Today I finally saw the video that's causing so much international hype right now; it belongs to the creators of the group called Invisible Children. It's all over facebook, that's for certain, and lately that's where it counts. People are coming together to stop a man from committing further war crimes against children, in Uganda and beyond, and this video explains it more accurately than I ever could:
Many of those who actually see my posts, if not all, have probably seen this already, but if not, it's really worth your time.
I haven't been on blogger for a number of months now, so I figured I'd return with the spark of inspiration I've gotten from this. Embedded within that is my frustration at myself for not really having done anything with my life lately, and today I pledge to change that. It might not be earth shattering stuff, but studying math, reading books, creating art, and writing poetry will at least give me something to focus my spirit on.
Now, back to the poetry!
The White Blood Pumps
"time to get the blood pumping"
In six words
(a memoir, perhaps?)
a message flashes across my keyboard
from the tips of flesh pistons
that pound a message out through my electric window—
one of a global apartment building—
my thoughts sent to a soul across the hall.
Blip.
Meanwhile riffs pump in my ears
Tim sings another anthem in a voice of liquid metal
hear his fury for the untold story
the need to share all the sorrows;
now crackle up the headphones
now spark my blood.
Click
I share a video
KONY
2012
the fight
is ON.
An empathetic light switch.
BOOM
the vacuum before the cyber explosion
sucks my words back for a moment
then spits them out across the invisible lines
that trace the air we breathe
and connect us all like
the umbilical cords of modern life.
We're never too old to love as children do
and to share our love with those who will listen.
We stab the barrels and let loose the milk
that will flood the shadowed plains
where creatures scrabble underfoot,
only heard because they trip over their own feet,
in the search for nourishment
which sets fire to their mouths
and their eyes.
And their souls.
The milk flows like the rivers we carry
made strawberry
in arms raised to the sky
pumped faster by white fists.
Let's flood the world.
Right now, the brush fires have one name
for new firefighters in the world
that spring up against injustice by the thousands.
J.K.
only it's not a joke.
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