Friday, April 8, 2011

Thoughts While Canoing

Like Flavor-Flave I am cold lamping
Spent the summer camping
In the stormy ocean but see land’s end
We go canoing down the St Croix
What was it called in the time of the Iroquois?
How was the Mississippi in the time of the Anishinabe?
When the river was full of sand banks and dead logs made artificial bogs

What did De Soto see?
When he dreamed of gold his men chortled with glee
But he found a watery grave
His men went back to war, and wrote a conqueror’s history.

I wish I could see the time when Indians went father than the eye sees
I would travel for an age through five foot purple sage
Explore the Yucatan with pen in hand
See California with only native fauna
You may say I dream a lot
But even Beowulf could not restore the dead to Heorot
As we paddle down the murky stream
Antennas end my waking dream
The sight returns me to the current age.
Turn the page.

Currently we are taught to live by lease
From this practice I try to desist
Will end somehow my addiction to consumption.
It is a wasting disease.
Or else my work will never cease
But how when this world is based on rivalry?
Also all living things strive to increase.
Al I want is internal peace

Apart from bread we all look for three people to hold
What happens when your soul is sold?
Some turn to drugs,
hoping to see space fold
then they degenerate into a walking mold
Don’t be like Croesus who ignored the words of a bum.
For when Darius came he was stunned by the words of his surviving son.

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