poetry

poetry speaks of
what cannot be spoken
and captures
what cannot be caught.
we read it like a picture
with elements missing
that our minds fill in
to make the picture complete.

a feeling, fleeting and taunting
something that cannot sit still.
because as you try to name or
describe it, it moves
to a different place.
like a wave on a design
drawn in the sand.
so it changes, but
the essence of what you did
remains.

poetry is feeling,
or like my daughter, from whom i learn so many things
once wrote: poetry is like a memory.

oil spill

the recent spill in california, and another in russia's black sea. across the world and yet only days apart. From the Hindustan Times: "greed and carelessness" say enivornmental experts about the tragedy in russia". . . "may be the worst environmental calamity since the Chernobyl nuclear accident in 1986." "Nobody thinks about safety in Russia," says Vladimir Slivyak, director of Ecodefence, a Russian environmental watchdog. "Everyone thinks about money."

and what about the one in california? "human error." that's the word so far.

for me, the saddest thing of all is the animals caught unaware. innocent victims of technology--yet another instance of our assault on the environment. oil, and the need for it, our collective greed in craving it--all things that make no sense in a world so fragile and beautiful. the animals have no understanding of what happened to them. the birds and sea creatures don't question why. they are not angry with anyone. they simply seek to survive. it's in their nature. just like us. but we've attacked them without cause. like the war in iraq. these oil-soaked birds who seek refuge on the shore are like the children of iraq. fledgling creatures who don't recognize the concept of hate or greed, who value life without even knowing why. i cry for them. my heart is broken.