THE LAKE OF OUR EMERGENCE
What is a word?
A meaningful vibration.
In the beginning was the word.
And the word was Creation.
Rock, air, fire, water,
oak leaves, ocean waves,
tropical jungles, ocelots.
Gasps of ecstasy, groans of love.
We look into each other’s eyes
as we pass in the street,
we don’t say a word, but we
understand the meaningful vibrations
beyond words or before words,
both before and beyond words at the same time.
All living things, all nonliving things.
Music. Waterfalls.
On this planet and beyond.
Flocks of small birds in the early morning.
Crickets at dusk.
The gurgle of a baby.
The voices in a singing brook.
What are words?
Meaningful vibrations.
In the beginning was the word.
And the word was Creation.
We walk these slippery banks
along the lake of our emergence,
the center pole of our forest,
our muddy port of entry into this world,
our origin of place, our place of origin.
We step from the lake into the place we belong.
Only briefly do we walk here today,
learning how to be indigenous,
these restless streets we pace
where our unborn great grandchildren play.
Breezes blow wavelets rolling toward the far shore,
while around us hushed fields of poppies grow,
and beneath our feet rocks melt
and caverns of magma flow.
The uniforms, face shields, nightsticks
separating brother from daughter, sister from mother,
do not separate illusion from delusion.
All truth is recreated each morning
when a small bird peeks out of a nest
hidden in a lilac bush by the water’s edge.
To be able to walk here since the world began
is a gift of inexpressible joy.
Who gets to claim
this wild watery homeland as their own?
Who gets to call it home?
Every place is the center of the world,
and everywhere is our place of origin.
~~~~~
John Curl
WHAT’S WRONG WITH THIS COUNTRY?
Open up again, you who’ve been so hurt,
trust, take the risk of being hurt again.
Truth is painful but when
it doesn’t kill you, it’s healing.
The many sordid traumas she keeps still hidden
deep in her psyche beneath so many layers of
misplaced shame, the whispered lies, the secret
betrayals, abuses to her flesh her spirit her air her
water her seagulls her grass her rocks her trees
her wind her soul.
Only the betrayed can see it. Only the forlorn
can feel it. Only the forsaken can understand it
That bitterness in her smile, that grief in her
eyes. You’ve been there, haven’t you? I know
you have. I can feel it in the spaces between
your bones. You recognize her anguish
in your own. Try to run, you can’t run,
try to hide, you can’t hide. You can’t run,
you can’t hide from a crushed spirit. She didn’t
deserve this. She shrank into her fists, swore
she’d never leave herself so vulnerable, so
innocent, so open, so unconditional, swore she’d
never be a victim for love again.
America is suffering.
America is grieving from a broken heart.
Who broke it, so many times, in such cruel ways?
How do you heal a country? How do you heal
a country with a broken heart?
~~~~~~~~~~~~
John Curl
SHELTER IN PLACE
With the entire economy collapsed
from the pandemic, are they
going to throw us all out on the street?
As we plunge ever deeper into this blind
storm, desperation lurking in every shadow,
the unknown sweeping away every
high-water and low-water mark, the old
casino house rules now dim false
memories, relentless bills piling
up and up, tornados roiling every dark
cloud, cataclysmic change swirling among
the reckless wise women of the craft,
the unthinkable becoming common
sense. All too soon, tens of millions of us
may not be able to pay our rent or
mortgage or afford to feed our kids.
We’re not just helpless victims
of a housing heartless system,
we can’t escape to outer space.
If your rent’s overdue but
you still can’t pay,
Shelter In Place
If your mortgage banker threatens,
Shelter in Place.
If you shout at city hall
but they won’t listen at all,
if the sheriff’s a disgrace
and the police get in your face,
tell your neighbors, blow
the conch shell, sound the call.
Defend our earthly home
from the banker catacombs,
don’t submit, don’t be compliant,
don’t obey. Unite, defiant.
If your credit’s overdrawn
Shelter In Place
If an agent’s banging on your door,
Shelter In Place
If you have no place to stay
and the next check’s far away,
move into an empty building.
Shelter In Place
If your bank account’s malignant,
if your mortgage is delinquent,
ignite the housing justice lights.
If they’re coming to evict you,
don’t surrender, get indignant.
A home to live in is a human right.
SHELTER IN PLACE
~~~~~~~
John Curl
RAINBOW WEATHER
Dueling with the devil
In the eye of the hurricane,
Venus in retrograde
Aries rising,
dark spots cover the sun,
predators without shame,
nothing true under their darkness,
nothing new under their guns.
nothing to eat but
dogsbane and wolfsbane,
nothing to cast but blame,
nothing can change without
struggle and pain,
but nothing can stay the same.
But those murmurs in the gales
gusting all around us
sing of something
just beyond the storm:
rainbow weather’s rolling in,
I can smell it, I swear it,
rainbow weather’s rolling in like dawn.
Armies marching through the night,
monumental crimes and blunders,
scorched cliffs all around us,
centuries of rape and plunder,
bats flocking together
centipedes abusing power
jackals sniffing every crack
for lovers in a secret bower.
But those murmurs in the gales
gusting all around us
sing of something
just beyond the storm:
rainbow weather’s rolling in,
I can smell it, I swear it,
rainbow weather’s rolling in like dawn.
~~~~~~~
John Curl
*John Curl is the author of two novels, a memoir, history, poetry, and translations of ancient Maya, Aztec, and Quechua poets. He practiced custom woodworking at Heartwood Cooperative Woodshop in Berkeley,CA for over 40 years. He was chairman of West Berkeley Artisans and Industrial Companies (WEBAIC),promoting arts and industries in the manufacturing zone, and served as a Berkeley planning commissioner. He was a founding member of the committee organizing the annual Berkeley Indigenous Peoples Day PowWow. He has a degree in Comparative Literature from CCNY (CUNY), was a longtime board member of PEN Oakland and PEN USA, and is a member of the San Francisco Revolutionary Poets Brigade.
