live together?
Lines wires webs nets cables towers
in every direction
humans tangled in linear purpose
tangled non-humans even spiders
need more clear space for a new web**
More space to fly or swim
More self-owned lines as
circles of their own food and feed
Linear neo-mind tangle trap of
Too much thinking
Too tangled in wires gone astray
Too tangled to fly or swim
Too close to snare
Too unwanting in tangle-mind
to hear our cry for rescue
Our objection to decline…
In science they track the deaths
Oceanography as wings on a wire
Birds on our phone lines gripping our signal
Infiltrate our every phone word from above…
They know ocean-science-data
Amidst our phone ears and voices
They want freedom from our abandoned waste
From our means of production
From our undoing of mama’s plenty…
They announce beneath our words
A truth of birds and renewal…
A shift of life affirming from here
on out and forever into flight

Poem by DeaneTR © 2004

Lesson One:

Where are you in forever resprouting?
A forever attempt at covering
The land’s clearing in green again
Where are you as this?
Where are as you gone
as returning
as limitless changing
as living forever?

Imagine a time of Sahara as Amazon
Imagine a time of our tree-planet
So branch-vast and moss-rich that its
More than even imagination…

Now a world of you as world young
As world growing quiet calm amid
most noise ever…
Where are you as this?

Are you feeling dried up magic gone?

First find out by knowing
Where to find heart-of-forest**
Where to find where no harm will ever come
Where no one tree ever knows less than free
Where you know you’ll soon know a way
That will help you find your way

As all our universe first saw it
As it all first saw you
As unending forest of land
As feeder of cloud back to ocean-salmon

As feeder of floating ocean-wood adrift as ribbons
Adrift as currents of enormous archs
As floating log forest shade over ocean
As ecology parading on currents of wild seas

It seems next to nothing now
Yet you still feed these giant waters you
Still are heart-of-forest
Still are plans to regrow all earth
Still are a new life growing on barren land
Still always a past that no longer is
Still to remember that you were born to be who you
Planned and wanted to be
Or else your asleep at wanting to be.

Amidst so much success of the past now all
Seems lost in this thirst

As no need to reach for light out from under shade
As sun-hunched in desert-sky

Rest unmoved
Yet always movement-growing
Layer on layer it’s as if it’s you as all life

Breath constantly reshowing reappearing…
It’s you as you seek yourself as
clear free tall sun shade regrowing!

Say out loud: “Yes, it will be that which I planned
And I am that I am and world leaps to green me .”

Thank you for being…


Listen Here:Play here:[Audio:Deane Tom end of July 09.mp3]

Download Here:http://forestpolicyresearch.com/audio/Deane Tom end of July 09.mp3

By Reg Sager
For Six Navaho Smoke Jumpers: Monument Forest, New Mexico

Listen Here:Play here:[Audio:Reg Saner – Six Navajo Smoke Jumpers.mp3]

Download Here: http://forestpolicyresearch.com/audio/Reg Saner – Six
Navajo Smoke Jumpers.mp3

Around its small lake
the field chokes
where six black-haired men stare
at the emotional problems of fire.
It circles their last rock,
which is nothing but water.  Near them
the branches slobber
and weep as their clothes
begin to steam like boughs,
while high over fir
and lodge-pole the last of the magpies
flying hard against updraft
can do nothing about it.  Tree
after tree bursts
into harvest,
and the wide eyes of the men
understand.  In this thick breath
of nails, they wear skins
already captive.  Their teeth
will become black
as early rings of stones
in caves.  With the next gust
their body hair will curl,
then flash in tongues
teaching them all there is to learn
about seasons.  As the forest cools
they will blow like autumn
across America.
Reg Saner
from Climbing Into the Roots

Posted via email from Deane’s posterous

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