Poems for Peace

Stirring conversations to bring change

First 6 poems are from Affinity,
published by Finishing Line Press, 2023

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So Politely and Nimbly                                  

They say you cradle creation,
but I think you cannot stand
to hold in hand
such senseless suffering
as we deliver daily
        to the downtrodden,
as we bring to bear
        on innocents of field and forest—
like those luckless lambs
                (of God)
we so politely and nimbly
pierce with petite points
        (after a brief blessing),
                chattering as we chew.

                Expectation                                                           

Snuffling snout,
        wrinkly wattle,
bended ear over amber eye—  
                                        the wee one smiles.
Peace on Earth
        and mercy mild
  only if we love
                like that baby-child.

Third Thursday

Sinews of last summer’s sunflowers
        stood silent,
                contorted,
                        and colorless,
as we walked the golden-gone grass,
                sharing thoughts.

Across the creek,
        we noticed our neighbors—
                also walking,
        though they went along
                under a sheen of shiny black feathers,
                quietly clucking. 

November turned away
        as we traipsed
                over stubbled slopes
                on long legs
                with knobbed knees,
                talking the time
                        as we traveled.

Being There

The neighbors thought their children
        should witness birth,
                but Missy picked our house
                    for birthing,
                         nursing,
                                weaning, 
                                aging.

Across what seemed abundant years,
        I someway felt Missy
                as forever,
                until the day I found myself
        whispering into wispy fur,
                watching mottled eyes mist
                and glaze to gone.

                   I wonder,
               why such ballyhoo
                        over birth
                and yet so little interest
                        in the commitment of caring
                                that lasts a lifetime,
                        which includes being there
                                to speak softly
                                        as spirits grapple
                                                with going?

Sharing Space

I watched you scoot a scurrying spider
        onto a scrap of paper,
into your protective palm,
        then across the hallway
                to rehome her
        under the protective cover
                of our colorful kitchen curtains.

You sheltered that bundle of being
        as we might once have tended
                beady-eyed Bramble Cay melomys,
                grazing quaggas,
                trusting dodos,
                gentle thylacines,
                sleek Baiji dolphins,
                gregarious passenger pigeons,
                solitary black rhinos,
                prehistoric Yangtze sturgeons,
                eloquent dusky sparrows,
                        all of whom we now find to be

missing.

Next 3 poems are from Waterways
published by Finishing Line Press, 2024

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Pantanal Piranha

In a bluish boat on a brown river,
visitors in bright blouses and khaki shorts
peer through bulky binoculars,
      pointing at purple plumes
      and knobby orange knees
before steering to wider waters
      where they dangle rattan rods
            rigged with beguiling barbs.

A fierce pull hoists a frightened fish
      (notorious for tearing teeth),
who has snatched a death-catch
      that slips between incisors
            and out through an eye.

Gasps and squeals of surprise and delight
      supplant the gentle lapping of liquid
                  as I turn my back,
wondering why we are so willfully unaware
      of what is blatantly clear
            in a fish’s eye.

Annelida                                

Frosty fingers snatch another
      (and another)
soft-bodied somebody
      from a water-covered walkway.

Passersby
      pretend not to see.

Boneless beings
      have no eyes,
            no flippers,
                  no fins,
and anyone who would leave them
            (legless and limp)
      in those lingering liquids
is certainly more spineless and unseeing
            than a lovely wee worm.

Stranded Sardine

Such a bountiful beach
      with so many marvels—
            but only one looked back
      through glorious though glazed
            gold and ebony portholes,
      a singularly lovely citizen of the sea,
            so silvery, silent,
                  and still.

I lifted her tenderly.

She was slender, lithe,
      and limp—
her cold scales glistened
      with greens, steely blues,
      and a bit of blossom pink.

The fish fluttered faintly against my fingers.

Startled (by hope)
      I rushed to pitch her seaward.

            She hit the hollow of a curved (and compelling) wave
      and was turned in the tide,
but before she was taken,
      I saw her slight and shining scales
      shimmer in the sunlight
            as she flipped her fins
                  and surged
      into that swirling sea of possibilities.