Globalization Part 1

A flat world
has no barriers.
But equally no identity.

It has no windbreaks
or sheltered valleys
or deciduous dells
of refuge.

A flat world
made with people
inextricably joined
yet distant and alone.

There's no need
to see each other-
eyes or smile or face-
in tears or in joy
no need of embrace.

A flat world
with instant messaging
but uncontrollable winds
and floods and drought
and pestilence and storms.

A flat world
makes us toe a thin line
with scant chance to falter-
dwindling glaciers,
vanishing rainforests,
diminishing topsoils
and spiraling CO2.

Where traditional craft is traded
like trinkets for a grab bag.
And acquired skill defunct
by something better
so we are told.

Factories once a testament
to industry and vigor
lie abandoned and tumbled-down,
optimism turned weeds overrun-
a blight from which the eyes
can safely shy away
to aid a nulling mind.

The family table
once the convivial hub
for shared fortunes of the day
now, too often, for Daddy to tell
with trembling voice
and held-back tears,
"They're taking my job away".

But in a flat world
there is by necessity
a levelling process.

But as jobs grow fewer
corporations grow fatter
so as to own
the water,
energy and medicine
and food and seed.

Forgetting
these things were ours.

When we husbanded the soil
to its natural trait having
no use for chemicals,
planting seeds we saved
and not Monsanto genetics.

In that day we were content
to be Nature's shepherd
not her arrogant master.

To feed ourselves and neighbors
with abundance beyond food-
nourishing the spirit
on meaning of community-
each depending on the other,
each surviving as the other survived
and from our labors
rejoiced in celebration
to be so blessed.

But the family farm
must as well surrender
to the levelling process.

In a flat world
we must accept
a different measure of success.
Materialism of houses and cars
and degrees and promotions
and 401Ks.
Never mind
such shiny things are tenuous
and first we must assume
the status as debtors
before the game begins.

But to closed eyes
all is well.
So we pretend.

While scarcely a nod
to our neighbor.
Loners isolated in condo-boxes
with little need to know
beyond our quarter,
too timid to step
across the line, cowed
by feared consequences.

Never reflecting:
"For whom the bell tolls".
Never protesting
greater corporate control.

A flat world
homegeneous and unquestioning
faceless
from deprivation
of tradition and culture.

So marks the epitaph
of dead civilization.

A flat world
with no mountaintops
to touch the heavens.

Copyright 2009 Francis Don Daniels
All Rights Reserved.