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[with 4 poems from Speaking for Everyone]
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Epiphany
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searching through the turning worlds,
+++ eruptions on the sun,
+++ disruptions in the atmosphere, pulsing past
+++ our planet’s pinpoint in the sea
+++ of swirling masses,
+++ gasses, dark and light – – –
+++ measuring for meaning, straining for the
+++ +++ second
+++ when what wasn’t is what was
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we gather cinders on our shoes
+++ sediment from galaxies
+++ glimmer in the minerals
+++ like dusty road outside Damascus,
+++ shimmer in the flint for flames
+++ that find our face,
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+++ and burn our searching shadow
+++ forever in the steps we leave behind
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John Kristofco
from Speaking for Everyone, edited by Eric Greinke © 2024
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To my eyes, this is peak. Route 421 is still mostly flanked with green but Tuliptrees have begun to sauté a rich buttery roux. Here and there a Maple tries on its copper halo against the background of lime and salmon that renders the entire crown translucent. Sumac is on fire. Among the many trees barely shifted it is contrast that stands out. That catches the eye.
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Especially this one fellow who won’t be held back. His spine is curved, he has to lean out and away from the big guys overshadowing, but he has completely cloaked himself in deep, mature red. In every other season, Sourwood conceals himself within the massing forest, but in October he glows.
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This morning Dad’s occupational therapist is timing his glow. How long can he stand up? Dad grips the walker, gravity slowly claiming him until we prompt him to read the hats on top of the wardrobe. For a moment he’s upright but then gradually curls again. Two minutes fifty before he has to sit back down. Rest a bit and then we’ll try again, and again, three times to really see what he’s got. He won’t be held back. And when she repeats the test next week will he strike another personal best?
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Tough old Sourwood. In summer the tent caterpillars find you delectable and leave bald spots and frizz. In winter we discover no single limb is straight, no trunk unbowed. But in spring you blossom, florets too small to be showy, too high at your pinnacle for us to notice, that is until after the pollinators have had their way with you and you carpet our path with tiny creamy castoff bells. Your promise: somewhere there’s going to be honey.
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A Brief History of Trees
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This is the space where the trees stood
before we cut them down to make boats
that would take us to another country
whose trees we cut down to make houses.
Then we grew new trees
so we had wood for our arrows
to shoot at the enemies whose trees
we turned into musical instruments.
We grew more trees
to sell to our friends who had made money
out of theirs, and we bought up all the forests
to make paper, and cut faster
than the trees could grow. Then we printed
the history of trees
so our descendants could read
about the creatures who lived among them
and about how we feared the dark forests
with their eyes of night and insects
thirsting for blood. It was all
to make room for sunlight, we say,
and to make the world safe. And we close
with a postscript that admits
it may all have been a mistake, but how
could we have known, when we were strong,
that we would grow bored with music
and forget how to read?
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David Chorlton
from Speaking for Everyone, edited by Eric Greinke © 2024
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❦ ❦ ❦
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The Day the Cow Jumped Over the Moon
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No one waw it coming
though in retrospect
it seems obvious, inevitable.
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Even the moon was surprised
though some would say
it was in a better position
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than anyone else
to see the big picture.
How did we miss it?
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So much destruction,
bodies buried under buildings,
the waters rising.
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Some must be responsible.
We need a congressional investigation,
discussion on Sunday talk shows.
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Nothing with ever be the same
until the Super Bowl again
becomes the headline above the fold
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and everyone returns to the meadow
to stand around mooing,
chewing their cuds.
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Joyce Meyers
from Speaking for Everyone, edited by Eric Greinke © 2024
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“ . . . poems that express collective consciousness through the use of the first person plural persona ‘we’.” So it describes itself, this anthology edited by Eric Greinke, Speaking for Everyone: beyond egocentric and ethnocentric to the level of anthropocentric. Suddenly I’m conscious of what was subliminal until now, that a tiny shift of pronoun has the power to draw me fully into the poem as participant rather than simply audience.
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We all find our bliss once or twice
in the lives we live
in the black box.
We don’t recognize the signs,
but the people around us step aside when we
emerge from our temporary deaths.
+++++++ Buddha, Elizabeth Swados
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And now I am reading these poems with greater intention. Will I discover myself in every setting and every image? Perhaps not, but I might discover connections I hadn’t anticipated – I might be giving myself to the poem rather than simple expecting it to give to me. I don’t recognize the names of most of these writers but I find myself wondering about them, walking beside them as they explore the universe. More than speaking for everyone, here they speak with everyone. And me.
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Speaking for Everyone, An Anthology of “We” Poems, is edited by Eric Greinke with contributing editors Alan Britt, Peter Krok, and Gary Metras. Discover more about this prolific poet, editor, and essayist HERE
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For the Neighbor Who Got Bagpipes for Christmas
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Aleppo lay slaughtered,
Berlin mourned her dead.
The Black Sea swallowed
a whole Russian chorus.
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From Somewhere
West of our suburban acre,
floating on the frozen
twilit air, we heard
“Amazing Grace”
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your gentle ailing
reminded us
who we would like to be.
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Marylou Kelly Streznewski
from Speaking for Everyone, edited by Eric Greinke © 2024
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V E R S E and I M A G E 
Thanks, Mary Alice. Yes, Richard's poetry makes me feel that I live more deeply on earth, with all of us.…