A poem for my mother, July 15 When she was dying And I was in a different country I dreamt I was there with her Flying over the ocean very quickly, And arriving in the room like a dream And I was a dream, but the meaning was more Than a dream has – it was a moving over time And land, over water, to get love across Fast enough, to be there, before she died, To lean over the small, huddled figure, In the dark, and without bothering her Even with apologies, and be a kiss in the air, A dream of a kiss, or even less, the thought of one, And when I woke, none of this had happened, She was still far distant, and we had not spoken.
POETRY, POLITICS, PROVOCATION AND POPULAR CULTURE SINCE 2005 - 20 YEARS AND over 10 million visits - British Library-archived

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Let's raise our stanzas in rebellion against the mainstream narrative, that says over and over again, that we are "isolated egos competing for the most of what each of us wants" (quote attributed to the author of 'Science and the Moral Life' published in 1949) and therefore our only option is to go out and conquer as much of the world's resources as we want.