Starting Over

 

Monday, May 05, 2003

 

 

In mid-stream I am trading

devastation:

emancipation,

envisioning new nations

stationed

by the women

who at endings, find beginnings

 

I’m possessed by new hope,

certain loving's not a bar joke

and living isn’t sinning

 

where it’s singing that’s the norm

and where self-caring and thought-sharing

aren't just for the wild and daring

 

where grown children stick around some

and they go when life recalls them;

returning when there's yearning

 

where life isn't just 'bout learning,

and unskillful is forgiven,

as we're Living for a living!

 

Oh, and Love? It is forgiving

because loving doesn't stop life

although grieving and leaving

are web to woof of cleaving

 

 

...where no one gets a summons

nor to lawyers need be running

where we jog with smiling tigers,

deer acompany the climbers,

where we’re singing, for were chimers,

 

men are charmers without armors.

 

Now a rhyme can stop its rhyming

while your heart beats out the timing

and your time is your own mind and

your body is your home and

it's noble to go wandering

 

 

See, the past-- it was an ass!

It's a trade off: you made off with

 

Here your life again's, beginning

you were worn through with the spinning

other peoples' loss and washes

finally drying from the crying

and all that thankless trying

and how you was a-tiring

specially, when he’d be a lying

 

Say, "Amen!" now, no more living for

them men and all their crying!

 

Now let Women be One Nation:

We’ve been through the long gestation--

through us worlds had their beginnings,

that’s not something for the anorexic,

the perfect bodied we have wrecked it, yet

where our bodies ended, life was given it beginning!

 

Now we can stop all the bitching

because we're out of the kitchen!

The men and kids all grew

like we wanted them to,

or so that’s what we said,

thought we feared that we'd be dead

with no one shouting or to carry

Now our time is our own, to the living we

are married.

 

it’s Our Time, sublime time

and the past: were fine to scratch it,

The future’s still a stranger

we are Present, not arrangers

 

our minds dreamt on to worlds beyond

the shaming and constraining

Now, new life we are regaining.