the year of lyrics: a poetry project

my search for inner-peace, one poem at a time


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Day 245 – Less than Excited Taste Buds

“If you can cook, recession money doesn’t matter. If you can cook, time doesn’t matter… My wish is for you to help a strong sustainable movement to educate every child about food, to inspire families to cook again and to empower people everywhere to fight obesity.”
-Jamie Oliver TED Prize Wish: Teach every child about food

Yes, it hurts to know that there is another way to suffer.
And it comes from what we eat?

Gone are the days that each home gathers to
Create a most delicious meal,
Together.
Cue the excuses:
But I have a broken family.
I don’t have a traditional one. It’s not as it used to be.
I have no time, this is the best I can do.
Times change and we must adapt.

But to adapt to this?
I am ashamed.
I am hurt.

Corporations, with your evil bidding.
Another commercial flashes,
Drawing lines,
Forging borders so difficult to cross,
Mass producing to excess,
Imposing regulations and
Forcing upon us that which should not be called food.
Sculpting our minds so that we accept it.
And learn to forget regret.

And on this soil alone an oversupply of waste:
Fast food, processed, boxed, packaged, weighed.

How delicious? Cannot wait to dig into another (un)Happy Meal.
What a steal!
A bargain!
Only a few bucks and I’ve got myself a dinner.
And the sickening flavors churn with additives that I do not know the names of.
Oh, I thought I was educated, I can read, can’t I?

How about a little bit of a change.
And alteration to shake up the bowl of popcorn,
To wake up a population blinded from scorn,
Can we not SPEAK UP for our rights to live?
Fight back those who are too harsh to forgive.
They who decide what we put in our system.
Time is running out, why won’t they listen?


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243 – Cloud Nine

I could have lived in a world
Ruled by impossible cruelty or royalty
Dictated by the selfish desires of fictional characters
Driven mad by the sense of an all-powerful notion or energy
Where the oceans can rage in continuous mutiny
And volcanic eruptions are not pleasantly distanced by borders
And disasters are not confined to square screens and undefinable space

No, today some live in a world much worse
Ruled by the intentions of the wealthiest beings
Dictated by the influences of greedy (yet real) leaders
Driven mad by condemning stigmas and stereotypes
Where the oceans bathe in toxic scrutiny
And panoramic corruptions are more violent than tectonic plates
And disasters are belittled as we are divided by creed and race

And though faith can sometimes be hard to come by
I know to rule my mind with the courage to challenge power
I will dictate my dreams into attainable goals
I will drive into the depths of certain vicissitude
Where the oceans sing in enchantment and harmony
And the earth trembles with approval of changing currents
And disasters are welcomed and transformed into lessons worth learning

Yes, that is the world I choose to live in
And I have hope that others will choose this world too.


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Day 215 – Mother

“The essence of warriorship, or the essence of human bravery, is refusing to give up on anyone or anything. We can never say that we are simply falling to pieces or that anyone else is, and we can never say that about the world either. Within our lifetime, there will be great problems in this world, but let us make sure that, within our lifetime, no disasters happen. We can prevent them. It is up to us. We can save the world from destruction, to begin with… by serving this world, we can save it.”
-Shambhala: The Sacred Path of the Warrior.

She created a world,
A surreal place of being
Smoothed down with sandpaper
And leftover shreds brushed off with her fingertips
Fear and Hatred were yet to be born
And Love and Compassion played in the shade of the storm
Streams joined into rivers
Passing along liquid of sapphire and green amethyst
The gentle breeze called for the wind
Who, in turn, brought downpours of refreshing love
Cleansed into the purest form
She focused her beams of light
Onto the curvaceous cliffs
Painted upon by the ice and snow sculptures
That reflected the covetous land
Yet she shrieked at the sight of
The porous rocks, poisoned by
Jealous, earth-stealing filth
Sweet land, stolen by the
Forceful sand,
By acidic drops that fill each crevice
Heat (and more heat) from your gaseous equipment
Your happiness and fulfilment
It’s still meant
To painfully scratch away
At my mother’s home and lovely creation
Dear, look at what you’ve done,
With your selfish predation