100% Human

The body of the earth does not belong to me; my body belongs to it. The debate about Elizabeth Warren and her “native heritage” is a painful one, and it reminds me that the ethnic composition of a person’s DNA means little. What we do with our lives matters. I am 100% human. So what? If I spend my days lusting in the halls of materialism gone mad, than my “humanity” will amount to little but a drop in the cesspool of avarice that covers this earth I love like a mosquito-infested swamp and my 100% will choke off the fertile ground and pollute the clean waters that nurture all living things.

I thought about having my DNA tested. While I know that a large percentage of my ancestors came from Europe, most of them following the French-Indian fur trade down the Mississippi River from Canada, large gaps and lots of questions remain about my heritage. So what? Finding out that I had a percentage of Native American DNA or that I had an African Great Great Greatsomeone who was brought to this land in chains would not make me a res kid or child raised in the Chicago projects. It would not give me the right to claim a place at a table built on cultural identity and suffering where I have never eaten. I already care about my Native and African brothers and sisters with all 100% of my humanity. I want to see respect and reparation generously given to those on whose land and on whose backs this country has thrived, and I will continue to work toward that. We have a long, long way to go.

I want to see the land respected and repaired. I grew up wandering the woods around my home, a child of the wind who whispered his secrets in my ears, the trees who taught me to tap deeply into the ground and patiently stand tall, and the great rivers who taught me respect and awe. I didn’t grow up with material wealth, but I had the richest of playgrounds and a lavish education. Nature never asked about my DNA. She captured my attention and inspired my imagination without questioning what percentage of me was hers. I am 100% human. The body of the earth was not born of me; I was born of it.

https://tanyacliff.com/2016/08/15/meskonsing-cutting-the-skin-of-the-drum/

~

Words and Photography ©2018 Tanya Cliff ~ to contact me

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Brush Strokes

Whether it is the leaves of autumn on the outside or artistic inspiration from within, wishing all my blogging friends a colorful week…

TANYA CLIFF

brush strokes
press wet color
onto open surface
thirsty canvas sips the pigment
as liquid hue drips from the long bristles
painting in living color, thick
intoxicating drink
through sinuous
brush strokes

~

Words and Photography ©2018 Tanya Cliff ~ to contact me

Entry posted in poetry & Rictameter Verse.

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The Writer’s Arrow

Wishing all my blogging friends a happy and productive week. A little Monday motivation…

TANYA CLIFF

Little quill, on an inkwell, rests. The stationary lives up to its name. Ideas die in wait on a solid oak desk where an empty chair defies its game. Silence echoes your nothings. A woodpecker pecks on your window frame with intensity that rattles his brain. He needs to eat.

The poor starve. Their bellies ache.

“So it is with the world!” you shout into the pillow.

No one hears you from your bed where you scratch notes. The pencil line you draw with those words simply chases its tail around your margins. You break the lead. You crumple the paper and throw it across the room. At least the paper sees some action. It flies through the air and lands just short of your garbage bin. You leave it there with a few of its cousins. You pull up the covers and sleep among your eraser droppings.

Don’t you…

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Renewed

renewed
Nature wastes naught
recalls every dead leaf
that feeds the life of each fresh bud
if past’s ghosts filled her heart’s echo chamber
they would drown out the living beat
of spirit recycled
reawakened
renewed

~

Words and Photography ©2018 Tanya Cliff ~ to contact me

Entry posted in poetry & Rictameter Verse.

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Returning

The air in my corner of the world is crisp with an autumn chill, and the leaves are just starting to turn. I am escaping outside to enjoy it, returning to a favorite place…

TANYA CLIFF

as a child
through woodland wandered
touched the roots
with gentle feet
heard the rumble
wisdom ancient
patience
tapping
riches
deep

grown I walk
through concrete wasteland
trip on cracks
with tired toes
hear the grumbles
people modern
hurried
rushing
vacant
flows

return me now
to verdant fields
surrounding me
the soft wind thrills
heaven pressed
the air’s alluring
nature
soothing
my soul
stills

~

Words and Photography ©2017 Tanya Cliff ~ to contact me

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