Two Poems Against War

The war in Afghanistan - photo from yeahisaidthat.com

People on the planet

are on the move.

Fleeing political persecution

below

and bombs above,

it's hard to prove

which is which,

but it all must feel the same.

It all means flight;

the faces all wear pain;

row upon row

of displaced people

huddled against

the cold of night

or walking in the rain,

holding hands and helping,

foul weather friends,

they straggle

across borders,

to line up under tarps

and wait for this

nightmare

of human folly

to end.

The bombs rain down

"to keep their country safe"

the Suits all say.

But, their homes

in rubble around them,

under an exploding sky,

they can probably be forgiven

for not appreciating the "help"

or understanding why.

Three American lives

are imprisoned

and at risk

and governments mobilize

to talk,

all grave of face,

while thousand upon thousand

other human lives

are for years

displaced,

the "casualties of war",

another war

to Keep Freedom Safe

but safe for who?

As if we ever knew.

How did it come to be

that dropping bombs

became the way

to peace?

Old women

weeping in the mud

on my tv,

their normal lives

suspended

for the duration,

Tomorrow a questionable part

of the equation,

Today

a nightmare

dreamed by

an entire nation,

from which they cant

awaken.

People on the planet

are on the move.

Once more

long lines of

the dispossessed

cross borders

into lands that

do not want them.

Memories of

World War Two

come back to haunt them.

It seems the more technology

we gain,

the more shared pain,

the less we understand

the sacredness

of living,

and our true purpose

here

which is for giving.

Across blue springtime skies

jets soar like swallows

dropping bombs

in all the hidden hollows

that on-screen

are portrayed

like video games

the Big Boys play,

that carefully do not show

the human lives

scrabbling among the rubble

down below.

From space,

we look so pretty:

blue and white,

mountain ranges and water

spread about for our delight.

The bombs,

and all the misery,

are ours.

War is Man's invention:

the Suits, in all their might,

juggling their powers,

have created

one more disaster

that can never

be made right.

From above,

the Divine Source

that gave us

life on earth

must regret

entrusting to us solely

a gift of so much worth,

must be waiting for us to

finish ourselves off

so life can start again

somewhere more holy.

**********************

Deep in the

hidden caverns

of Mother Earth

moving from place

to distressed place

are Peaceful Beings

whose soul/sole purpose

is to beam Peace

upon the Planet

keeping it in

its natural cycles

and rotations

while other men

play war games

with the population.

These Beings

focus all their

energy

on peace

to help the centre hold

against the onslaught

of human error

that topples life

in place upon place

into distress and terror

across the embattled face

of Mother Earth,

weeping under

the crash of bombs

-peace by innuendo?-

released by young men

pushing buttons

the way that only yesterday

they played

Nintendo.

It is all human folly,

the result of a world

gone mad

pursuing the Myth of More:

more Things,

more Land, more Power,

from a world

of finite resources.

We squeeze and squeeze:

just a little bit more,

just let me have mine

and then we'll talk

conservation:

up ahead somewhere

other generations

can pull in their belts.

Just this little bit more

wont hurt,

no one will even

feel it.

The irony being

that in five minutes

the sky can rain down bombs

and we'll be forced to

hit the road

with only the clothes

on our backs,

all our Stuff

reduced

to what we can pack.

Bombs that rain so

Freedom can prevail?

Do the refugees believe?

Or do they flee the bombs

as much as they wish to be free?

Politics mere empty chatter

to the mass of humanity

that's seething

across the barren plains,

as sheer survival

boils down to

simply breathing.

The placid earth

waits silently below

for man to get a grip

and let his inner guidance flow.

For somewhere deep inside

we Know.