“If you want to end the war then instead of sending guns, send books. Instead of sending tanks, send pens. Instead of sending soldiers, send teachers.” ~ Malala Yousafzai (17 year-old Noble Peace Laureate)
tawny moon, an evening grace,
a calm drapes itself on the dwindling day
the mystic mountains, pristine, rise high above
an earthy base, the wizard Merlin’s realm
with memories of a green and primal past …
a lively Peace …
visits us on the briny spray, delights
at the meeting of land and sea
at rhythms of ocean against the shore
as waves drift in and out, fling and toss
stop, start, begin again and then again
splashing, salt of a mother’s tears
a liminal hour
capricious Peace …
see the moon incised, a holograph
from wind-whipped edges of the Earth,
read reports of valour and cowardice
…….the blight of insanity
…………..the naked lives
jarring, the morning dispatch
tragedies, under the heel of depravity
. . .guns, bombs, drones
...........psychopaths, forever with us
people fleeing the lacerations of their plight
Oh! the crushing horror of their fright
“In a world gushing blood day and night, you never stop mopping up pain.” Aberjhani,
(Today, as it happens, is the 100th Anniversary of the Birth of Nelson Mandela.)
Peace! Capricious. Unevenly distributed.We can be the peace but what do we do about the psychopaths? What do we do about the young rudimentary souls who know not what they do? - And sadder still, they sometimes know exactly what they are doing. - How do we mop up the blood? How do we hang on to our hope? This is my essential challenge to poets today for The Poet by Day, Wednesday Writing Prompt. The poems contributed in response to this prompt will be considered for inclusion in the September issue of The BeZine, themed social justice. (The subtheme is: be the peace.)
We don't have to be poets or artists of any type (though my theory is that at core we are all artists) to contemplate and appreciate the peace that so many of us enjoy and the pain and disruption that tragically consumes innocent lives each day.
While the daily news feeds our sadness, fears and hopelessness, you and I are THE base for joy. If you are reading this, it is likely that you are one of the millions of reasoned and compassionate human beings whose natural instinct is for justice and respect. This weighs heavily in that cleansing fire I like to call waging the peace.
There is joy in the fact that I and many others live in a time and place were we can put out a call for artistic work intended to raise the collective conscience, a call to move on to the preferable peace of compromise, however imperfect. It's a beginning and we have - as wise folks perennially tell us - to start somewhere. Therein lies our hope and grace and our ability to keep on keeping on.
What an extraordinary thing it is that we have the means, the inner sight, the backbone, and passion for this good work. My hope and strength comes from the poets, writers, clerics, readers and artists of every type and from every corner of the world who come together virtually for each edition of the zine, for the 100,000 Poets (and friends) for Change, Global each year on the fourth Saturday of September, and for all the variety of such peace-inspiring efforts that go on all over the world, even in those places where speaking truth to power is a costly venture.