Poetry inspires me to think further, deeper; to find words for the feelings that arise. The poem below posed a challenge to myself at the start of the year: what makes "my words turn into sparks"? For me there is no easy answer. (It seems there never is no matter how hard we try to pretend. And that makes life so interesting.) But when I look at the times when I have stood up and surprised by the sparks that were coming out of my mouth, it often was related to human dignity. I am still pondering, though...
The Birthday of the World
(Marge Piercy)
On the birthday of the world
I begin to contemplate
what I have done and left
undone, but this year
not so much rebuilding
of my perennially damaged
psyche, shoring up eroding
friendships, digging out
stumps of old resentments
that refuse to rot on their own.
No, this year I want to call
myself to task for what
I have done and not done
for peace. How much have
I dared in opposition?
How much have I put
on the line for freedom?
For mine and others?
As these freedoms are pared,
sliced and diced, where
have I spoken out? Who
have I tried to move? In
this holy season, I stand
self-convicted of sloth
in a time when lies choke
the mind and rhetoric
bends reason to slithering
choking pythons. Here
I stand before the gates
opening, the fire dazzling
my eyes, and as I approach
what judges me, I judge
myself. Give me weapons
of minute destruction. Let
my words turn into sparks.
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