ELIZABETH
WONDERING QUANDARY
Have to wonder about people who insist
on giving power to voice of politicians
that constantly weave a web of fear.
on giving power to voice of politicians
that constantly weave a web of fear.
Who search for threads of thinking to spin
to the masses, molesting their minds
with nightmares of only possible futures.
to the masses, molesting their minds
with nightmares of only possible futures.
Who beat the jarring drums of hatred and war
until the ability to think clearly becomes
cheesy, impotent, blind to any calm reasoning.
until the ability to think clearly becomes
cheesy, impotent, blind to any calm reasoning.
Perhaps one can only curl oneself like a dog
in shaft of moonlight, wrap self around own
sense of truth and softly croon aubades
in shaft of moonlight, wrap self around own
sense of truth and softly croon aubades
to the hopeful rising of a sun of peace.
Elizabeth Crawford 12/13/15
Sherry: I especially enjoy the idea of curling oneself like a dog and wrapping ourselves around our own sense of truth. And I love the "hopeful rising of a sun of peace." How did this poem come to you, Elizabeth?
Elizabeth: I was surprised when you chose it as a "peace poem". I was using two wordle lists, and most of the 24 words seemed to want to go in only one direction. For me, the poem is a bit angsty, letting off steam at the current affairs that are all over the news. I was aware that I had used most of the words, and that "peace", "dog", "aubades", and "moonlight" were the only ones left.
I thought of my favorite dog, Macarthur, and what a peace-loving animal he was. Gentle until he thought someone might be threatening me. He'd curl up at my feet, even when I sat outside at night to gaze at the stars and, yes, sing to him. And that's where that final verse came from.
Mac was a tri-colored collie: black, white and gold. I got him from the Humane Society when he was about six weeks old. He was my emotional support system for seven and a half years. He was diagnosed with canine lymph-node leukemia. My vet called him "The Gentleman". I have a few pics of him, but this one is my favorite. The kids next door loved to play with him, tossing a frisbee that he would catch and return to the person who threw it. Except when I was present. Then he'd only bring it back to me. So they'd come and ask if Mac could come out to play, but would I please stay in the house, lol. I still miss him, even after thirty years. Thanks so much for choosing my poem.
Mac
I thought of my favorite dog, Macarthur, and what a peace-loving animal he was. Gentle until he thought someone might be threatening me. He'd curl up at my feet, even when I sat outside at night to gaze at the stars and, yes, sing to him. And that's where that final verse came from.
Mac was a tri-colored collie: black, white and gold. I got him from the Humane Society when he was about six weeks old. He was my emotional support system for seven and a half years. He was diagnosed with canine lymph-node leukemia. My vet called him "The Gentleman". I have a few pics of him, but this one is my favorite. The kids next door loved to play with him, tossing a frisbee that he would catch and return to the person who threw it. Except when I was present. Then he'd only bring it back to me. So they'd come and ask if Mac could come out to play, but would I please stay in the house, lol. I still miss him, even after thirty years. Thanks so much for choosing my poem.
Sherry: The pleasure is mine, my friend. The part about Macarthur is what captured my heart. What a beautiful soul he was! We can learn much from his example. Bombarded as we are by horrific events on the news, I think our spirits want to curl up just like that wise dog, shut it all out and preserve our equilibrium. Inner peace is important, too! I love your poem! Now let's take a look at Sanaa's offering, shall we?
SANAA
Dream of Peace
At night while world is fast asleep;We give our souls their full release.
The scent of daisies and violets blue;
Rose and faded their hopeful hue.
All earthly doubt they thus remove;
Trust and mountains readily move.
Possess a heart and point to prove.
Hope won�t flicker � hope won�t cease
I dream of song � I dream of peace
Dew drops are gems of winter morn;
The calm within the snow and storm.
Oh take me back where I belong;
Love for peace just can�t be wrong.
Time to prosper � time to increase
I dream of song � I dream of peace
Sanaa Rizvi 2015
Sherry: This is very poignant, Sanaa, especially as you are young. "I dream of peace" - as all young people dream, who wish for a peaceful tomorrow, in the midst of the clamor and turmoil of today. What were your thoughts as you were writing this poem?
Sanaa: Thank you so much, Sherry, for featuring my poem. I'm highly honored to be a part of the discussion. I wrote this poem the night when Bjorn spoke about the poem "Caged Bird" by Maya Angelou during Poetics at dVerse Poets Pub. The poem left a huge impact on me as I sat down to write my poem.
While pondering upon the definition of peace, I chose to depict the time of night and early morning in the poem. Its so true isn't it? We feel the most peaceful while deep in slumber, safe and sound in our beds at night, and while waking refreshed the next morning, sipping tea while looking outside our window.
As I pictured this scene, the refrain suddenly popped into my head and thus my poem was complete! To have peace in the world exactly the way we ourselves feel it during the time we are asleep and awakened. Now that would be sublime. Such is my definition of peace - a prayer which soon one day will be fulfilled...Amen.
Sherry: A wonderful dream, arising from those restful moments. Thank you, Sanaa. I hope your dream of peace will be realized one day. There is much around your word "awakened". Humanity needs to awaken from their slumber and set to work realizing our collective dream of peace.
Susie's poem speaks powerfully to the issue of gun control. This may seem like a strange choice for a "peace poem", but there can't be peace while people are shooting each other.
SUSIE
The Cry From Broken Glass
We�re not one bullet
closer to safe.
It doesn�t matter
how much you polish
bigotry with apple pie,
hate always leaves
a blood stain.
Peace cries from the other
side of broken glass,
�Hope will die from your apathy.�
Love is
words and arms
that lift when spirits
struggle to rise
above desperation.
�Susie Clevenger 2015
Sherry: "Hope will die from your apathy." Yes. I love the words and arms
lifting those who "struggle to rise above desperation." So well expressed,
Susie. Tell us about this poem, won't you?
Susie: My poem, 'The Cry from Broken Glass', comes from my agony over
loud voices declaring a gun is the answer to violence, or, should I say, the
sentiment, "a good guy with a gun" is the answer. I have long expressed my opposition to the mass ownership of firearms, with little or no regulations.
I have never been to war. I didn't think I would have personal knowledge
of one soul here in the States who has died from a bullet, but I know five,
four from murder and one from an accidental gun discharge.
When a society decides every citizen should own a gun, how long will it be
before chaos and anarchy will become the norm? There are fewer avenues
to disarm words. Negotiation an discussion of differences is not on the table
these days.
Only love can diffuse the power of hate. I constantly search my own soul
to root out anger that would keep me from giving love and compassion to
my fellow human beings.
Sherry: Susie, this is an important conversation that really needs and
deserves a much wider audience. The concept that peace can ever be
achieved by war, or that guns ensure safety, is archaic, as we have already sufficiently proven.
Soon after the first poem, Susie posted a profound prayer for peace,
peace from the inside out, so moving that I thought I would include it here
as well. Contemplating peace seems a good way to greet a brand new
Year of Possibility.
'Tis the season
of trees burning bright.
of trees burning bright.
Let my words be strung
from limbs reaching
higher than the noise
baiting hate.
from limbs reaching
higher than the noise
baiting hate.
May Love be etched
into the silver of my tears
so it will spill into
my voice to water hope.
into the silver of my tears
so it will spill into
my voice to water hope.
Susie Clevenger 2015
Sherry: It's what we do, as poets, isn't it? Using our voices, our words,
"to water hope." Thank you, Susie, Elizabeth and Sanaa, for your poems,
and your powerful voices, as we begin another year of writing our way
through 2016 together.
An interesting beginning to the new year, my friends.....do come back
and see who we talk to next. Who knows? It might be you!
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