This is my poem for the June 3rd, Sunday Scribblings prompt: “Town & Country”. NOTE: There is a recorded “spoken word” version also available here, located at the bottom of the post.
Authorâ€™s note: Upon reading the weekly prompt, this piece came pouring out of my mind, in a stream of consciousness, at about 2:30 AM this morning. In about 25 minutes, it had arrived — basically intact. I incorporated very little editing, and that came without the need to ponder long.
This was a very, very strange and captivating bit of inspiration?! So much so, that I felt compelled that it remain, by and large, in the form it was birthed — essentially untouched.
It does speak to, and apparently from, my soul. It reflects the essence of my belief that we must heed the warnings that come daily from within the walls of our cities. Namely, that the crowding-in humankind still continues, to the most bloated, and ineffective of our concrete jungles (to borrow a clichÃ©), has been the seed of our growing de-humanization — the desensitizing of our collective spirit.
“Awe!” does not condemn. It beseeches we look, and be aware.
In our ever-growing loss of touch with nature, we are dangerously loosing touch with our true personal nature, our compassion — the balance.
They rise gargantuan.
Icons of the clever human.
They vibrate with the rush and chaos
of synapse and sinew,
the hum of networked urgency â€“
data outdistancing comprehension,
can beyond the reach of should.
Bedecked in stainless, stone, and such,
in halogen blaze and neon glow,
they surge with fear and greed.
Balance sought in the here and there
of art and true creative zest â€“
Poured, erected, glassened, and festooned.
In varying shape and differing size,
they flank in concrete corridors
that criss and cross and blink and beep and ring,
that buzz and belch and hiss — and stink!
They regiment like-patterned minds
that submit and hide within,
protected in their daily dealing.
their walls separate,
the intent of their design.
in cold and calculated majesty.
But they do not, cannot, touch the soulâ€¦
nor offer solace to the human core
that seeks the folded petalâ€™s mystery,
that marvels at the smallness of a changing frond,
at the might of gnarled bark,
or the magic of budding branch.
They do not touch the spirit,
soothed by wind and water,
thrilled by song of birds, or swoop of hawks,
or enlivened by the yelp or bark or bleat of beasts.
They cannot reach the soul
that needs to see and know a salmonâ€™s trek,
the open sky, the roll of unobstructed clouds,
the fall of stars.
They have nothing for the soul
that needs to hear the crack of thunder
resound for miles across the plain
then off the mountainâ€™s face.
They fail the human core
that needs the fresh embrace of rain,
the crisp and quiet drift of snow,
the hues and sway of living fields.
They leave the spirit cold
that needs to watch the orchardâ€™s blossoms bloom to fruit,
see forests thick beyond horizons,
or feel the lift of cresting surf.
there are no human constructs that satisfy
to know the evolving natural wonders
that inspire â€“
that swell the soul
and resonate the heart,
To hear alternate “spoken word” version read by author, click here
Rob Kistner Â© 2007