Erik Running (61) is a poet and successful entrepreneur living in Woodland Park, Colorado. He has been involved in the movement for growing food locally for the past twenty years.
The desert whispers to me
Through the bones
In the crusted tan soil,
Not with words,
But something in the Purples of the sandstone cliffs,
The pale green Of the prickly pears,
Something in the mesquites
That reach like gnarled hands
To the endless blue,
Something that fills me.
Beneath the forest
In dank darkness
A mycelium network.
We walk over them
While they wait,
Years if needed,
For gloomy days And drizzle.
They magically appear
A soft concert Of oranges and reds
Yellows and whites,
Unnatural domes and cones,
Colonies and patties,
Living in shadows
Silently reminding us
That life is strange.
Bombs and Broken Hearts
My heart has broken,
Crushed below Blind,
blue ice greed,
Shattered by the screams Of mothers,
The terrifying emptiness In their children’s eyes.
My heart is too weak, Too exposed.
It has splintered in the Coldness of hate.
Yet that is its strength.
I kneel slowly
With silhouetted shadows of My brothers and sisters
Gathering our scattered Remnants of hope,
Umbras, Molding our cores Into a communal Ventricle,
Beating with the blood Of unity,
One great heart Rising from death,
A phoenix Holding all of humanity,
In a silent revolution Of love.