There is sickness afoot

Poisons in the air

Illusions they surround us

In the language of despair


An experiment gone wrong

Like a madness given wings

A sour note to a song

Like a songbird that never sings


And yet the forest stands resolute

Always one with the earth

Beneath the stars so very mute

Awaiting our rebirth


To the flow of the river songs

Full of wisdom, wit and mirth

In nature’s garden where we belong

Always one with the earth


Sweet sunshine speak to us

Just like you did before

In the forest beneath the tree

Above the sunbeams soar


Peaceful waters sing to us

Just like you did before

By the lake her eyes they see

The earth we can’t ignore


Woodland spirits show us the way

Just like you did before

Rising mist reveals the day

With wisdom to explore


The earth is calling

Our time has come

No room to deny

What has been done


While dancing like fools

We smile for naught

Blinded by illusions

Our madness has wrought


But truth is before us

If we listen in kind

Mother earth is calling

With wisdom to find


The river song sang softly

Tears of wisdom flowing by

Wistful journey in the sun

Did her sonnets make you cry


The sacred earth trembled

Heaved a heavy sigh

Beneath your feet of clay

The lessons you deny


So sings her heart to yours

She cannot tell a lie

Listen to the river song

Embrace her hue and cry


He was born with a small mind.

Nonetheless, over time his head ballooned to epic proportions, while the mind within this vapid space remained stubbornly small.  It was his good fortune however to live in a time of smallness, of pettiness, a time when the smallest minds ruled the world and were granted the greatest rewards for their smallness.  No accolades too grand for these masters of petty thoughts.

And surrounded by a wayward armada of small-mindedness, they pillaged a planet, adrift on the sea of smallness.

But in the unbounded euphoria of the age, it was very popular to be small-minded; indeed competitions flourished to manifest the greatest degree of smallness.

Of course there were great thinkers and ideas in this era of hollow pursuits, but they were not permitted to see the light of day.  They were not allowed to enter the consciousness of the modern mind since they ran the risk of expanding it to new horizons where new ways of living might be perceived and, dare it be thought, realized.

The pathologies of the smallest minds could never allow this to happen.  The perniciousness of their souls would never allow this to happen.

And so the tyranny of smallness, untethered from reality, continued its crooked journey until what minds of greater acuity predicted would happen, happened:  mother earth rendered her omnipotent conclusion to this parade of pettiness, infantilism and smallness.

Future archaeologists of extraterrestrial origin possessing vastly higher levels of intelligence and experience would later explore this cosy blue and green backwater, discover evidence of a once thriving ‘civilization’ and render their own conclusion:  once again an emerging species of ‘higher’ intelligence made the classic mistakes of allowing their technologies, greed and fatal dismissal of their own environments to outpace their moral, social and intellectual development.

So concludes another small story.



You can’t lead the world to water

You can’t even make it think

While deep is this chalice of wonder

Yet shallow is the cup that we drink


But beyond our flights of fancy

Behind our echoes of hollow conceit

Awaits the garden of wonder

From this chalice so wise and deep




‘Do our roots no longer nourish them’, said the forest to the tree, ‘do their hands no longer touch the sky, do eyes no longer see?’

‘Do our waters no longer whisper’, said the river to the stream, ‘do their ears no longer hear the wind, do minds no longer dream?’

‘My children no longer listen’, said the earth to the sky, as moonbeams pondered lightly, adrift in hue and cry

But from the earth our love was born, she teaches us to learn, and to the earth, until we mourn, our love it must return



There’s none wiser than silence that speaks

Spoken in whispers, wistful and deep


In quiet reflections we’ll find what we seek

Whispers the wisdom of silence that speaks




We are one among many, not one above all

No masters of all things audacious and small


Yet we flatter ourselves we of clever design

So processed and packaged, polished and primed


But under the trees lie the roots of true worth

Steeped in her wisdom, bound deep to the earth