Rocking Chair

By | Asking the Question, Contemplation, Contemplative Journey, Natural World, Poetry, Spirituality, War, Wisdom/Compassion | No Comments

I am one who likes sit and dream
Or hold a child while I read to her.
I have supposed only a mother might invent a rocking chair,
To meet the need to lull a child to sleep
In an easy gentle way.
Who made this chair?
It was long ago, that I know.
Did he work long hours in a factory
with mullioned windows and dim light?
Did he take time to rock a child to sleep at night?
This chair has been with me many years.
I was the lucky one to find it
On the third floor of a Salvation Army store.
The leather seat, then torn and dusty,
is now repaired with autumn-colored plaid
To match the golden oak.
I have read my children many books in this chair
Rocked them to sleep in my arms.
That has made my life and theirs
Something worth living.

Imperial Soldiers

By | Ahimsa, Asking the Question, Contemporary Issues, Current Issues, Nonviolence, Poetry, Saying the Unsayable, Social Justice, War | No Comments

How easy to end up
A soldier in a strange land,
the empire dressed to kill.
Freedom isn’t found like
that. Too late to question,
You only seek to survive.
Those praying for your safe return
go about their business,
While you do the business of those
who have played you.

How many villages must be laid waste?
How many cities rubbled, bridges bombed,
connections severed,
While those who really seek freedom
cry out in pain for a place at the table,
denied them. Cursed as they are to be born
in lands of plenty, and to have none of it.
They keep rising up and are shot down
in their own streets.

How can it be said,
that the empire is fighting for its freedom
When it is only taking
What it wants from others?
Do you see what I mean by asking the question?

In war, the poor keep killing the poor,
With no recognition of common plight.
Those who survive, return home
Dragging their medals. They roam the streets,
Forgotten, empty shell-shocked casings filled with
a story too sad to tell.