by Mankh (Walter E. Harris III)
But I’ll know my song well before I start singin’
And it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard
It’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall
– Bob Dylan
Cardinal and Carolina Wren singing the dawn,
They have not forgotten their songs.
Yet man, on the other hand,
what went wrong?
A couple-few weeks ago i was starting not to obsess
about washing my hands, when
wham-bam-media-scam
but real lives at stake,
Cold War 2.0 lukewarm
McCarthyism 2.0 red hot
bringing the world to its Knee-o-
NotSees been part of the government in Ukraine since 2014
but you not see that mentioned
in the mainstream corpserate media
where the chatter is not gonna feed ya
rather make you jittery as hell
with a cute little hand-basket on sale, that’s their spell.
PsyOps with Keystone Kops but it’s brutal,
this, no silent screen, rather hear the common people scream.
Gliding the life-giving waters,
a battleship called economic hardship.
One makes a choice to be a voice for the voiceless
but where are the screams for the screaming
all these years in Yemen and Palestine, Syria, Libya and Iraq
all invaded with the boot of the spiritless man and woman,
where are the cries for Original Nations protecting the land?
Social media breeding instant
cyber causes and movements,
everyone’s an expert,
everyone’s a pundit,
everyone’s a charitable brand.
What if people make a point to make time before reacting.
What if people do their homework before acting.
What if people be genuine instead of acting.
Gratitude to the blazing or the clouded sun each morning,
when the world seems unblemished.
There and then, is where the songs are made.
If we are all singing the dawn,
then there wouldn’t be all this fighting on.
Birds chorus singing the dawn
Sunlight in the throat
quivering with the cosmos.
Let us speak from this voice,
sing from this place,
bird’s eye view
show us what to do
and not do,
show us how to feel
the Sun again,
then there wouldn’t be all this fighting on,
birds chorus singing the dawn.
Mankh (Walter E. Harris III) is an essayist and resident poet at Axis of Logic, where this poem first appeared. Check out his newest book Moving Through The Empty Gate Forest: inside looking out.
In addition to his work as a writer and small press publisher, he travels a holistic mystic pathway staying in touch with Turtle Island. His website is here.