evolution – The BeZine

(R)Evolution — 4 poems

Posted on October 3, 2020October 7, 2020 by The Bardo Group Beguines

Crows Are Being Born Again

     It is an undeniable fact now: 
They have arisen from the bare ground
 
Like the phoenix flapping its wings out of its 
Legendary ashes, where are they going?
Nowhere but high up into a virtual space, a world 
That, like history book, is full of black headlines
 
Big names, & bold details. All transmitted
Into digital forms. Even the most unidentifiable
Has become a star above its dark caws. 
    Each 
Taken for an angel winged with the rainbows 
Of tomorrow, while all cranes and swans are lost 
In their dances to the tune of death

(R)evolution towards Dataism

More advanced in evolution than their human masters are chickens as they outnumber the stars in the whole universe, and occupy every corner of the entire planet, but as in-dividuals, no chicken can fly higher than a low fence, make love within its confinement or live together with its children. The only thing they do besides laying eggs and growing meat is standing there, day and night, as if meditating about the meaning of evolution:

It took hundreds…of thousands…of years for…homo erectus to evolve…into sapiens and longer…for chimpanzees to…erectus, but…engineering ourselves…by way of biochemistry…cyborg and…AI, we are upgrading…ourselves into…godlings—all it takes…will be just half a century…where science beats gods…and devils, saints and ghosts alike…at only…a fraction of second, when a whim…pops up for a human…to go back…to a wild animal, again…

Now given each organism as a biochemical algorithm, your life is a programmed process proving your consciousness is actually far less valuable than a fucking Frankenstein’s AI

As giant ants march ahead in nightly arrays
Demonstrating against the ruling humans
Along the main street of every major city
Hordes of hordes of vampires flood in, screaming
Aloud, riding on hyenas and
Octopuses, waving skeletons
In their hairy hands, whipping at old werewolves
Or all-eyed aliens standing by
With their blood-dripping tails
 
Gathering behind the masses are ghosts and spirits
Of all the dead, victims of fatal diseases
Murders, rapes, tortures, wars, starvation, plagues
Led by deformed devils and demons
As if in an uprising, to seek revenge
On every living victor in the human shape
Some smashing walls and fences, others
Barbecuing human hearts like inflated frogs
Still others biting at each other’s soul around black fires
All in a universal storm of ashes and blood
 
Up above in the sky is a red dragon flying by
With a heart infected by the human virus

Second Departure: for Yeats

 Going, going away in an ever retreating bay
The ebb starts below a quickened sun setting
People swarm here, watching, picking, fighting
Over the fishes, shrimps, crabs, shells, weeds
All left stranded, struggling for waters on the beach
They do not care if darkness stalks right behind
Their shadows, rolling like a tide upon their souls
They care only about the benefits they can gather
The sea produce they can trade with one another
 
Surely some ignorance is still in proper place
Surely the second departing is taking place
The Second Departing! The very idea stirs in the minds
A huge flock of crows beating their darkening wings
Flapping into the narrow sky of the prolonged history
It’s these crows, these very unidentifiable black birds
That are driving the light beyond the horizon, inner or outer
(Where they have found God as a redundant re-creation
Where they believe they are the right gods for themselves)

Epilogue: A Parallel Poem

Just as both God and Devil are man’s incarnation,
so are Heaven and Hell both man’s construction.

I
From the front yard of a melodious morning
From the busy road of a sweet Saturday 
From the moist corner of a heavy march 
From the back lane of pale winter
We have come, here and now, all gathering
In big crowds gathering in big crowds
Gathering in ever-bigger crowds gathering
For the boat to cross the wide wild waters
Before the fairy ferry is fated to fall
Under our feet too heavy with earthy mud 
 
II 
You may well hate Charon
But you cannot help feeling envious:
That business of carrying the diseased
Across the River Styx is ever so prosperous
The only monopoly in the entire universe
That has a market share
Larger than the market itself
Daydreaming, on this side
Of the river, how you might wish
To be an entrepreneur like him
A success American dreamer
 
III 
Flying between sea and sky 
Between day and night 
Amid heavenly or oceanic blue
I lost all my references 
To any timed space
Or a localized time
Except the non-stop snorting 
Of a stranger neighbor
 
Then, beyond the snorts rising here
And more looming there
I see tigers, lions, leopards 
And other kinds of hunger-throated predators
Darting out of every passenger’s heart
Running amuck around us 
As if released from a huge cage

As if in a dreamland

—Changming Yuan

John Anstie, Poems/Poetry

Earth Prayer

Posted on November 27, 2013November 26, 2013 by PoetJanstie

[I cannot remember what it was that inspired this poem, but, when all is said and done, I think it and the photo from Max Mitrofanov speak for themselves]

Picture credit: Max Mitrofanov (via triumph.dev1antart.com) — Photo: Max Mitrofanov (via triumph.dev1antart.com)

Dear Earth,
mother of us all,
solar sister,
child of the Universe,
our common blood
was carbon, nitrogen,
oxygen and hydrogen,
in concert with the stars.

Astronomical forces
great voids imploding
then exploding in light
with dust and smell
of a thousand million
godless bombs
driven to extinction
by unlimited energy.

Facing the hideousness
of death at day’s end,
the weight of this life
seems so much lighter,
in the brightness
of our knowledge,
portending reunion
of the atoms we are.

Dear Earth,
mother of us all,
in your patience and
your tolerance of us,
breath a huge sigh
and remind us
who we are and
whence we came.

Picture credit: Max Mitrofanov (via tr1umph.deviantart.com)

JOHN ANSTIE (My Poetry Library and 42) ~ is a British poet and writer, a contributing editor here at Bardo, and multi-talented gentleman self-described as a “Family man, Grandfather, Occasional Musician, Amateur photographer and Film-maker, Apple-MAC user, Implementation Manager, and Engineer. John participates in d’Verse Poet’s Pub and is a player in New World Creative Union. He’s been blogging since the beginning of 2011. John is also an active member of The Poetry Society (UK).

John has been involved in the recent publication of two anthologies that are the result of online collaborations among two international groups of amateur and professional poets. One of these is The Grass Roots Poetry Group, for which he produced and edited their anthology, “Petrichor* Rising“. The other group is d’Verse Poet Pub, in which John’s poetry also appears The d’Verse Anthology: Voices of Contemporary World Poetry, produced and edited by Frank Watson.

* Petrichor – from the Greek pɛtrɨkər, the scent of rain on the dry earth.

Peace & Justice, Poems/Poetry, Poets Against War Week

The Evolution Shall Be Blogged: Our “Poets Against War” Wrap-up and Collection

Posted on October 10, 2013October 17, 2013 by The Bardo Group Beguines

There are people for whom poetry exists almost exclusively as an aid to social change – not as some sort of didacticism – but as a discussion, a wake up call, a way of approaching some truth, finding some meaning, encouraging resolution. Most of the folks who participated in this Bardo community event aren’t among them. They are as likely to write about the beautiful flowers that have just popped on their orchid as they are to write a poem calling for change, peace and justice. But it does happen and quite often: a horrific war photo, a news report of an injustice, a homeless person outside the grocery, a friend in pain that can be traced to some social issues, and the words start to flow. There’s the urge to respond, to do something . . .

As I make my way around the blogosphere, I am touched to see how many people blog for causes – “worthy” causes as my mom would say – and I know that “worthy” is in the eye of the reader. War is big. For those bloggers who are pacifists, this medium offers one means of passive resistance. Perhaps passivism is the strongest form of resistance and poetry the conscience of the collective soul.

I can’t help but think that the peace and justice so many of us seek is rooted in transforming values. Hence, it is more evolutionary than revolutionary. It is perhaps so gradual but pervasive that it is more evident in our blogosphere than it is in the sensationalism of mainstream media. Perhaps it is more evident in the heart-born prose and poems of simple folk like you and me with nary a pundit or politician among us. Maybe it’s a bottom-up thing, more likely to be blogged than broadcast, rising from homespun poetry – outsider literary art – sometimes rudimentary and awkward, but always quiet and true and slow like a secret whispered from one person to the next. Maybe it is something stewing even as we write, read, and encourage one another. It could be there is some bone and muscle in what we do. Individually we have miniscule “audiences.” Collectively we speak to enormous and geographically diverse populations. Or perhaps it just that poetic fancy has caught my spirit tonight and all is dream …I hope not. Poem on … And thank you for your participation.

So let some impact from my words echo resonance and  lend impulse to the bright looming dawn
Dennis Brutus (1924 – 2009), South African Poet/Activist

Featured Poem #1:

No mother’s arms shall cradle you
Nor gentle voice shall ease your heart
Nor call to you, through smoke and gun
Though you are lost, war-torn apart

Your mother’s eyes are filled with fear
They shall not weep, not shed a tear
For you, might one day come to gloat
And slice your blade across her throat

You devilled child of generation
Lost, forgotten by a nation.
Eyes of stone that cannot feel
Go crazed beneath a general’s heel

You play with guns, the Russian grades
In school of steel and AKA’s
And fall where shot, unfriended lie
On burning ground, but none shall cry

To moisten fire of barren earth
Or plant a stick to mark your birth

When tiny body finds its grave
Bones are bleached and none can save
Your soul, that cries to scorching sky ~
Where is my home, why did I die?

Featured Poem #2

Each one came, soldier, marine, airman, frogwalking quietly as if wrapped from within
the cocoon of his own world.War’s sad energy like a gray
heavy mist lay upon the shoulders of each,
reality spiking their dull black piercing shadows.Each man sat at the table abandoned.
“Just a word”?
“Coffee please”.“May we write yet?”
And then he stood.
A large and heavy presence, poorly balanced.He shouted …
“Don’t you see them?
There, in the corners … one in each corner.”“How dare they come here?
I ought-a know,
I was with the CIA.”Then he sat down defeated again.
He seemed to relax until another
Stream of madness crept out of his throat.“I will NOT be giving you a sample today!
There will be no writing samples.
THEY … are here for that reason you know, to collect them.”And I thought to myself,
Does the madness hide the pain?
Or perhaps this pain drives one mad.2008 © Liz Rice-Sosne (noh where)

Poets Against War Poetry Collection

These are listed in the order that I received them. Please visit one another: read, comment, encourage. I think I’ve captured all the links, but if I missed someone, I’m sorry. Please just put the link in again in the comments below and I will add it here. Thank you! J.D.

I Consider Myself by Renee Espriu, Turtle Flight, My Muse & Angels

Peace, always by Blaga Todorova, Between the Shadows and the Soul

the magic wand by Sharmishtha Basu, Sharmishtha Basu’s poetries

War by Reena Presad, Butterflies of Time

Wake up by Reena Presad, Butteflies of Time

Peace Embrace by Rev. Terri Stewar, CloakedMonk

The Irony of War by Victoria C. Slotto, Victoria C. Slotto, Author: Fiction, Poetry and Writing Prompts

Peace and War and Pieces of Human Beings on the Ground, Amy Barlow Liberato, Sharp Little Pencil

peace would be radical by Jamie Dedes, The Poet by Day, the journey in poem

Let’s merge our voices by Nadira Fromkannur, Dreaming Through the Night

Poems for Peace by Liz Rice-Stone, noh where

Think by John Anstie, My Poetry Library

In the Name of Love, A Poem to All World Leaders by T. J. Therien, Liars, Hypocrites & The Development of Human Emotions

Unite for Peace by Sue Dreamwalker, Dreamwalker’s Sanctuary

The Last Horseman Is the One Who Counts by Corina L. Ravenscraft, Dragon’s Dreams

Price Check by Corina L. Ravenscraft, Dragon’s Dreams

again by Charles W. Martin, Reading Between the Minds

Twenty Nine by John Anstie, My Poetry Library

conjugating wars by Liliana Negoi, Endless Journey and in Romanian curcubee în alb şi negru

For the kindness of reblogging the original announcement of this event, thanks to Reena Prasad, Renee Espiritu, Terri Stewart, George-b, Paula Kuitenbrouwer, Nadira Fromkannur, and John Anstie. (Please let me know if I left you out. J.D.)

And in closing, here is John Anstie’s re-articulation of our mission:

“. . . at its core is a spiritual aspiration for the moral (and perhaps literary) high ground – and that is not, in any shape or form, intended to be an arrogant position – it is, above all, the fact that it is the mission of ‘Into The Bardo’ to present a pan-religious, non-partisan, de-polarised, maybe even universal picture of humanity and the challenges we face . . .” John Anstie (My Poetry Library and 42)

Crows Are Being Born Again

(R)evolution towards Dataism

Second Departure: for Yeats

Epilogue: A Parallel Poem

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