One by one
Or five by five, they fall.
Another shooting.
Real people. Real people dying, real people killing.
It’s not pretend.
It’s not a video game.
It’s not a reality show.
It’s real. They are real.
Real people with real problems
Who chose an unreal way of dealing with them.
Solve? Not.
Writers didn’t create these characters.
Society did.
And society can stop them.

But how? And when?
Until then, we mourn.
Weston, Wisconsin.
Virginia Tech.
Crandon, Wisconsin.
Omaha, Nebraska.
Kirkwood, Missouri.
And more.
Until the madness stops.

Dear, please replenish the woodpile
For the fireplace
While I shop for
Bottled water, analgesics, thermometers,
Batteries for the flashlights and radios,
And emergency rations, enough to last six weeks or more.

Remember,
Viruses are everywhere, and
Quarantine is inevitable.

Wait. Stop.
What’s this knee-jerk reaction?
Tuition money spent on freeze-dried whatnots?
Closets packed with canned food,
Over-the-counter meds,
And cases of bottled water?

No.
Shop, yes. And replenish the woodpile, too.
But I’ll buy a bottle of wine
A sweet CD
Cheese and crackers.
Not stockpiles of panic.
We’ll cozy up by the fireplace,
In our favorite blankets and quilts,
To enjoy each other,
And take care of our family.

We’ll continue living our lives,
Resisting the propaganda.
Common sense, love and caring,
And family
Make survival
Worthwhile.

They didn’t come silently.
Bulldozers, cranes, cement trucks, and other big machinery
Brought them in and put them up.
And now they stand
Looming over the landscape once crowded with cornstalks.

Exactly three stories tall.
Light gray with darker gray trim.
Identical porches.
Identical attached garages.
Identical satellite dishes, mounted at the exact same angle.

Blocks and blocks — no,
Mile upon miles
of brand new cloned condominiums
On shining new asphalt roads
with bright new yellow stripes painted down their centers.
Within minutes of the new strip malls!
Buy now! They’re new! Good terms available!

But don’t expect any character,
Individual style,
Color, variety,
Or even trees.
This is not a neighborhood; it is a barracks.

These buildings are exactly,
Precisely,
Completely,
Frighteningly,
Alike.

And more are on the way….

Deep, rich hues in so many shades of brown
Awaiting my shovel and hoe.
I dig into it and find
All kind of living things.
Long pale worms, small black beetles.
Things with lots of legs skittering away from the sudden exposure to the sunlight.

Compost, made naturally from last summer’s waste in the big black bin that housed and protected it all winter
Mixes yet another shade into the layers
And enriches the growing ability
By returning to the soil that which came from it in the beginning.

Its fertile ground lies dormant, waiting,
Ready to nurture the seeds placed there by design
Along with the strays that fly in on the wind
Or get dropped by visiting birds and bees.

How simple, yet how vital, in its ordinary brown clothing
Soil. Ground. Dirt. Sand. Clay. Mud.
Earth provides the place for our food to grow.
It cleanses our groundwater, filtering it naturally as rainfall soaks in and travels on its way to the aquifer.

Our society treats earth so cavalierly.
Planting non-native grasses for lawns, then over fertilizing these unnatural breeds, sending chemicals into the earth that do not belong there.
Building subdivisions on farmland: huge streets and huge houses for the new owners of the land
While the rich brown soil languishes underneath the finished basements.
Waiting to nurture, provide, grow, produce.

And so I keep digging into my garden, in my small backyard, near the old downtown in the middle of our little city.
And grow a few tomatoes, some zucchini, a few herbs
Then recycle the plants in the fall as compost
To add again to the cycle
That re-uses and regenerates my little parcel of this lovely brown earth.

–written summer 2003

This poem was written a few years ago. I’m bringing it back because of an inspirational phone call from my vagabond husband and traveler son. They called me from a large airport during a layover, and one of the sites they saw was 6 — count’em, SIX — Starbucks during the 20 minutes (!) since their first plane landed. I love coffee, and Starbucks makes it very well. But come on, folks, there are limits. The poem is written in a modified pantoume form, which utilizes repetition and order.

Where am I?

McDonald’s
Starbucks
Chinese take-out chain
Krispy Kreme Doughnuts

Starbucks
Barnes and Noble
Krispy Kreme doughnuts
Another Starbucks.

Barnes and Noble
Or is it Borders Books?
Yet another Starbucks
Menard’s or Home Depot?

Borders Bookstore (I think)
Dry Cleaning Chain
Home Depot (or is it Lowe’s)
Opening soon — Starbucks!

Dry Cleaning and Shoe Repair
Grocery superstore
Starbucks — grand opening!
Walgreens Pharmacy

Superstore with grocery
Baskin Robbins ice cream
Walgreens Pharmacy and Gifts
Is anything locally owned?

Baskin robbins and Dunkin’ Doughnuts?
Chinese take-out chain
Locally owned? I think not.
At last — McDonald’s.

>Green is alive.

• new shoots in springtime
• leaves emerging from their buds
• light growth over a freshly dug grave
• a view of the forest from a nearby hillside

Green is relaxing.

• a hike in the forest
• time to watch birds in the park
• rabbits nibbling on the backyard clover
• dabbling your feet in the lake waters

Green is aesthetically pleasing.

• trees that shade an urban street
• a country drive in autumn
• the endless expanse of a cornfield
• flocks of whooping cranes migrating once again

Green is active, not passive.

• Write a letter to support green legislation.
• Put up a gypsy moth trap.
• Weed that garden!
• Turn the compost — again.

Green means dollars.

• Buy a fishing pole!
• Come to the new mega-sports supply store!
• Purchase your hiking supplies here!
• You need a new tent this year! Really!

Green is a state of mind.

• Reduce, re-use, recycle.
• Save the manatee!
• Don’t touch that rainforest!
• I speak for the truffula trees!

Green is beautiful, bright and fancy.

Green is deep, rich, and glowing.

Green is ever present