Now Shaking, Now Crying

We should be weeping and wailing
for the many dead and dying,
the wounded and crushed,
people pounded in Gaza
for two weeks of hell,
their dear children on fire,
grandfathers gone mute,
soul weary with sorrow,
and I watch the news,
from my brown floral chair,
sit still unbelieving,
now shaking, now crying.

We should rail and rant
against Israeli attackers
and the American apologists
who march in lock step
wherever they’re taken
by stale guilt and groupthink,
lobbyists who lord over
Congress of scant courage
and weapons dealers poisoned
by greed’s bad serum,
the scum and scourge
of toxic chicanery.

It’s so goddamn mistaken
to delude ourselves further
that horrific acts
of pure retribution,
preemptive warfare,
raw hateful violence,
or antiseptic killing
dissociated from reality,
thus dangerously
chilling,
of dividing always in two,
can ever hope to offer
the tender bud
of new healing
into this insane
situation.

We should imprison at once
armament sellers of no conscience,
these merchants of death
who kill strangers by proxy,
who supply the fearful
the vengeful
with the blood curdling means
to maim and to drain
the world and its people
of its promise and innocence,
its youth and its elders,
its plainspoken simple
and goodhearted ones.

I moan tonight for the shards of pain,
some sadly bought
with our dirty dollars,
inflicted by the numb patriots
of addiction
and their two-headed chimera
of false strength and control
onto refugees caged and unseen,
frightened, bewildered,
enraged as well,
who like their human counterparts
imprisoned in fear
across arbitrary borders
and of a different religion
only wish to stroll easy
in safety and in peace,
to village market
for green olives,
good bread
and dried fruit,
a bunch of fresh
bright flowers
to place in cool
sweet water
inside a bright oval vase,
yes, it shines like sunlight
on a small kitchen table
where the mischievous son
gone to hospital today
often painted and ate,
teased friends,
sat smiling,
laughed loudly,
spilled his milk
and played.

Although the madness
seems eternal,
unstoppable infernal,
we must not ignore it
but with skill
and compassion
deplore what
we all do to demonize
those others unlike us.
I pray and implore you,
let’s talk,
learn to listen,
give up guns
yield missiles
cease attacking,
link our arms together,
as feet start to share
the same forward track,
imagine people
with different language,
songs and life stories,
belief systems diverse,
as sisters and brothers
neighbors and cousins
who all must walk on,
after our first
struggling
full breaths
and wild
lusty births,
this beautiful
fragile
rich soil,
love’s resource
and true depth,
the one
spacious and precious,
our dear mother
earth.