Thanks For Giving Us Your Land Since We Were Taking All Of It Day
Today Netroots Radio devotes our programming in Honor of First Nations and Native Peoples.
Tributes to Russell Means, documentaries, history, interviews by Apache Talk Radio, music and other content pertinent to Native Peoples and all who live on this Good Red Earth.
Player and other info below the Orange Flourish.
The After Show with Wink and Justice broadcasts 9am to 10am Pacific on Metaphor Mondays, Hip Hump Day Wednesdays, Thank God It's Giovedì (that's what we call it) and Angle of Repose Fridays
Who luvs ya, baby?
Daily Kos Radio, Vintage James Baldwin, Labor History, Native American Documentaries, Flashpoints, RadioLabor News, Democracy Now, The David Packman Show, The Union Edge, The Professional Left with Driftglass and Blue Gal, West Coast Cookbook 6 Minute Recipes, Jim Hightower, Green News Report, ACLU Minutes, Nicole Sandler, Shannyn Moore, Science and History Specials, your Netroots Radio Favorites... and so much more, on right now!
Go ahead, now you can listen while roaming the Big Orange and beyond!
Voices and Soul appears on Black Kos Tuesday's Chile; poetry chosen and critiqued by Black Kos Poetry Editor Justice Putnam.
Question: Who is your audience? What are you here for?~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Answer: Tribal Alliances, Heart-felt Convictions, Passionate Reason, Random Abandon, Sustainable Civility and a kiss; to comfort the sad and the mad Ones; the Ones roaming the International section of the American Supermarket at night; or roaming the neglected streets looking for an angry malaprop to sink their teeth into; the Ones who seek without seeking and learn as much as they teach; the Ones who embrace and kiss and embrace again; the Ones who sing the song of the city and the ballads of the forest; the Ones who chant the rhythm of the sea and hum the melody of the desert; the Ones who sing the prayer of Her name and Her name is the World. Yes, those are the Ones. -- JP
Okiciyap (we help) is a 501(c)(3) non-profit organization, your donation should be tax deductible. Okiciyap, located on the Cheyenne River Reservation in South Dakota, is working to provide a food pantry, youth center, K-12 educational support, GED & Lakota as a 2nd language class support for youth and adults. The word Okiciyap is Lakota for "we help."
The Daily Kos Fundraising for Okiciyap group was formed to support the pantry. More information is available at the Okiciyap diaries published here at Daily Kos.
So that explains it... !
... Or does it?
(Rail Road Crossing, Sonoma California / copyright Justice Putnam)
"Many heroes lived before Agamemnon, but they are all unmourned, and consigned to oblivion, because they had no bard to sing their praises."
"Still the race of hero spirits pass the lamp from hand to hand."~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
-- Charles Kingsley
All Souls’ over, the roast seeds eaten, I set~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
on a backporch post our sculpted pumpkin
under the weather, warm still for November.
Night and day it gapes in at us
through the kitchen window, going soft
in the head. Sleepwalker-slow, a black rash of ants
harrows this hollow globe, munching
the pale peach flesh, sucking its seasoned
last juices dry. In a week, when the ants and
humming flies are done, only a hard remorseless light
drills and tenants it through and through. Within,
it turns mould-black in patches, stays
days like this while the weather takes it
in its shifty arms: wide eye-spaces shine,
the disapproving mouth holds firm. Another week,
a sad leap forward: sunk to one side
so an eye-socket’s almost blocked, it becomes
a monster of its former self. Human, it would have
rotted beyond unhappiness and horror
to some unspeakable subject state—its nose
no more than a vertical hole, the thin
bridge of amber between nose and mouth
in ruins. The other socket opens
wider than ever: disbelief.
It’s all downhill
from here: knuckles of sun, peremptory
steady fingers of frost, strain all day and night—
cracking the rind, kneading the knotted fibres
free. The crown, with its top-knot mockery
of stalk, caves in; the skull buckles; the whole
sad head drips tallowy tears: the end
is in sight. In a day or two it topples on itself
like ruined thatch, pus-white drool spidering
from the corner of the mouth, worming its way
down the body-post. All dignity to the winds,
it bows its bogeyman face of dread
to the inevitable.
And now, November almost out,
it is in the bright unseasonable sunshine
a simmer of pulp, a slow bake, amber shell speckled
chalk-grey with lichen. Light strikes and strikes
its burst surfaces: it sags, stays at the end of
its brief tether—a helmet of dark circles, death caul.
Here is the last umbilical gasp, everybody’s
nightmare parent, the pitiless system
rubbing our noses in it. But pity poor lantern-head
with his lights out, glob by greasy glob
going back where he came from: as each seed-shaped
drop falls free, it catches and clutches
for one split second the light. When the pumpkin
lapses to our common ground at last—where
a swaddle of snow will fold it in no time
from sight—I try to take in the empty space it’s left
on top of the wooden post: it is that empty space.
Rest in Peace Aaron Swartz
(Morning Fog And Surf, Muir Beach, California / copyright Justice Putnam)