Ed Coletti's P3

Monday, February 27, 2012

Love Rain Down Animation/Raskin Poem/Sevenau's Sister/Free Soulfegè Album Download/

(P1) Poetical

Love Rain Down a lovely very moving soon-to-be-award-winning animation for big and little people by my good friend, the amazing activist Derrick Ashong, his associate, , and the band Soulfegè. Then, later, see below for a FREE download of Soulfegè's new album "Afropolitan.

Bread: An Ode

Bread belongs to nobody,
but spans seas,
all shapes all sizes,
flat bread, round bread,
long bread, short bread, braided & sliced,
leavened, unleavened,
nan, baguette, pita, tortilla.
as common as flour and water.

Bread begins my day —
half a loaf with butter and blackberry jam.
at midday, tomato sandwiches and
at four with tea and honey.
Bread alone a feast.

When it's hard and dry it's
resurrected as croutons,
even the crumbs are cared for,
everything wanted without it —
jewel of table.
Bread, wine & cheese,
most accommodating of foods and yet
nothing as miraculous as crust of bread.

If you want a taste of
paradise on earth,
walk into a bakery.
O bread, O infinite bread
that takes away hunger
and gives us the
wheat of our humanity.

(from Public Spaces, Private Places
by Jonah Raskin
Running Wolf Press, 2007

(P2) Philosophical

Final Migration
by Catherine Sevenau

My sister Liz knew everything about everything—and what she didn’t know—she made up. Her library was lined with books from architecture, antique lamps and art nouveau to tomes on history, the human body and Henry VIII. She also had every field-guide on flora, fauna and all things feathered.

Liz was an avid bird-watcher and the aristocratic and ancient crane was her favorite. A “craniac”, she could tell you everything about their habits and habitats, their migration patterns and their courting rituals. She even knew their mating calls. The birds inspired her, weaving their nests into her daily living. A life-size bronze statue stood sentry at her front door. A delicately feathered watercolor flew on her plaster walls. Cranes perched on her shelves, danced on her Japanese robe and winged across her glass lampshade.

Every fall, thousands of greater sandhills streak across the Pacific Flyway, migrating in families to feed and roost in the safety of the Central Valley wetlands near the Sacramento River. They are one of the world’s largest birds, the males standing at a stately five-feet with a seven-foot wingspan. They are long-legged, long-necked and bustle-bodied, sporting ash gray plumage, a black chiseled bill, sleek white cheeks and a bald red crown. Their trumpet can be heard for miles. Between feeding and roosting, they dance this peculiar choreographed avian ballet: first one crane starts out slowly, then a second, the tempo picks up, and soon the whole flock is hopping and bowing—wing flourishing and stick tossing in wild rap-like abandon. My sister loved their elaborate floorshow, cackling her delight.

In February, Liz was diagnosed with stage IV lung cancer. In September, she had experimental surgery at the UC Davis Cancer Clinic in Sacramento. Two weeks after she had come to stay with me. Pneumonia set in and I took her back to the hospital. Three days later, she died.

Just after she took her final breath in that cool early morning, her husband Tony stepped outside to call the family. Dialing his cell phone, there was an overhead cacophony of long drawn-out bugling and clanging so loud he was unable to converse. Looking up, his irritation turned to slack-jawed wonder. A feathered cortege of two-hundred greater sandhills passed directly over his wife’s top floor hospital room in single and V-line formation—first one string, then another behind the first, then another behind them, then another, and another, necks extended, legs and tails outstretched, the slow rhythmic beating of their wings vibrating the crisp October sky, incessantly declaring GAROOO-A-A, GAROOO-A-A.

As is their nature, the whole flock trumpets most raucously when concerned or alarmed. As was her nature, Liz was probably disturbing their flight pattern on her way out. Or maybe she was joining them on their migratory trek. Or perchance, the winged ones knew she was ready and arrived to escort their friend in style—blessing my sixty-four year old sister with an exquisite tribute and a final accompaniment.

Catherine Sevenau

October 2004

Here's the free download of the album Afropolitan by Soulfege. Derrick Ashong is my niece Lucia Brawley's betrothed and the father of the glorious Bianca. His band Soulfege does terrific fusion (afro, hiphop, funk, soul) meaningful music. Derrick, my grandson Justin Coletti (and even I on my harmonica) had a wild time yesterday at a family party.

Soulfege is giving away their music. They are attempting to do what never has been done, to give away a million downloads, circumvent the music industry, and become justifiably famous.

Please help them out and enjoy mightily in the process.

Press the green icon below

Wanna Be Down? Download.
AFropolitan, the album.

Use your voice to change the world of music and use music to change the world. Join the Million Download Campaign and make history.

www.derrickashong.com

(P3) Political

# posted by Ed Coletti : 9:17 AM 2 comments

Thursday, December 01, 2011

Stop Raising Tuitions/Vartnaw New Laureate/Beckman Poem/Edelen & The Virtue of NonBelief

(P1) Political

Bill Vartnaw: Seventh Sonoma County Poet Laureate

Congratulations friend, Bill Vartnaw upon your selection and for following in the line of laureates including Don Emblen, David Bromige, Terry Ehret, Geri DiGiorno, Mike Tuggle, and Gwynn O'Gara.

Here is Bill's poem "Tree. Stands. Out." which leads off his fine book In Concern: for Angels (Taurean Horn, 1984)

Tree. Stands. Out.
Conversant with the mind
of light. & its shifting interference—
in motion, winding:
like a splash. Firmly rooted?
So it seems . . .
Tree, a master of disguises
spins dervishlike. In synch
with times, familiar—
& throughout simultaneous existence,
to provide consistency. The ground
is not so solid & is no anchor.
We have always dug our treasure
inside-out. Tree is no exception.

from In Concern: for Angels

Bill Varnaw

Petaluma poet Bill Vartnaw established Taurean Horn Press in San Francisco following the Bay Area Poets Coalition's Summer Solstice Festival in 1974. Besides In Concern: for Angels (1984), he has also published Suburbs of my Childhood (2009, Beatitude Press), Postcards (2009, Round Barn Press) & Finnish-American Poetry with Rauhala, Vartnaw, Hagelberg (2010, UFKB&S).

Comment or Read Comments Here on any of the above or below. Log in under "Name/URL," (it's easy). Just the name (don't worry about the URL). Actual name is best, but use what you like. Or email me at edcoletti@sbcglobal.net, and I can post it.

Here is a David Beckman poem which appears in the 2011 Marin Poetry Center Anthology

November Behind the Flamingo Hotel

Autumn comes inebriate,

dirty dancing on cankered feet,

leaving two dead leaves,

Aristophanes’ lost other halves

unraked and wrinkled

by the covered pool

-- David Beckman

(P3 Philosophical

- Toward the Mystery - http://williamedelen.org -

Atheists and agnostics

Posted By Bill On Nov 20, 11 @ 2:00 am In Weekly Column | Comments Disabled

The senior George Bush, when he was president, said, “I do not consider atheists to be American citizens.” From there his historical ignorance went downhill.

I recently read an article in the LA Times that made me want to scream with anger at the arrogant stupidity of the Christian chaplains in the military. Capt Ryan Jean, of the U.S. Army, wrote on his form about “religious preference” that he was a atheist. He was immediately called into the office of the head chaplain and scolded about his lack of “faith” and was told that if he did not get right “with God” he was a “worthless” individual. And that if he did not believe in Jesus he was a disgrace to his uniform, as this U.S. Army was GOD’S Army”. This militant ignorance of the chaplain was not unusual, but was a common theme. I know, for I was in the Marine Corps for twelve years and exposed to this religious quackery among Navy chaplains.

When the political right wing mentality pronounces loudly that, “There are no atheists in fox holes” they are so full of bull manure it would be impossible to dig through it. For the twelve years I flew as a Marine Corps pilot I knew MANY, that is MANY Marines who were atheists.

An atheist says flatly there are no Gods or a God. An agnostic just says, “I don’t know… nobody does… it’s not an issue.” A mystic believes, as I do, that some energy is at work on a cosmic level, some “Mystery” (as Einstein put it), “something unknown doing we know not what” as the Nobel physicist Eddington wrote so eloquently. Many of the most profound thinkers of history have been included in one of these three categories. But, make no mistake, the “Mystery” of the mystics is NOT a God, out there, nor in Deism is there a “God” out there.

As Ernest Hemingway once wrote: “All thinking human beings are atheists.” A Rabbi that was on the staff with me in the Department of Religion at the University of Puget Sound in Tacoma, Washington, told me that most of the Rabbis he knew were really atheists who supported Hebrew cultural positions, without God. Rabbi Wine of Detroit started a congregation of Humanistic Jews where the word God or belief in a God were taken out of all the liturgy.

Winston Churchill once observed, “Everyone is in favor of free speech. Hardly a day passes without its virtues being extolled. But some people’s idea of free speech is that THEY are free to say what they like, but if anyone else says anything BACK, that is an outrage.”

The Greek word “a-theos,” means “one who denies the existence of any god.” Ancient Christian theologians thought that atheism denied belief in God, and also belief in devils. Oriental thinkers were less simplistic about it. The more advanced sages taught that non-belief was more “religious” than belief and that atheism can make better human beings than faith can make. The sages said that non-belief can be as profoundly spiritual as theism, for the essence of religion, or spirituality, lies in the EXPERIENCE, and not in any BELIEF at all. And that all so-called religious beliefs or doctrines are merely theories about the religious, or spiritual experience.

The only religious traditions that actually believe in an anthropomorphic “God” “out there” as divine window-peeker, are Islam, parts of Judaism, and Christianity. Every other tradition would be considered atheistic, by those three, including the American Indian, Buddhism, Zen, Taoism, classical Hinduism and on through all the others.

Some observations:

“The total absence of humor from the bible is one of the most singular things in all of literature.” Alfred North Whitehead

“An atheist is a guy who watches a Notre Dame football game and doesn’t care who wins.” Dwight Eisenhower

“Faith is believing what you know ain’t so.” Mark Twain

“Our Christianity is a terrible religion. The fleets of the world could sail in spacious comfort in the innocent blood it has spilt.” Mark Twain

“If Jesus were here now, there is one thing he would never be, and that is a Christian.” Mark Twain

For more than 25 years, the beloved Senior Minister of the famed City Temple of London (Methodist) was Leslie Weatherhead. His books have sold and been read by millions. In the Christian Agnostic he opens with this: “Not for much longer will the world put up with the lies, the distortions and the superstitions with which the simple message of Jesus has been overlaid, with creeds, doctrines and ceremonies to such a degree that any original thoughts have been lost ages ago.” Then he goes on to say that any minister standing in a pulpit who is NOT AN AGNOSTIC is dangerous. Why is he dangerous? Because “he pretends to have answers he does not have. He lives in the 20th century parroting back a third century biblical mentality, as though nothing had been learned, thought, or discovered in the last 1700 years.”

The key to Renaissance thought is the questioning spirit and the willingness to entertain doubt (agnosticism) with Atheism, Deism and Mysticism. I have no use for any religion that does not liberate the human mind to ask great questions. I am appalled by any religion that pretends to have firm, final and absolute answers.

That giant thinker Robert Ingersoll gives us our final word:

“If a man today would follow the teachings of the Old Testament, he would be a criminal.
If he would strictly follow the teachings of the New Testament, he would be insane.”

Article printed from Toward the Mystery: http://williamedelen.org

URL to article: http://williamedelen.org/archives/2923

# posted by Ed Coletti : 9:52 AM 2 comments

Wednesday, November 02, 2011

Santa Rosa Colors/The Real "This Land is Your Land"/Steve Jobs on Death/

(P1) Poetical

Beautiful Colors struck me in this Nov. 2 photo of the tent village at Occupy Santa Rosa

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(P2) Political

Protest Also Is Patriotic (but what happened to Woody's words?)
Note the missing ones in blue!

This Land Is Your Land
Words and Music by Woody Guthrie

This land is your land This land is my land
From California to the New York island;
From the red wood forest to the Gulf Stream waters
This land was made for you and Me.

As I was walking that ribbon of highway,
I saw above me that endless skyway:
I saw below me that golden valley:
This land was made for you and me.

I've roamed and rambled and I followed my footsteps
To the sparkling sands of her diamond deserts;
And all around me a voice was sounding:
This land was made for you and me.

When the sun came shining, and I was strolling,
And the wheat fields waving and the dust clouds rolling,
As the fog was lifting a voice was chanting:
This land was made for you and me.

As I went walking I saw a sign there
And on the sign it said "No Trespassing."
But on the other side it didn't say nothing,
That side was made for you and me.

In the shadow of the steeple I saw my people,
By the relief office I seen my people;
As they stood there hungry, I stood there asking
Is this land made for you and me?

Nobody living can ever stop me,
As I go walking that freedom highway;
Nobody living can ever make me turn back
This land was made for you and me.

Steve Jobs On Living "The Final Day"

Here is that portion, most inspiring to me, from Steve Jobs' 2005 commencement address to the graduating class at Stanford

When I was 17, I read a quote that went something like: "If you live each day as if it was your last, some day you'll most certainly be right." It made an impression on me, and since then, for the past 33 years, I have looked in the mirror every morning and asked myself: "If today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today?" And whenever the answer has been "no" for too many days in a row, I know I need to change something.

Remembering that I'll be dead soon is the most important tool I've ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything – all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure – these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.

About a year ago I was diagnosed with cancer. I had a scan at 7.30 in the morning and it clearly showed a tumour on my pancreas. I didn't even know what a pancreas was. The doctors told me this was almost certainly a type of cancer that is incurable and that I should expect to live no longer than three to six months. My doctor advised me to go home and get my affairs in order, which is doctor's code for "prepare to die". It means to try to tell your kids everything you thought you'd have the next 10 years to tell them in just a few months. It means to make sure everything is buttoned up so that it will be as easy as possible for your family. It means to say your goodbyes.

I lived with that diagnosis all day. Later that evening I had a biopsy, where they stuck an endoscope down my throat, through my stomach and into my intestines, put a needle into my pancreas and got a few cells from the tumour. I was sedated, but my wife, who was there, told me that when they viewed the cells under a microscope the doctors started crying because it turned out to be a very rare form of pancreatic cancer that is curable with surgery. I had the surgery and I'm fine now.

This was the closest I've been to facing death, and I hope it's the closest I get for a few more decades. Having lived through it, I can now say this to you with a bit more certainty than when death was a useful, but purely intellectual, concept:

No one wants to die. Even people who want to go to heaven don't want to die to get there. And yet death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be, because death is very likely the single best invention of life. It is life's change agent. It clears out the old to make way for the new. Right now the new is you, but some day not too long from now, you will gradually become the old and be cleared away. Sorry to be so dramatic, but it is quite true.

** This breaks the first rule of contemporary American culture – never talk about death. Work out, lose weight, don't smoke, eat carefully. It's a wonderful, liberating break from that infantile, stultifying convention. One wonders if it made his audience shift nervously in their seats. **

Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Don't be trapped by dogma – which is living with the results of other people's thinking. Don't let the noise of others' opinions drown out your own inner voice. And, most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.

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# posted by Ed Coletti : 8:52 AM 4 comments

Friday, September 30, 2011

Bianca with Barrack/Ehret on Poets vs Fascism/DiStasi/Philosophy Cartoon/

(P1) Political

President Obama and My Grandniece Bianca Ashong

Exclusive: From my (Ed Coletti's) niece, Lucia Brawley September 16, 2011

Bianca and I went to see the President speak in Alexandria at an amazing high school with formidable students, some of whom hold their own patents. He signed the Patent Reform Act into law. He spoke about the youth present as the future and then gave Bianca a special shout out: "And this little guy, too!" Later, she got to meet him and I told him that her dad and I had met on his last campaign. He noted pointing at her lovely Afro locks, "I used to have the same hair!"

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Get the Money Out of Politics

Please consider signing this petition toward a constitutional amendment with the following wording

"No person, corporation or business entity of any type, domestic or foreign, shall be allowed to contribute money, directly or indirectly, to any candidate for Federal office or to contribute money on behalf of or opposed to any type of campaign for Federal office. Notwithstanding any other provision of law, campaign contributions to candidates for Federal office shall not constitute speech of any kind as guaranteed by the U.S. Constitution or any amendment to the U.S. Constitution. Congress shall set forth a federal holiday for the purposes of voting for candidates for Federal office."

(P2) Philosophical

Bay Area Poet Terry Ehret contributes this terrific prose poem upon the occasion of 100 Thousand Poets For Change Day - September 24, 2011.

How Fascism Will Come

“When facism comes to America it will be wrapped in the flag and carrying a cross.”

—attributed to Sinclair Lewis

When fascism comes, it will greet us with a smile. It will get down on its knees to pray. It will praise Main Street and Wall Street. It will cheer for the home team. It will clap from the bleachers when the uninsured are left to die on the street. It will rally on the Washington Mall. It will raise monuments to its heroes and weep for them and place bouquets at their stone feet and trace with their fingers the names engraved on the granite wall and go on sending soldiers to die in the mountains of Afghanistan, in the deserts of Iraq. It will send doves to pluck out the eyes of its enemies, having no hawks to spare.

When fascism comes, it will sit down for tea with the governor of Texas. It will pee in the mosques from California to Tennessee, chanting, “Wake up America, the enemy is here.” It will sing the anthems of corporatization, privatization, demonization, monopolization. It will be interviewed, lovingly, on talk radio. It’ll have talking points and a Facebook page and a disdain for big words or hard consonants. It won’t bother to read. It will shred all its books. It will lambast the teachers and outlaw the unions.

When fascism comes, it will look good. It will have big hair, pressed suits, lapel pins. It will control all the channels. It will ride in on Swift Boats. It will sit on the Supreme Court. It will court us with fear. It will woo us with hope. When fascism comes, it will sell shares of itself on the stock market. It will get rich, then it will get obscenely rich, then it will stop paying taxes. It will leave us in the dust. It will kick our ass. It won’t have to break a sweat to fool us twice. It will be too big to fail.

When fascism comes to America, it will enter on the winds of our silence and indifference and complacency. And on that day, one hundred thousand poets will gather. In book stores and libraries, bars and cafes, in their houses and apartments, in schools and on street corners, they will gather. In Albania, Bangladesh, Botswana, Bulgaria, Chile, China, Czech Republic, Finland, Guatemala, Hungary, Macedonia, Malawi, Qatar, crying, laughing, screaming. They will wrap the sad music of humanity in bits of word cloth and hang them, like prayers, on the tree of life.

Terry Ehret

September 23, 2011

Note: This poem is woven with images and fragments of rants and blogs and online articles I found when I googled the Sinclair Lewis quote. These appear in Italics.

Ed Coletti's latest collection of poems When Hearts Outlive Minds now available at Amazon.

Nice From Lawrence DiStasi

Ed Coletti is a poet from Santa Rosa (originally New York) who has run two poetry-reading series, SoCoCo and Poetry Azul there. Like most poets, his life has varied widely from service in Vietnam to the Summer of Love in San Francisco to advanced degrees at SF State and Sonoma State to teaching to publishing to counseling. These days he also derives great enjoyment from painting—samples of which can be seen on www.flickr.com/photos/edcolettipaintings.

In this collection of his poetry, Coletti tends to concentrate on elegy, probably because the book is shot through with memories of his father’s decline and death. The poems are contemplative but not heavy, sad but not saddening as they mull over the inevitable passage of time, our power and us with a lightness of touch that reminds in some ways of his paintings. Coletti’s is a way of thinking and writing that can lament loss while simultaneously reminding us of its defining role in the rhythm of life. Here, for one example, is the poem, “Befriending Death.”

As with death himself
I too sit close
to my father—
death all too close
I breathe hot to his cold
jealous we must share
my father, me exhaling,
death inhaling
No contest,
just a rhythm

Coletti also runs two blogs: http://edcolettip3.blogspot.com., and his ‘No Money in Poetry’ blog. Worth checking out.

Lawrence DiStasi

Lawrence DiStasi is an editor, writer, and instructor at UC Berkeley Extension’s Fall Freshman Program and has been the project director of the traveling exhibit Una Storia Segreta: When Italian Americans Were ‘Enemy Aliens’, since 1994. He is author of Mal Occhio: The Underside of Vision (North Point Press, 1981) and Dream Streets: The Big Book of Italian American Culture (Harper & Row, 1989). He is president of the American Italian Historical Association’s Western Regional Chapter.

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# posted by Ed Coletti : 8:39 AM 11 comments

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

Bizarro/Maria de los Angeles/Bill Edelen/Happy 20th Joyce & Eddie/Honest Abe/

(P1) Poetical

Maria de Los Angeles Art

Maria just finished one year at the prestigious Pratt Institute in New York (with all A's in her courses). She is definitely on her way to becoming a significant artist, surely, one to watch. This young artist is self-sustaining, working many jobs during her enrollment. She needs additional funds for the next semester. See her Gallery here, and then contact Maria at either mdelosangeles88@gmail.com or delosangelesfineart@yahoo.com

Comment or Read Comments Here on any of the above or below. Log in under "Name/URL," (it's easy). Just the name (don't worry about the URL). Actual name is best, but use what you like. Or email me at edcoletti@sbcglobal.net, and I can post it.

(P2) Philosophical

Why Bill Edelen Lost His Gigs (sad, intriguing, & all-too-true)

Have I ever mentioned that Bill Edelen (center) married Joyce and me on August 10th, 1991? Yes twenty years!

Censorship by Omission

Posted By Bill On Jul 10, 11 @ 3:00 am In Weekly Column

We get all hot and sweaty about censoring movies… music… literature… pornography and language and yet about one of the most important issues in our past history, the religion of our Founding Presidents, censorship is everywhere with the media, literature, teachers and other mediums of communication. I call it CENSORSHIP BY OMISSION, where by silence, religious and historical ignorance and illiteracy is promoted. Why, this silence? As one editor told me: “because it would offend the Christian community among our subscribers.” Even though factual and accurate history, it would offend them.

It reminds me of one of the most brilliant observations of H.L Mencken, the pre-eminent columnist, known as the “sage of Baltimore,” as he wrote for the “Baltimore Sun.” He wrote: “The most curious social convention of the age in which we live is the one to the effect that religious opinions should be respected.”

For over 40 years I have been living with this weird and psychotic omission mentality. The mentality that says, “oh my… we cannot tell the Christians that our first six Presidents were NOT Christian, but DEISTS.” Even though it is in the Encyclopedia Britannica, as well as in quotes from their own mouths and writings, we cannot print that for it would offend the TRUE BELIEVING Christians, even though everything they believe on this subject is wrong. Censorship by Omission.

Let me bring this subject down to my actual experiences of over 40 years in order to give you more vivid examples.

I have been writing for a dozen major newspapers in the Western U.S. and in EVERY paper, members of the Christian community, the nut cases, have done all in their power to get the column cancelled. (Read full article here).

(P3) Political

Flashback to a February 21, 2007 P3

Fondly do we hope, fervently do we pray,
that this mighty scourge of war may speedily pass away.
Yet, if God wills that it continue until all the wealth
piled by the bondsman's two hundred and fifty years
of unrequited toil shall be sunk,
and until every drop of blood drawn with the lash
shall be paid by another drawn with the sword,
as was said three thousand years ago,
so still it must be said
"the judgments of the Lord are true and righteous altogether."

With malice toward none, with charity for all,
with firmness in the right as God gives us to see the right,
let us strive on to finish the work we are in,
to bind up the nation's wounds,
to care for him who shall have borne the battle
and for his widow and his orphan,
to do all which may achieve and cherish
a just and lasting peace among ourselves and with all nations.

- Abraham Lincoln
(from his second inaugural address, March 4, 1865

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# posted by Ed Coletti : 8:00 AM 5 comments

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

One More Shot At Climate Change/More On The Rapture/Hamlet On War/Catherine Sevenau Poem/

Shallow understanding from people of good will is more frustrating than absolute misunderstanding from people of ill will.

- Martin Luther King

(P1) Political

Uh Oh!

Y0u know what? Perhaps what I've been saying is true, that folks don't like to read about changes in the weather, rising of the seas, melting of the ice caps, and all such macabre stuff. So maybe I should stop writing about it and calling for responses about the inevitable. After all, no one really likes "Chicken Little." But how about one more shot at it by way of the United Nations' top climate official Christiana Figueres ?

Tom Zeller Jr.
Tom Zeller Jr. tzeller@huffingtonpost.com

Prospects For Reaching CO2 Benchmark And Curbing Global Warming Grow Dimmer

First Posted: 06/ 3/11 08:52 AM ET Updated: 06/ 3/11 10:01 AM ET
React

United Nations climate chief Christiana Figueres is calling for world leaders to aim for an even lower threshold for rising global average temperatures, even as new figures suggest that the prospects for preventing temperatures from rising beyond a key benchmark grew dimmer in 2010.

According to estimates released this week by the International Energy Agency, global emissions of energy-related carbon dioxide in 2010 were the highest ever measured at 30.6 gigatonnes -- a 5 percent jump over the previous record year of 2008.

The increase follows a decline in global emissions in 2009 that accompanied the economic downturn.

The sizable leap in emissions suggests that limiting rising average temperatures to less than 2 degrees Celsius (3.6 degrees Fahrenheit) -- a threshold that many scientists believe is crucial for preventing runaway and irreversible impacts of climate change -- will be an increasingly elusive goal.

As the IEA explained:

For this goal to be achieved, the long-term concentration of greenhouse gases in the atmosphere must be limited to around 450 parts per million of CO2-equivalent, only a 5 percent increase compared to an estimated 430 parts per million in 2000.

The IEA’s 2010 World Energy Outlook set out the 450 Scenario, an energy pathway consistent with achieving this goal, based on the emissions targets countries have agreed to reach by 2020. For this pathway to be achieved, global energy-related emissions in 2020 must not be greater than 32 [gigatonnes].

For all this math to work out, and for temperatures to keep below the 2-degree Celsius threshold, global energy-related emissions would have to rise less over the next decade than they did over just the last year, according to the IEA.

"Our latest estimates are another wake-up call," said Dr. Fatih Birol, a chief economist at the IEA, in a published statement. "The world has edged incredibly close to the level of emissions that should not be reached until 2020 if the 2-degree Celsius target is to be attained. Given the shrinking room for maneuver in 2020, unless bold and decisive decisions are made very soon, it will be extremely challenging to succeed in achieving this global goal."

The Copenhagen Accord reached in 2009 was the first time that countries involved in global climate talks informally agreed to a goal of limiting rising temperatures to no more than 2 degrees Celsius.

That benchmark was reiterated and placed on a timeline for review at talks in Cancun, Mexico, in December. Some nations, particularly those vulnerable to rising seas, believe even that amount of warming could result in catastrophic climatic changes, with attendant floods, food shortages and other impacts, over the next century.

Speaking at a carbon conference in Barcelona on Wednesday, Figueres, the Executive Secretary of the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change, suggested that the 2-degree benchmark might be too high.

"Two degrees is not enough – we should be thinking of 1.5C," she was quoted as saying by the Guardian. "If we are not headed to 1.5 we are in big, big trouble."

The notion that the opportunity to contain an average temperature increase below a 2-degree Celsius threshold may have already passed is not a new one. Several studies suggest that without some sort of collective action, global temperatures are likely to rise well beyond 2 degrees.

On a per capita basis, most emissions continue to come from the developed world. But the fastest growth in new emissions is coming -- and will continue to come -- from furious economic expansion in the developing world, chiefly in China and India. Without some sort of global incentive structure that would encourage developing nations to forego fossil fuels as they expand their economies, there is increasing pessimism that targets like the 2-degrees Celsius benchmark will prove anything beyond symbolic.

The majority of the energy-related CO2 emissions last year -- 44 percent -- came from from coal, while 36 percent arose from from oil and 20 percent from natural gas, according to the IEA.

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(P2) Philosophical

After and Before and After The Apocalypse Again

So Harold Camping, "bewildered" at blowing another of his end-of-the-world-rapture predictions has set his newest date which is October 21st. That gives me reason here to publish David Madgalene's dad's right-on-the-money piece titled

Christ Comes To California

by David J. Randolph ©2011
More at newwaymediafest@blogspot.com

Christ is coming tomorrow, according to a neighbor in Oakland.
So I went over to check it out.
He was already there.
He stretched out his hungry hand to me on San Pablo Avenue.
She said she was thirsty and asked me to buy her a drink.
He spoke to me in a strange language I couldn’t understand at the airport.
She was rummaging through the clothes bin at Goodwill.
He was in the back seat of the police car going to jail.

I said, this can’t be you. Like this is gold, Jesus .
Where’s the televison crew?

He said, “Do you think that any of these people are going to appear
On the news or talk shows? Let alone American Idol?

But whenever you feed someone who’s hungry and provide water for the
thirsty,
Or welcome a stranger, or help clothe the naked or visit a prisoner,
And support others who do,
I am there.”

So maybe my neighbor is right about the day and wrong about the end.
Like every day Christ comes
and the end is not about blowing up but growing up
and caring for one another.

I reached out my hand
And felt the rapture.

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(P3) Poetical

Ed Coletti's latest collection of poems When Hearts Outlive Minds now available at Amazon.

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Hamlet On War

The imminent death of twenty thousand men,

That, for a fantasy and trick of fame,

Go to their graves like beds, fight for a plot

Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause,

Which is not tomb enough and continent

To hide the slain? (Act 4 Scene 4)

Great-Grandfather Isaac Willard Chatfield 1836-1921 /
Civil War Photo 1861: 2nd Lt., Illinois Infantry

LINEAGES

by Catherine (Clemens) Sevenau

I am.

I am from

Leinen and Nigon,

from Chamberlin and Hoy.

I am from Clemens and Chatfield,

from Surdam, Sumner, Smith, Shade, Mastick and Tomlinson too.

From Matthew, Isaac, Finley and Charles. From Barbara, Eliza, Emily and Nellie.

I am from soldiers who fought for the Union and from a nurse who tended them.

From singers, shopkeepers and teachers, from miners, writers and preachers.

From wagon trains and railroads. From hard work and harder lives.

I am from cattle ranches and farmlands, from sowing and plowing and reaping.

I am from whiskey and ale, from betting and bad odds—and from the fall-out of it all.

I am from Noreen and Carl who were like sin and prayer.

What ever in the world made those two think they could stay together?

I am from bad kidneys, bad backs and bad eyes. And bad blood.

I am from dime stores and small towns.

I am from one-pot meals. From white beans, white bread and white rice.

I am from sweet peas, green peas and green tea.

I am from holy water and rosaries, from Hail Mary and Our Father, from mea culpa.

I am from Little Women and Nancy Drew, from I’m a Little Teapot and the Hokey Pokey.

From pop-beads, pee-wees, paper dolls, pick-up-stix, skate keys, comic books and jacks.

From coin collections and stamp collections and collections of cobalt blue glass bottles.

I am from a long line of sharp-tongued women.

From list makers, rule makers and rule breakers—from umbrage and resentment.

From complaining, carping, and keeping score. From they don’t speak… we don’t speak…

Sometimes it seems impossible for me to do it differently, to break this invidious pattern of ours.

And sometimes it is easier to not even try.

I am from good intentions and unattended sorrows. From courage and hope. And grace.

I am from extended arms, extended kindness and extended family. I am grateful.

I am from a company of strangers—this family—of it, but not in it,

watching from the sidelines, taking notes, sifting through

our story and writing down our history, wondering

what directs us, what pokes us and prods us

and has us be who we are, questioning

how I fit into the whole catastrophe,

and, at the end of the day—

knowing I belong.

I am they.

I am me.

I am.

# posted by Ed Coletti : 9:39 AM 3 comments