by Two Crows Calling
DEDICATION — For the Dream of the Earth — held by Father Thomas Berry.
Tree people roots in mother Amazon, burned alive
crucified with whirling blades of steel
whipped with chains
Blood sap oozes onto the face
of the crying mother of us all.
Tree people dragged by massive caterpillars
shamed with no explanation
by Andrew Sokolsky
I am alone
No one cares about me, but me
I must do it on my own,
I am a man
You don’t get me,
and never will
There’s a pain inside that you will never know,
I am a man
I am by myself,
alone without support
If I don’t do it, no one will,
I am a man
I don’t need help,
I don’t want help
Can’t ask for help,
I am a man
by Qutbuddin Loren Ruh Smith
Hey! Dad! How long’s it been?
How long’s it been since we’ve talked?
Huh! How long?
And there’s more distance between us
now, than there is time, isn’t there? Dad?
Dad? Can you hear me?
We never did talk much did we? Dad?
Oh yes! In my 40th year, on that hillside
we reached out to one another
you came from over there
by Don Waxman
every son who
from his father
will become the father
who struggles to accept
when men gather,
each becomes this son,
and each becomes
to this son,
and for those who
never had a father,
or who had several,
the path is the same,
father and son
are two faces
of the same
the price you pay
in suffering and love
to become the man
Rick Belden finds that labeling his poetry only limits the reader’s expectations.
by Rick Belden
I’m not crazy about labels, but I understand that they can be useful and necessary in helping us sort through the mass of information to which we’re all constantly exposed. For some time now, I’ve been struggling with the problem of how best to characterize my writing, as a way of introduction for those who haven’t seen it. Is it poetry for men, men’s poetry, male poetry? Is it survivor poetry? Healing poetry? Recovery poetry? Transformational poetry? Body-centered poetry? Psychospiritual poetry? Poetry therapy? What do these terms actually mean, what do they convey to others about my work, and are they even accurate?
Spoken Word Poetry on true fatherhood from Rob Atchison.
This powerful piece comes to us from the author’s You tube link Spoken Word.
Rob writes of his work: “My Poems range from Love, Break-ups, Depression, real life issues and so on. I write from my Life, friends or families life or just by imagining how I would feel in a particular situation and writing about it. I feel I have my own unique style and I’m hard to put in a box.”
Rob Grotke says: So simple and effortless, the way it is said,
from Papaji: “Being is always shining; I am is the light of being.
This Diamond cannot hide, and can never be hidden.
When there is no mind the face shines with
beauty and innocence.
Just simply be quiet. Just be who you are.”
I never knew tears could feel so good
until I opened my heart and found they come
from the same source
as boundless laughter
instead of blurring my vision
they bring beauty into focus
instead of burning my cheeks
they wash away dusty dryness I used to hide behind
let sorrow have me now
for surrender has freed me to savor the bittersweet nectar
that flows in measureless abundance from within
For: Michael Rice
out of shadowland we grasp at
pin pricks of light, claim
a dogma; disclaim another’s…judging…
Within our perspective we judge.
With other brothers, we sought our limits
illumined by the midnight
sun, we probed
community to its
nexus…in an individual’s
dance within his shadows…
Fears and tears, hysteria and laughter
the pulse particularly
deep, communal light particularly
bright, contracts, written on the blackboard sky
with our expanding
I’ve seen death daily in expected and wonder-full ways
and tasted its sweet coolness on fevered tongue
dipped of earthen flow streaming through granite cups
my image caught there returned to me
slaking heart more than thirst.
Oh! Yes! Father Sky!
I have fed at our Mother’s bosom
fed of her thrill of thrills
LIFE GIFTED BY DEATH
make of me such fodder.
CLOAKED IN THE MANTLE OF INITIATION
Little babies and young children make the best mentors!
Seasons change. Sons mentor fathers, grandfathers learn amazing things from
Their grandsons! Uncles learn from their nephews and nieces
The whole world of living is turned upside down
Babies and young children — these are the heart changers. They wash the hearts
Of their parents and grandparents. Babies and children make the best mentors
They cleanse our hearts with the purity of their Love
ROBED IN SILENCE, STAND IN STILLNESS
REST WITHIN YOUR QUEST
GROW IN THE RICH SOIL OF SACRED EMPTINESS
BE HOLLOW BONE FOR SOUL TO FLOW
EMPTIED OF SELF – SURRENDER TO GRACE
A LIVING ALTAR OF THE HOLY ONE
ALLOW CREATOR TO REST ON YOUR SOUL FLESH
YOUR HEART ABLAZE – FIRED BY YOUR HARD WON CERTAINTY
REST – KNOWING YOU ARE BLESSED!
STEP NOW THROUGH THAT OPEN THRESHOLD DOOR
CROSS OVER, FIND UNION EVER MORE
Where have all the children gone? And The Great Oaks and Mighty Sycamores too?
The Seven Nation Iroquois told our early settler, white ancestors that before the whites
Came to their land with their honed axes and four man chain saws
That a squirrel could jump from tree to tree from the coast of the great Atlantic Ocean
To the majestic Mississippi
Without touching down on the ground!
That light and heat, bright as the Sun Dance
Sunrise on the Great Plains!
Rumi endures and grows deeper roots still
reaching further down and up to the moon!
He is everywhere in the human heart
738 years after “he died”
Go East or West, North or South
Jew, Gentile, Arab, Hindu, Buddhist
All the rainbow nations bow to this One!
by Qutbuddin Loren Ruh
At the suggestion of my friend Rabbi Ruth Abusch-Magder, Ph.D., editor of HUC-JIR continuing ed blog Tzeh U’limad, I’ve written three prayers for Veterans Day. “Veterans Day Prayer” is classical in structure and language. “To the Soldier, To the Veteran” is a three-stanza prayer/poem with a parallel structure. “The Last Soldier” is a prayer for peace that honors the soldier’s journey. I haven’t yet recorded audio for them, which I’ll post later. Click here to read them on Tzeh U’limad. The photo is my grandfather, David Solovy z”l. He served in The Great War, World War I.
by Alden Solovy
After shiva, now what? I remember that feeling when my father Jack z”l died. It reappeared when Ami z”l died. Her shiva ended abruptly with the start of Passover. After the hubbub, that empty silence settled in. I wrote this prayer of loss and healing for my extended family as the shiva for my uncle Jerry z”l ended in January. The rhythms of mourning are on my mind again as our family prepares to place the headstone on his grave this week.
by Chris Gilwee
Perhaps a gift. Something given, not earned.
Maybe an option that is less scary. Easy.
Someone who can magically take me back in time and change the way that I was treated; and a blessing from God Himself, so that I may decipher the hidden meaning in my Mother’s words. “I love you so much that I can’t bare to see you fail; so I verbally abuse you to make you tough for this world”.