Invitation to virtual poetry reading featuring Gail Onion - Saturday, October 21 at 10:00 AM PDT

[Larry Robinson]

You are cordially invited to join us for a virtual poetry reading featuring Gail Onion

Saturday, October 21

from 10:00 to 10:30 AM 

There is no need to pre-register; just click this link to join: https://us02web.zoom.us/j/82470892656?pwd=QTZvR2s1YXdsc01YTE01U2tyaFpYdz09.




	As a long time lover of poetry
	reading, writing, sometimes accompanied by my flute or a drawing  
	or reciting with friends or with patients or colleagues at work 
	and now sharing wit other poets on the internet, due to the generosity of individuals like
	Larry Robinson, a very deep bow indeed to Larry!

		William Blake stated most emphatically “ The Spirit told him{Blake}
	be an artist and nothing less, in this there is Felicity.”


To Pray In The Fall

Bells swing and ring inside the trees
in the exuberant letting go
leaves making way for more leaves.

The Angel of Autumn arrives
and nothing can be the same again.

The Angel speaks:
In the Name of the Ones 
who have given their words
as lifelines, life boats,
life guards.
For those who protest against
incomprehensible injustice and 
are not believed. 
In the Name of the little gods
of the soil, of the water,
of the air. and  of all creatures of the earth.
In the Name of the mothers and fathers and children
who did not rise in the dawn today
caught in the ignominy of hatred against refugees 
and immigrants and 
the continual degradation heading for 
annihilation by white supremacy.
In the Name of friends and lovers
who deserve so much better, those 
whose bodies are banned, 
whose history is denied. 
In the Name of the Names who cannot be named
from fear of being heard and rejected or worse.
In the Name of the silent who cannot be seen or
are afraid to be seen.
In the Name of the Lost Ones and Last Ones
of the sacred heart of the Forest, 
of the dust that still calls out 
for peace and forgiveness.
Thus speaks the Angel

Dear Angel 
What happens now
if love is not allowed to live 
and depleted truths
fall around us 
raked into neglect 
on this innocent Autumn day?

This must be our response.

In every dark time
there is a door,
we see it through the eyes of  our wounds.
We may have been born in fear
but we will not live in fear.
We will go through the door
and take the singers of freedom
with us through the deserts to come.

Singers will come and go 
but  we shall become the song.
Inside the earth, a stone, a word,
the sound of hope will be the track of our lives.

Through the deserts to come
they will want us to leave, to disappear 
but they will find us everywhere.

	- Gail Onion









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