haiku
August 2008 
what you mean we?
Posted on Aug 25th, 2008
by 
sarva
sarva
credit to the findhorn foundation for this picture.
mother Earth is so careless, scattering things like seeds, shed leaves and people to the wind, leaving things out in all weathers to fade or bake in the sun, shiver, become brittle in the killing chill or to be drenched in drowning downpour.
naturally, we who are a little lower than the angels, run away from the lightest rain shower, sprinklers timed to water our lawns at strategic and convenient times. or we cower before the malignant sun, lying in tanning beds for brief doses of man made improvement while creating the most ironic consequences; being dedicated only to our own will and comfort, we tear sardonic holes in the sky by refrigerating the air, hairspray made contraband while the prime offender goes off scoffing, scot free.
we whitened, weary weaklings hide inside, huddle near our fear and curse Her for Her will power, antibiotically intent never to challenge our anemic (or self-effacing) immune systems, which in truth are overburdened by carcinogenic toxins. we avenge ourselves against an image of a less-than-human enemy, brute, naked, matted hair, homeless, stinking, filthy, savagely ignorant, a tarry heart clad in ashes, knee deep in a very gritty reality, he never inclines toward cleanliness, which is clearly next to godliness. but we eat crude oil, which catabolizes the carbon soot-charred marble of masterpieces with insidious carbonic-sulfuric-acid byproducts of our infernal combustion. and truth be told, the brute is in us, paragon of animals, culmination of evolution, prime mover of the sixth mass extinction. and loss and degradation mount a glorious peak of triumph.
who is laughing for argument's sake? what rhetoric will take us down? only our own momentum has the onus and impetus enough. divided against itself, the argument is resolved.
who is laughing?
mother Earth is so careless, scattering things like seeds, shed leaves and people to the wind, leaving things out in all weathers to fade or bake in the sun, shiver, become brittle in the killing chill or to be drenched in drowning downpour.
naturally, we who are a little lower than the angels, run away from the lightest rain shower, sprinklers timed to water our lawns at strategic and convenient times. or we cower before the malignant sun, lying in tanning beds for brief doses of man made improvement while creating the most ironic consequences; being dedicated only to our own will and comfort, we tear sardonic holes in the sky by refrigerating the air, hairspray made contraband while the prime offender goes off scoffing, scot free.
we whitened, weary weaklings hide inside, huddle near our fear and curse Her for Her will power, antibiotically intent never to challenge our anemic (or self-effacing) immune systems, which in truth are overburdened by carcinogenic toxins. we avenge ourselves against an image of a less-than-human enemy, brute, naked, matted hair, homeless, stinking, filthy, savagely ignorant, a tarry heart clad in ashes, knee deep in a very gritty reality, he never inclines toward cleanliness, which is clearly next to godliness. but we eat crude oil, which catabolizes the carbon soot-charred marble of masterpieces with insidious carbonic-sulfuric-acid byproducts of our infernal combustion. and truth be told, the brute is in us, paragon of animals, culmination of evolution, prime mover of the sixth mass extinction. and loss and degradation mount a glorious peak of triumph.
who is laughing for argument's sake? what rhetoric will take us down? only our own momentum has the onus and impetus enough. divided against itself, the argument is resolved.
who is laughing?
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