who or what are we?
where are we going?
our longer legs
which found the solid ground
now stride about and over it,
balancing; re-enforcing rows of toes
which lost the refuge of the trees, the air;
arched feet gripping trunks; lifting us up high like our cousins -
humbled by Time and presence-
now there’s just the breath of the land.
we wander off, don’t we?
wondering where to be
and who we are…
our arms, our clutching hands
once hugged those trees
finding fruit and spreading seeds
they scoop the earth
to find and bend at plants; at things; make sounds;
we’re happy with our foraging; our sudden findings
still spreading seeds
within, across, great boundaries.
how much takes root?
how much is cut down?
science, i do not know
knows much at all.
nature can take its course:
how to live, can be taught through skills ingrained already;
senses, tuned to the wind
in so many ways -
intuitively testing -
while all this work, and search,
leads us up, and out,
and back again…
short rewards —
some other, endless future
beyond just one more,
where… we had some fun, didn’t we?
monkey laughs -
ballooning out, across the plains.
ridiculous, loveable us
against that crude and cutting distance which those trees had hidden so well
up to the stars
between our families, cousins, old friends
driving away our fears with fresh
but dominating plans.
hey, maybe we can find our way
through the darker days
through more powerful dreams that bleed
away, into the night —
into the light — can you lead us?
back into words, and sounds
the working together —
the knowing of one another;
all we mean to the world.
more energy — we are —
with just one ‘real’ need —
to reconnect our souls
once more to the rich earth,
spread its richness, make more air-
make love —
for young kids breathing, building,
sharing the fruits of small labours
keeping us close and pure, and free, to the end;
to be run down; so beautifully tired all over again
by working with the sun.
just know this, ok…
may be simple, and in tune;
never again —
their own worst enemy.
even — with so many baseless schemes, ideas and fears
obsessions of control —
all cast out.
Life is making us, shaking us, loving us,
hiding us, crushing us
back again, into death.
we will be wronged by others who are right
in the dark of their night —
some justice to be fought or foraged for —
reclaimed, in the light
of a new morning.
yes, the land, the sea — those trees,
still shape us in their meaner Time,
pulling us ever by our hunger, thirst
our mutual growing, nurturing,
cycling, of a system
…beyond the ceaseless stabbing at more
wild and abstract plans…
to re-possess those perfect, golden lands
which shine to empower us,
blinker and distract,
follow old or reinvented maps
keeping us, calling us
from the bright but buried
still in the deep woods —
but blackened with our broken hopes
of ever finding them…
where so many wait and watch
and waste away
with soon-forgotten tales about the
latest, escapist games,
their heady, controlling,
super-powers which separate
and where the simple meaning of our being
is buried again beneath
the strangest of dreams.
from ‘in ash on the sand— last burnt poems’
ade m. campbell @ ade’s press
Note: the poem on this page, is collectible as an NFT (along with its original version as text file) via my Opensea writing+art collection on Polygon.
Collectors will support this page and any further updates.