Green Book Of Meditations Volume 6 The Books of Songs - Student ...

The world's end and neutralization,
For I fear it will happen.
But hopefully there will be somebody left on this earth
And I will be one of them to survive.
And to live on and teach our children
The way things should be,
Not, the way they are.
Or were?................
By Randall Lee Peck
HUE
A ZOO WITH IN ZOO WITH IN A ZOO
WITHIN THE 4 WALLS OF HUE.
AND A COLLEGE RUN BY ADMINISTRATIVE FOOLS
WITH A LYMAN LAKES NO CLEANER THAN A
CESSPOOL
THICK, GREEN, ROTTING, ROTTING SLIME IS ALWAYS
ON MY MIND!!!
By Randal Lee Peck
Mother Superior
Here I sit on the poetry rock
and mother starts to talk
I'm Mother Superior
and I might cry!
There's too much pollution
and I might die!
I'm the biggest, deepest, coldest
and I'm scared
I wish for the last few years
somebody cared
Untitled
By Louise Wickenhauser in Earth Prayers From Around the
World, ed. Liz Roberts and Elias Aniden 1991 Harper
SanFrancisco. Used with permission
Sensuous during life
do not deny me in death!
Wash me with scent of apple blossom.
Anoint me with essence of lilac.
Fill my veins with honeysuckle nectar.
Sprinkle me with perfume of purple violets.
Envelop me in shroud saturated with fragrance of freshly
mown meadow hay.
Rest me in moss velvet earth.
Cover me with soil exuding flavor of maple and oak leaves.
Command a white birch to stand guard!
By Lawrence "Smiley" Revard
From Ben Nevis
I came from the sea to the sky
and burnt the blunt bridge of my nose
to an itching red crisp,
trekking to the jutted head
of Ben Nevis. Later, I hiked
337
the valleys alone to the mountainside
above Gray Mare falls and onwards;
I saw only one shrew and a few fleeing
field mice, and felt thousands of midges.
Along the way, I thought
Scotland was half-dead with English blood.
No bears, few eagles, few deer, no wolves,
and a tide of tourists.
In the unmountainous and untouristed scraggle
of Oklahoma, I remembered crouching
for a single half-hour and seeing six
turkey-vultures and two marsh hawks
ride updrafts past a sandstone crag.
And I remembered hearing the deer
rustle in the persimmon grove below.
Once, in the tower of London (where
several well-attended but alternatively
maniacal and derisive ravens nip popcorn
from Italian or American or French
fingers,) I heard an American ask
a portly Beefeater guard how
he liked being on a bottle of gin.
Well, he said, when off-duty.
Atop Ben Nevis there was
a monument to the young dead
of World War I. There was also
a peculiar and anonymous snow bird
peeping low among the stones and
the company of clouds was miles and miles.
From there I could see
the dead land was far below
in history, like the ruins at Ludlow
where (so I'm told) a lord named Lawrence
held his castle carefully at the brambled edge
of Wales, where one Bertilak and one
Morgan le Fey had their hide-out.
But this was mostly imagination:
there was little to hear since the last thunder of British cannon
volleys mowed down the Scots.
There was little to see since the trees
had fed the ships that fended off
imperial onslaughts of Spain,
France, and, at last, Germany.
And I knew that even half my ancestry
had flew their native tongue
and the empty, gray-green hills.
It is said that when the ravens
in the Tower of London are dead,
imperial England will no longer stand.
Those six days on the highland trails, I
saw not even a rabbit carcass,
and never did a carrion-black shadow
cross my path.
The Hill of Three Oaks: Midwinter 1964
A Haiku by Dick Smiley '66
When the wind blows cold
on the Hill of Three Oaks
the hearth fire is warm.