human spirit.”— Edward Abbey
plunder, to slaughter, to steal, these things they misname empire; and where
they make a wilderness, they call it peace.”— Tacitus
Motif ~ Wilderness
week we are away from our frenzied, civilized lives into the wilderness, places
untrammeled by man: in reality or in imagination (like hikes with friends or
solitary day trips).
/ in people too.
wilderness a place? Is it an instinct? Is it an idea?
does wilderness make you feel?
some wilderness moments in your poems today:
roamed the streets of Rome,
It felt like home,
People told me to stay,
But I said no ‘This is my Roman Holiday’,I was a flower seller, poor and dirty,
but sang like a canary,
Henry Higgins said maybe,
And called me his Fair Lady.I was being chased,
Life was a maze,
Four men made it a craze,
It was more like a game of charades.
is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for
raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the
wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.
is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick
things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers
and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.
is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and
grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too
from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.
is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried
with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before
land was . . . before the water went