NOISE

I once dreamed about abandoning the hustle & bustle of everyday life,

packing up my family

relocating somewhere remote

becoming neighbors to only the trees.

running away from anything corporate

or governed

would certainly put us out of harm’s way.

evil can’t reach me in the serene embrace

of Mother Earth, right?

how beautifully mute it would be,

away from any trace of human civilization

we would go down to the river whenever our thirst needed quenching

we would eat fresh fruit off of the lanky trees that surround us

the squirrels and we would be in perfect harmony

that they would even go so far as to

deliver a basket of Mother’s finest nuts

right to my feet

the three of us, lover, baby, and I

would bathe in a cool stream with the fish

and we never had to be afraid of anything

coming to steal our joy away

but,

how many poems can be written

about the blue of the sky or the salty taste

of rain when it falls upon thy lover’s lips?

how many new words can be garnered up

to describe the beauty of the petunias

or the melancholy reality that baby cubs

in the wild, have a minute chance of living

passed their first birthday without being

devoured by the men of their own?

no,

I’d much rather write poetry about the complexities of human relationships.

about how humans have created airplanes that kiss the same indigo of the sky that has been already been

written about one million and two times.

with humans as the subject,

one could never run out of material to write poetry about.

for inspiration to be found, one would simply have to sit on a park bench for one hour.

but one should not make the common error of relying on closed eyes to create something magical when magic is happening all around us.

if one would simply take notice of the

manner in which a mother looks

upon her precious seed discover conjoined laughter for the first time

if one might adhere to the elderly man sitting crisscrossed in the middle of an open field, meditating peacefully, they could quite possibly find peace in that.

a writer

an artist

a human

does not belong tucked away, hidden from our fellow earth-mates.

we want to see and be seen

we want to hear and be heard

before our time inevitably runs out.

so I will sit here in the noise of it all.

and I won’t close my eyes to slip into a dreamer’s reverie about the places I’d rather see.

I choose to be here.

I choose this moment right now.