Things I Carry Into the World & One More Poem

I wanted to share a link with you and decided to tack on another poem.  The poem is about global warming and was written on 12 Auguest 2012 during a pretty hot summer.

First the video. I used this video today in class.  It shows how the angst, wonder, and energy of youth can turn into something pure and good.  It is, well, hopeful. I really like it, and I hope you enjoy it too: Link to video Things I Carry Into the World on Vimeo.dsc_0164

You might have noticed that one of the young men in the video is reading Langston Hughes.  I love Langston Hughes and finished his anthology about a year or so ago for the first time. Langston Hughes was originally from Joplin, Missouri.  I live in Missouri. I don’t know if his home is still standing. I am still trying to confirm or deny that.   At any rate, his anthology was something I sipped on and cherished like a fine apéritif one saves for special occasions.  A little bit here, and a little bit there.  You sip and savor good poetry. I think I will start reading it again.

Maybe I should do a series on Missouri poets?

The photo is of Kara, our beloved dog that died about three years ago, and Ricardo, our  irascible, yet affectionate, rabbit who survives.  We just cleaned out his cage.

Here is the poem.


so now we have become
powerful enough
to cook the earth
like a stew we who
are dangerous
adolescents finally
having our fingers burned from
playing with fire after
having indulged in every
decadent whim no matter
the consequence as we
turned up the heat
on the very pot in which
we most now boil up
our inconvenient
truth having damned the natural order
of things the ice at the polar party has
been melted away with
the hot air of rhetoric and
the burning steam is
a smoke signal to start
the new migration of
the rich to the
newly temperate zones where
they will homestead and
history will repeat
with one more land
grab trade with the natives offered
up cheap trinkets for
foul deeds as
the cavalry
overwatches with their
drones overhead to
push the dispossessed back to
their reservation of
the man made hell
consuming for themselves the
dried fruits of our labor