Woo started singing. / Woo's voice was tiny and sweet / Like a bird.

::::::::

Woo was looking outside.
What is happening to the world?
I'm worried, said Woo.
I'm worried too, sighed Onion.
Woo started singing.
Woo's voice was tiny and sweet

Like a bird.
Onion said, That's beautiful Woo,
I didn't know you could sing like that.
Neither did I, said Woo.
Woo started singing again,
Filling the room

Like a nightingale.
Onion sat in a favorite chair and listened.
Onion' s eyes closed, and Onion smiled
Because while Woo sang,
Onion saw people
Smiling and walking together.

Onion saw people running through a field,
Leaping, leaping higher and higher
Until some of them began to fly!
Onion saw butterflies swirling
Above a field of lavender flowers.
All of a sudden a cloud swept over.

Everything turned quiet and still.
Woo had stopped singing.
Onion looked at Woo.
Woo looked at Onion sadly.
I'm sorry, said Woo.
I couldn't stop the song from ending.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- ".
Woo is a true artist because Woo can't fake it. The song Woo is singing carries the spirit of life. It is just such giftedness of spontaneous joyous expression that is the antidote for the heaviness that has cast a shadow across the land. Even Woo is affected by this ominous heaviness because Woo's song ends prematurely. This poem is not about the end of the world. I see it as an appeal to all the Woos out there to sing the world back to life. We need to let the Woos of the world know how much we cherish them and desire them to sing!
A note to reader: About ten years ago, my friend, Frank Asch (successful author of children's books) and I, who often corresponded between his home in Hawaii and my home in Vermont, sort of spontaneously made up two characters, Onion and Woo. Who they were and what they looked like was anyone's guess. Their genders were also a mystery to us. All we knew was, they were very good friends, like Frank and me. Onion was more grounded than Woo and Woo was more off-script and we never knew what he was going to do next. I kept writing about the adventures of Onion and Woo even after Frank passed away. Then those poems petered out. I love going back to rereading the adventures of Onion and Woo. They were both very sensitive and loving, and they loved each other. Good role models, wouldn't you say?

(Article changed on Jan 28, 2025 at 9:32 PM EST)

Authors Website: https://garylindorff.wordpress.com

Authors Bio:

Gary Lindorff is a poet, writer, blogger and author of five nonfiction books, three collections of poetry, "Children to the Mountain", "The Last recurrent Dream" (Two Plum Press), "Conversations with Poetry (coauthored with Tom Cowan), and a memoir, "Finding Myself in Time: Facing the Music". Lindorff calls himself an activist poet, channeling his activism through poetic voice. He also writes with other voices in other poetic styles: ecstatic, experimental and performance and a new genre, sand-blasted poems where he randomly picks sentence fragments from books drawn from his library, lists them, divides them into stanzas and looks for patterns. Sand-blasted poems are meant to be performed aloud with musical accompaniment.


He is a practicing dream worker(with a strong, Jungian background) and a shamanic practitioner. His shamanic work is continually deepening his partnership with the land. This work can assume many forms, solo and communal, among them: prayer, vision questing, ritual sweating, and sharing stories by the fire. He is a born-pacifist and attempts to walk the path of non-violence believing that no war is necessary or inevitable.