True Ecology
ecology: from oikos. Greek for "home"
Those vast wild spaces that most of us
have never seen, or viewed only
on ten-day shutter-snapping tours,
or ogled for a few seconds
in a magazine photo spread ...
If we treated them not as distant places
but sacred rooms in a beloved temple,
mosque, or church …
If we viewed each prairie and mountain,
each forest and lake,
not as an exploitable resource
but another chamber in the boundless
estate of the heart …
If we imagined coming home to find
thieves have broken in and stolen
our prized possessions,
then trashed our living rooms
on their way out the door …
Would we treat Earth with more kindness
and respect?
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Blessed or Cursed? Dispatches from the Front Lines
(a tanka-linked poem)
In Balance, Imbalanced
It’s a curse, sighed the
jellyfish of long ago.
Getting eaten by
sunfish, sea turtles, and sharks
kept their size and numbers small.
It’s a blessing, croon
the jellyfish of today,
their predators near
depletion. Big as bullocks,
jellies now thicken the sea.
Pesticide and Pest
Cursed, the potato
beetles once cried, hatching on
Roundup Ready plants.
Sucking poisonous juices,
they died from the inside out.
Their descendants, now
immune, sing this chemical’s
praises as they chew
their way through one sprayed field, then
another, all rivals dead.
Silent Light, Roaring Light
We are blessed, murmured
damselflies clinging to reeds
in ancient wetlands,
sun refracting rainbows through
delicate, translucent wings.
Cursed, moan dragonflies
in today’s Southwest, their wings
reflecting the glow
of wind-whipped forest fires, clouds
of insects burnt to a crisp.
Dignity Counts, Countless Indignities
Blessed, smiled the redwoods.
In their millennial lives,
they housed hundreds of
thousands of creatures, witnessed
ten million stars overhead.
Cursed, cry the redwoods,
their grandeur stumped, planked into
millions of board-feet
for deck, beams, furniture, and
thousands of small, fancy things.
.
Who Has the Power? (a villanelle) Who has the power to make us sing? He brings us dreams—the sandman. We search for dragons to slay, and a king. The winter is long. We long for spring. He brings us laughter—the funnyman. But who has the power to make us sing? And who will suck venom from the sting? He brings us nightmare—the bogeyman. We search for dragons to slay our king. We watch the ground for clues, we cling. He brings us the moon—the spaceman. But who has the power to make us sing? Our ambitions race, they soon take wing. He serves humble pie—the also-ran. We search the slain for dragons and a king. Again and again the crowning bells ring. Who pulls on the rope but Everyone? If we have the power to make the world sing, then who are the dragons? Who is the king?
Susan Middleton edits science books and writes poetry, fiction, and nonfiction. Her work has been published in regional and national literary publications, including most recently Raven's Perch, Silkworm, and WordPeace. Susan is a co-founder of the Northfield-based Slate Roof Press (slateroofpress.com), which in 2007 published her chapbook "Seed Case of the Heart." In 2018 she won 1st prize in the Beals Prize for Poetry.
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