The lone Traveler
She is a lone traveler
You scan the horizon
She is not there
You look up and there she is
Silently moving through the sage
Quickly she disappears
Only her ears can be seen
Above the brush
It is Spring
She is hunting
To feed her pups
The life of the coyote is hard
She is hated by so many
Poisoned
Shot
Frightened
Yet she continues
She lives a parallel life
To my own
Without complaint
April 10, 2019
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Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads:
Good Day, Toads! I hope that you all are keeping up with your writing goals this month. There are so many ways that we can go about it. If I am being honest, I have only completed a 30-day writing challenge only once before. More often, I tend to lose my pace within the first few days and if I keep up with it for longer, I just fizzle out by the last week of the month. But that's alright — as long as we are enjoying this practice, we can have some cheat days in between too. Ha!
For the tenth challenge of this month at With Real Toads, I would like you to pick up any book which is lying closest to you right now or pick one from your bookshelf. It can be a poetry collection, a novel, a dictionary, an autobiography, et al. Just pick up the book and open a page at random. Now, read out loud the first sentence of that page. So, this sentence is going to be your source of inspiration today. You can go about it in three ways:
- Use all the words of this sentence in a poem
- Pick a word or phrase from this sentence for the title of your poem
- Use a part or the entirety of this sentence as the first or the last line of your poem
Hope this will be a fun exercise for you. This is something that I do when my addled brain seems to be bereft of any words. Once you have written and published your poem, do not forget to add it in the linking widget down below. Also, visit others who have shared their written word and enjoy the many diverse voices that we encounter and cherish here. Happy Writing!
The only book I had nearby was an ArtForum. I opening it randomly, the first page I turned to, the first sentence was, "HE GAVE HER A GOOD SCREWING, HE SAID.” That didn’t seem right, then I opened to another page, “Don’t go outside, they’re waiting for you.” No, again….but decided I would take the next one, no matter what….it was “Try to praise the mutilated world.”
Try to Praise the Mutilated World
“Try to praise the mutilated world.”
Perhaps that is all
Any of us are trying to do
For all is mutilated
The land is raped and robbed…mutilated
We are all mutilated
Something left over
From our former selves
Maybe once we were perfect
Perhaps we were all dreamed perfect
But is perfect really necessary
Or can we love what is less than perfect
And how are we mutilated, you ask?
I heard on the radio
Of a boy found naked and chained
His Mother in custody
Sometimes it seems people
Are just trying to think of ways
To be cruel
Try to praise the mutilated world
April 10, 2019
8 comments:
So beautiful.
A mother's life can be very solitary.
"Silently moving through the sage" ... my favorite line
Love how only her ears are showing. She is always listening. Had several encounters with coyotes one summer. She is the trickster, well versed in keeping herself hidden. Really like your poem, brought back so many memories.
Elizabethhttps://soulsmusic.wordpress.com/2019/04/10/about-this-imperfect-poet/
I live in St. Paul, a bustling metropolitan city of well over 306,000 people. The Mississippi River cuts through my city, and suddenly, we've had many, many coyote sightings. I've heard that their homes near the river were disrupted by the spring flooding, so they have ranged farther afield. Stan Gehrt, a wildlife ecologist says, “They’ve taken their number one predator, which is us, and actually chosen to live right in our backyards.” Coyotes have become stars of our neighborhood social media groups, where pleas for tolerance clash with calls for their death. One group is composed of the folks who are concerned that their children or pets will be harmed. The other are the people who say the coyotes were here first, so leave them alone. I was especially drawn in by your beautiful poem. It's a well written perspective and describes the coyote mother perfectly.
Thank you Marianne, I love them...I remember not long after I had moved to Taos, NM. I opened my door early one morning, and there in the snow were twins. Beautiful, they turned and looked at me, as surprised as I was for they live parallel lives to us, and I think they hardly notice us.
My goodness this is poignant! It seems the world is sinking deeper and deeper into the pit of brutality, I just hope mankind gathers sense before its too late!
I feel for Mother Coyote - and for the wolves and cougars around the Island here, that are skinny, starving, and desperate enough to come into the towns, which usually means they are killed. I hurt for them. They are trying so hard to live.
And oh! your second poem! That is what I find myself doing, praising the mutilated world, loving it, grieving for it, and for us, a broken human race, damaged and damaging.......how different it could be! Perhaps we poets keep the dream of what could and should be alive. Loved both of these, my friend. Bravo.
Whether for hungry coyotes or mistreated children, yes the world can be sad and even mutilated. Giving them a voice through our poetry – may that count for something. Better than remaining silent in the face of it all.
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