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The following was written in reaction to the Bush Administration's
Energy Policy, as well as other existing or potential environmental disasters.
Mother is Crying Aloud (5/21/01) Our Mother is crying aloud. Her man is abusing her again. Just like he has for decades now. It is the most egregious of crimes; Compounding with time. Bruises all over her body That take years to heal. Some never heal. Her man is searching again For an unblemished spot Unruined as yet by his hand. Our Mother is crying aloud again. Doesn't anyone else hear? I know others do. Why is nothing done? Perhaps the ones with the power To make amends, Who can see to it That the abuse and pain ends, Simply don't care. Why is that? Because they profit from her pain. The more she gives The more they make. The more they take. It becomes self-perpetuating. Addicting. Having power will do that. Power over others. Power over Mother. But she can only take so much. And only give so much. And we all take so much. Even the children who care About Mother the most. There are no exceptions. Our Mother is crying aloud again. Most all her children say they care. They all say they hear. But what are we doing about it? We remain needy. Greedy. We continue to want more toys. So we poke and prod and suck her teat Until it shrivels and dries. But we do not stop. We do not look for other sources That are abundant and sustainable; That are easily attainable. Given what we see and what we know. So I ask again: Why do we do nothing to truly change? To ease our Mother's pain? It's not so hard, given what we know. But it's still harder than the status quo. Yet the status quo is ever changing, And change it must Because Mother can only give so much Until she is bled dry. Is that what it will take to change? Abuse her so much that she essentially dies? Will we finally change When we have no choice? Or will we simply perish from our inability To sustain ourselves, Without exhausting the resources Of which Mother has only so much; 'Til we exhaust her completely And she can no longer take care of us. Why must we approach the brink Before we act to save ourselves, When the momentum has built So dangerously? And we approach So perilously Our fate which is plain as day? Even the simple can see this. Bright as the sun shining on us Every day. We move closer to the edge. And still, our Mother is crying aloud. Warning us that we are on a dangerous path. Yet we continue Sucking the fluids from Her body. Sucking the marrow from her bones. Cutting her once luxurious hair. So beautiful, so remarkable she was. Her eyes, vast blue oceans, sparkling, Teaming with life. She cries. The tears roll away and the teaming life dies. Her eyes sink deeper into their sockets. They stare, distant, red and dry. But we want more. Still we make Mother cry. Why? Some take her for granted, Not thinking she'll die, No matter how much her man abuses her. Teases and accuses her Of crying wolf, Of crying out in pain Without reason. They think she can sustain. What took so many years to create, We take in a matter of days, Leaving her barren and naked And laid to waste. But they cannot see Because they've turned their attention To another of her veins, Or a still unscathed patch of skin. We penetrate her and search within Her bowels Her skeleton Her vessels Her breast For the essence that feed us today, But will be gone tomorrow, Even though we can find another way. We have found other ways. But there's no profit in it yet. So there's no need to change today, they say. Who cares about tomorrow anyway? That's somebody else's problem; Our children's and grandchildren's. But who wants to think about that? We just want to get through today, Then we'll worry about tomorrow. Then we'll worry about Mother. When we've finally sucked the life out of her. When we've drained her soul. And there's nothing left to take. All our toys will sit idle With nothing to make them move Or give us the false gratification Or boosts to our fragile egos. A tangible result Of our insecurity And selfish desires To have it all. To have it now, Without understanding the price we will truly pay. Tomorrow, Or the next day. When Mother's cries get louder And it becomes harder To turn a deaf ear; To the fact we all have to face; The realization that our selfish behavior Is a disgrace. That Mother is dead or near dying. That the beauty we said we revered; The deep blue eyes full of life; The lustrous skin which we loved to touch; The comfort of her embrace; The smile upon her face. When it's all become a faded memory, The smile will be gone. Her skin pocked and spoiled. Her veins dry and collapsed From the search For her life oils. Her eyes will be so dry That Mother will no longer be able to cry. She will only be able to lay wasting In the sun In plain view of everyone. Especially the ones who could see it coming And turned away So that the money could continue To flow today. "By tomorrow," they said, "We'll all be dead." Why worry today? As long as we have toys With which to play, And the power to make them run. Let's just live for today, Let others deal with it tomorrow. It's not our problem Because we're in power. Today, Not tomorrow. When it will be our children's problem. Will they act the same way? Ignore Mother crying aloud? Let things go another day. Or maybe two. Who's to say? But children learn from their parents. How will they view our behavior? Will they observe and say, "Oh, yes, That's the way it should be. Live for today. Tomorrow is someone else's day. Let's just go out and play." A collective myopia, A trait inherited from the previous generation, Even though technology exists To correct such nearsightedness. We just blink and stare. Or simply close our eyes and deny That eventually Mother will die. Then it will be us who cry aloud: Why did we do nothing To stop our Mother from crying aloud? 
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