Poetry Journal Monthly
is a place to share and enjoy poetry, poets, creative journaling and each other.
PJM has moved herself over to RainbowWeaves in honor of simplicity.
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We fought the building of PA 476, the Cross Town Expressway, known as the Blue Route for over 20 years.
They wore us down, lied to us, bankrupt us, and we tired, believed some of what they said, went broke and gave in.
People told me, its time to give up.
I wanted to lay down- hundreds of women and children in front of the machines, holding on to the trees and say stop!
They wanted to just throw more money at the legislature.
Let the lawyers handle it, they said.
I still haven't given up.
To get to my faith community I had to walk daily by the construction site.
They had machines that ate whole trees.
I looked at the men working there- just men- no women- and thought about them wanting to feed their families.
This what they had to do to feed their families.
I knew the true consequences of this destruction, desecration of the land, exchange for 15 minutes shorter commute.
To get to Pendle Hill after construction, I had to walk over the road on an elevated bridge.
Less trees, lots of concrete and cars. Lots of cars.
To get to Pendle Hill after construction, I had to walk over the road on an elevated bridge.
Less trees, lots of concrete and cars. Lots of cars.
People came to me after the road was built and said,
"Why didn't you tell us it would be like this?"
I told you.
I am still telling you.
Now I have moved away, and they are still wanting to build more roads to go faster.
Where are they going?
Walking over the Blue Route
If I am down there, driving in my car
I am one of them.
Even tho my trip is righteous and will save the world
when I put my foot to the petal,
I am one of them.
Up here, feet on the earth, head in the sky
God's solar machine...
Where am I going anyway?
I can reach out anytime and touch the trees
get a drink in the stream
My miles per hour the pulse of the heartbeat of the Great Mother.
Oh yes, that's where I 'm going.
Mother calls me home to dinner.
"Stay on the path", she says, "Don't dawdle!"
I dawdle.
And I'm coming Mother.
The rivers and trees know when to go and where to stand.
How do I tell this to them?
They are in their cars, doors locked , climate controlled, DVD, cellphones vibrating.
If I say, "I Love you", will they give me a ride?
and then I will hijack them into the woods.
No gas stations in the woods.
Maybe, we could meet at a red light.
I would knock on their window and smile
"Come home to dinner", I'd say.
Here is the path.
Don't Dawdle.
Please leave a link below, and be sure to leave a comment to enter the prize drawing.
6 comments:
I was thrilled to read you had left the link address, so now I'm all linked up.
This poem is really appropriate because we are voting today (Nov 4), not on a shorter route, that one has already been decided, but on a referendum that would tax us for five years so the city can study the water and job problem in our city. Loved this one.
That is so sad, and your poem is beautiful.
We have ongoing road battles in a nearby town, the preferred route will cut across the hills of the Salisbury Plain, right under the ancient white chalk horse.
It is very sad when "they" don't listen! I had the same experience but it was right across the dirt road I live down in the woods away from everything. A logger bought the land and cut everything and left a complete mess. He lied, lied and lied some more! No one else cared because only I had to look at it right out my front door! He called the State Police on me and lied and said I was trespassing on his land... not unless you call the road his property... more lies, ending ultimately in the complete destruction of a small forest that was over 100 years old. We have not yet moved away but the thought is in our minds everyday since that fateful summer two summers ago. They even staged the tree muncher 200 feet away from my front door... two+ months of things vibrating on my walls all the while the screams of the trees as they were destroyed one by one being turned into sawdust for pellet stoves! My devastation will never end in my heart... I will never forget. What will happen when the very last tree on the planet is gone? We know...
Hugs from another blogging sister in rural New England,
Beth P
P.S. I will be back for your poetry linkup soon. If you don't have a button I can put on my blog to tell people about this great linky I will make something up.
I feel your pain. I will never give up speaking for those who have no voice and praying that we can remember we are all one! and the folks will wake up to the consequences of their actions.
Thanks for sharing and do share some of your poetry journaling with us.
thanks so much for this thoughtful comment. I feel your pain. I will never give up speaking for those who have no voice, are asleep to the consequences of their actions.
I don't have a button- I wish I did- no time to make one- and would appreciate a shout out on your blog.
thanks for sharing.
For my second entry this month, I thought I would work in my altered book. This one was fun, so I hope you enjoy!
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