stringybark

 Adrian Mitchell
Human Beings


  look at your hands

  your beautiful useful hands

       you're not an ape

    you're not a parrot

  you're not a slow loris

    or a smart missile

       you're human
     

       not british

    not american

      not israeli

  not palestinian

    you're human
 

     not catholic

  not protestant

    not muslim

       not hindu

  you're human
 

  we all start human

    we end up human

       human first

          human last

      we're human

    or we're nothing
 

  nothing but bombs

     and poison gas

  nothing but guns

     and torturers

  nothing but slaves

  of Greed and War

  if we're not human
 

           look at your body

  with its amazing systems

  of nerve-wires and blood canals

     think about your mind

   which can think about itself

  and the whole universe
 

           look at your face

   which can freeze into horror

           or melt into love

     look at all that life

           all that beauty

           you're human

     they are human

     we are human

  let's try to be human
 

         dance!

"Nirvana"
not much chance,
completely cut loose from
purpose,
he was a young man
riding a bus
through North Carolina
on the way to somewhere
and it began to snow
and the bus stopped
at a little cafe
in the hills
and the passengers
entered.
he sat at the counter
with the others,
he ordered and the
food arrived.
the meal was
particularly
good
and the
coffee.
the waitress was
unlike the women
he had
known.
she was unaffected,
there was a natural
humor which came
from her.
the fry cook said
crazy things.
the dishwasher.
in back,
laughed, a good
clean
pleasant
laugh.
the young man watched
the snow through the
windows.
he wanted to stay
in that cafe
forever.
the curious feeling
swam through him
that everything
was
beautiful
there,
that it would always
stay beautiful
there.
then the bus driver
told the passengers
that it was time
to board.
the young man
thought, I'll just sit
here, I'll just stay
here.
but then
he rose and followed
the others into the
bus.
he found his seat
and looked at the cafe
through the bus
window.
then the bus moved
off, down a curve,
downward, out of
the hills.
the young man
looked straight
foreward.
he heard the other
passengers
speaking
of other things,
or they were
reading
or
attempting to
sleep.
they had not
noticed
the
magic.
the young man
put his head to
one side,
closed his
eyes,
pretended to
sleep.
there was nothing
else to do-
just to listen to the
sound of the
engine,
the sound of the
tires
in the
snow.
- Charles Bukowski