Anthem; or The Dance of High Hubris



Anthem; or The Dance of High Hubris



These are the days of madness and



The earth cries out its churning need


and dissonant


and I cannot save it.

but perhaps there is a way to kindle


Each, alone, and for each other

from the deeps of our own savage darkness.

We all have two sticks we can rub together.



We must fly out over the edges

Performing intricate, spontaneous



over highwires

until we stumble across a moment.

The moment



the fear-voice grows small

like an echo

or a photograph from atop a distant hill

50 years ago,


and when

the joy, and the life voice grow strong

and near

and full of strange woven music-

turbulent and prophetic

and plagued of knots and



When you can look at your life

And say


I don’t care if I get rich, or end up in the gutter.

I don’t care if anyone comes alongside

or agrees

or thinks I’m relevant.

I will stand here fighting dark things

with my last invisible breath

until I crumble to holy dust

and fall to the earth like

dandelion firework ash,

because this is True.

and what else is there.


These are the days of trouble and



And we, this race of man,

this tribe of

the ecstatic-


champions of the impossible-


We must take our sticks

unperfect as they are

                -art and passion-

                -vision and dark joy-

                                -gunpowder and grace-

And we must scrape hope into the skies.


Let us seed the clouds with Truth

that nobility might come raining



in a baptism of courage.


We must

carve meaning

  glorious divine meaning

into the sides of mountains



write gigantic poems across the desert

with burned-out cars.


These are the days of fear

and hedging.


bring your brush

and your pot of glue

and we will plaster the unraveling walls of the cities

with songs of freedom.


Let us dare to

dig up the tectonic plate stone patio floor of this world

and bury it in our chest;

bury it in that darkly red-lit, silent place between the lungs and the diaphragm

so that when we speak, we breathe earthquakes, thunderous

and deep.


We must

stomp our feet to our own ventricular rhythms

until all our bones shatter

 and the rocks cry out,



These are the days of blood and

and struggle


Stand and join hands

you cavemen prophets,

you ranks of the savagely bright

-my soul’s own voluminous self’s reflection-

stand and join

-uncertain  as we are

and full of strife and longing-

in this, the dance uproarious






18 responses to “Anthem; or The Dance of High Hubris

  1. love, in these days of fear and hedging, i would SO join you in uproarious wheat-pasting. let’s go!

  2. oh my goodness…
    this is the cry of a warrioress
    channeling solomon as he wrote ecclesiastes.

    can i quote a few lines for my sidebar? (linking back, of course)

  3. Read outloud it sounds like a chant! It resonates! Words have been beautifully put together.

    Kisses dear. ❤

  4. You write and I just don’t wish words to pull out as take-aways because there are far too many. I could live for days on just one line of your poems and you write many lines and many poems. Yes, you help keep us alive.

    I loved this: “We all have two sticks we can rub together.”

    I read it like you have one and I have one and together we make some light for our way.

  5. “I just don’t wish” = I just don’t know which

    I should not try to comment on blogs after my kids are awake.

  6. what an amazing photo! Is that for real?

    And the poem is beyond what I have words to say!

  7. First off, got to say how much I love Banksy’s vision! Your words are a resonating accompaniment to the picture and I’m so glad you are able to format your poems on this site – they are filled with fervent energy:
    We must

    stomp our feet to our own ventricular rhythms

    until all our bones shatter

    and the rocks cry out,


    These are the days of blood and

    and struggle

  8. My. God. I’m going to go thank Rain right now for directing me here.

  9. This is one brilliant breathtaking read! Line after glorious line, makes us all start beating our tom-toms and creating havoc in the streets. At the very least. I dont think I can read another poem tonight after this one. It is so freaking good! Wow.

  10. Liked this poem. Lots of personal philosphy. An important work!!

  11. You speak as a woman who wants to live. This. I. Love. There are not enough who are willing to fight for what is real. Thank you for writing. I will be returning. (And thank you rain for sending me here)

  12. This poem rekindles a childhood memory, when my friend and I, both age 5, set a dry field on fire with kitchen matches, knowing the bigger boys (who regularly tried to smash, with big rocks, the frogs that lived in the abandoned concrete oil derrick basin in the center of the field) would be drawn to the flames, kitchen matches between their teeth in imitation of their older, teenage brothers who smoked cigarettes, and sure enough, the firemen suspected them of arson and summoned their parents, as they denied any knowledge of its origin. We, hiding under the porch of my friend’s house, could hear the frogs laughing. The frogs were safe from then on.

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