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The Blog Bog
The Mag Rack
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The Plan
"God is only the love that all of nature creates in us,
and greed for unnecessary things is killing this
beautiful life."
--Donato Gioseffi [1905-1981] philospher, Puglia, Italia
The plan was for butterflies,
bees and bats to suck among flowers
gathering sweetness to live
as they carried pollen, seed to ova,
to bring fruit from need.
The plan was for waters
to run freshly through
wetland deltas, filtering streams
along their way from mountain tops
quenching thirst running clear
rivers to the sea bringing life to the lips of children,
blossoming from the need for love
from parents, two different animals united
into a new being, ecstatic with rebirth.
The plan was for forests to clean the air
for children's breath in symbiotic balance
using carbon dioxide expelled from animals
to give forth oxygen,
to photosynthesize food from need,
making green leaves that leaf and leaf again
to feed women's breasts, not mere objects of sex,
but factories of milk, first link
in the food chain for children's mouths
to suckle milk from leaves of grass
come from fertile mud for need.
But sheer greed for things
of plastic, polymers from petroleum:
acrylic, polyester, lucite, biogenetics,
nuclear radiation, poisons,
greed for too much meat full of steroids,
land laid waste grazing cattle,
carcinogens, plutonium, filth and waste,
killed the plan slowly, bit
by bit, until the water trickled
with foul waste of industries' mistakes
and what was needed food, water, breath
was suffocated to a barren death.
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The Plan
Bats, bees and butterflies
ceased to buzz around flowers
bearing fruit from their sexual union
and children had no food.
Forests chopped to dust
gave forth no oxygen
or photosynthesis
or atmospheric balance
as fluorocarbons and fuel emissions
opened holes in the ozone
and burned the earth
to a carbon crisp
and love,
which was God itself,
no longer breathed
in the eyes of children,
but was silenced from its song
and art, books, poems,
had no feelings to speak
as all seed,
through "market engineering,"
was lost
to greed.
Daniela Gioseffi
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My Third Eye
It views things objectively
from above and afar-
thinking incessantly.
It stares in the night
like a frightened kid.
I want to poke it out
of its missing lid.
It spies with nocturnal sight,
sees things that aren't right,
like a lighthouse in the fog,
always searching for symbols,
allegories, aphorisms, narratives
to come sailing in on its beam.
It wearies me when I want to live
with two eyes open
and sometimes shut.
My third eye is stuck in its rut.
It comments on daffodils
as if they came out of Wordsworth's poem
instead of knowing he put them in,
because his third eye was bugging him!
It sees seagulls as freedom;
chirping birds as poets singing;
pink clouds at sunset as smog
heralding climate crisis;
a skinny girl with purple hair
as self-destructive, rings in her nose
as anger at her parents.
Truth and beauty as a rose!
This poem cost thirty dollars to write.
'cause I lost my gloves on the train tonight
blinded by my third eye.
With hands cold, my third eye
makes me feel old,
my two eyes blinded
with satire very unkind.
If only it were situated in my behind.
Daniela Gioseffi
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