Tag Archives: Travel

New Tribes

Neil and Dorsey are part of the Imago Relationships International Peace Project, and have helped to develop a model of safe sharing in groups called Communologue.
In 2007 they were part of a weekend gathering of three generations of Palestinian and Israeli families at a Kibbutz on the Mediterranean south of Haifa, co-led by their friend and associate Orli Wahrman. Many of the second and third generation had never met one of the ‘other’. By the end of the weekend there were no ‘others’.

WRITING THE AUSTRALIA TRIP

WRITING THE AUSTRALIA TRIP

We went to teach, we went to learn
we did a lot of both and more of some

We met amazing people – they met us
perhaps none will be the same again

Details I leave for further poems
which I hurry to hurry to write

before the ripples rippling out
are lost
clockwise and counter clock
down the toilet bowl of time

ON THAT NOTE

ON THAT NOTE

Classical music fills the car
as we home from the airport in traffic

Our host is from Bulgaria
he plays the trombone, his wife the violin
sometimes they tour, sometimes he drives cab
He loves Austin, he loves his wife

Ahead and around
drivers speed and weave

I wonder what they’re listening to

GRANDFATHER’S MOUSTACHE

GRANDFATHER’S MOUSTACHE

The moustaches
of my grandfather and Carl Jung
(Twins separated at birth)
have lives of their own

Jung’s stays in Switzerland
combing the unconscious

My grandfather’s travels to Brazil and Canada
gathers rainforest moisture, dirty thirties dirt
and remnants of strong cheese and pipe smoke
(Carl’s certainly contains some of that too)

When grandfather sneezes, I get to share it all

NEW TRIBES

NEW TRIBES

From the old tribe of Isaac
and the old tribe of Ishmael

Israeli and Palestinian
couples and their children
come together by the sea and share

We are teaching the skills of listening
the skills of sharing and skills of hearing

The rules are simple
tell your truth as your truth only

Assume as you listen
that the person makes sense
If they do not seem to make sense
assume you need more information,

By the end of the weekend
the eight year olds are sleeping over
teenagers walk on the beach till dawn

A new tribe being formed

RED STICK WEDDING – BATON ROUGE

RED STICK WEDDING – BATON ROUGE

When you get married at the Alligator Bayou
in the middle of a Louisiana swamp
it is well to expect some magic

When you get married on the anniversary
of Granny Jean’s death in her 100th year
you can pretty much expect she’ll be here

The sky cracking open with lightening
just as the preacher starts preaching
and the thunder and rain and hail
rattlering off the big tin roof
all through poem and ceremony
might have happened anywhere

But when the wedding vows slow
that rain to a stop, so we can go out
on the flat bottomed boat at dusk
come around the corner and see

Two cypress stumps fifty paces apart
struck by the wedding party lightning
firefly sparks against the night
we know we’re not in Kansas

MARY OLIVER

MARY OLIVER

Of all the poets I admire
only one did I envy

How she could take us all on her journey
remind us of the wild beauty of our lives
and the soft animal of our bodies

It is disowned parts of us I know
that we hold too high or low

And yet I wanted to go where she could go

This year in the merry month of May
on a trip in search of other things
a book I didn’t know she’d written
in a town where I didn’t know she’d lived

I hung five days like her hummingbird
on the green wheel of its wings

Her flowers were my food
her town became my town
her dunes became my dunes

Sip by sip on that Cape Cod shore
I began to envy her less
and love her more

And that pretty green stone
I was taking with me
I threw it back into the sea

THE BELLS OF LE CROTOY

THE BELLS OF LE CROTOY

In the little village by the Baie
bells still wake you every day

And since not all the churches agree
we wait while each has its pretty say
then snuggle back for a little nap
because a bell is just a bell
and we’re on holiday

If we had really listened
we might have have heard them say

We are the bells Jeanne d’Arc heard
breaking over walls of prison stone
the morning of her walk to Rouen
and then never heard again

We are the bells Jules Verne heard
rattling rough shuttered windows
get up lazy writer and grasp for that pen
you have leagues to write ‘fore you rest again

We are the bells that the fishermen heard
on the mornings behind their names
on the monument to men lost at sea
heard last before going to sea

GREECE 2001

GREECE 2001

We take the boat back to Athens
cold and windy and a little rough

Dorsey lies down on the way

If she is Helen returned
she might again cause the launching
of a thousand ships
but she would not sail on one

I have an ouzo and man the bow
swells rising through my feet
feeling the eternity of the sea

When the islands are out of site
I still feel and could steer
by the shape of the winds