I wrote this straight to art paper before I went to sleep the other night. Iraq, US-backed Israel vs. “we already bombed the hell out of the Arab world already” Palestine. Children deserve better. All of us deserve better.
(800) 456-1111, toll-free number for the White House.
Linked to Poets United, Poetry Pantry, free write and who knows what hijinks any one of us will be up to at any given moment? Give it a try! Also, although I missed the dverse deadline by TWO DAYS (!), I still want to give you the link for this dverse “small world” PROMPT. There are great things happening at many prompt sites around the WWW (Wonderful World of Words); this is one of my favorite places. That it is called a “poets’ pub” can only enhance! Peace, Amy
Peace, the Unknown Commodity
Our world has been at war
since the eighth decade. EIGHTH
Constant bickering plus weapons
equals humans either dead or “victorious”
Where is the victory in bloody children
lying in the street next to their dead mothers?
Will it take violent protest to end war?
That would be quite ironic, but
marching hasn’t done it; even Lennon’s
music was decried as hippie drivel
All we are saying is give peace a chance
And yet the war machine goes on
A peaceful world takes LOVE and respect
A peaceful world means children go to school
A peaceful world means women are not battered
and adults are given meaningful work
In a peaceful world, the Halliburton crew
and Blackwater would have spare time.
Perhaps they could work on clean energy
and free health care for Americans instead
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Image courtesy of WikiMedia Commons
I know I wrote more about war than peace, but let’s face it, folks. As long as Stale Pale Males (emphasis on stale, as in same old crap) are large and in charge of the military/industrial complex; as long as we are dependent on fossil fuels; and, of course, as long as there are “American Interests” abroad, we will never know peace. “American Interests” is a catch phrase that does not mean people – it means Starbucks in Baghdad and McDonald’s in every nation! Beware the sound byte.
This is for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads’ “Blog 4 Peace” highlight. I am so proud to be a “Toad” and to take part in this wonderful cause. I’m also posting this for dverse Open Mic Tuesday. Peace, Amy
Stealth is Everything
Drone, circling for attach.
Silhouette on desert-blazing moon,
a crooked arc,
soon makes a gaping space
in an Afghan town, bro-
ken
lives
Quivering mouth of a mother
calling for her boy
in this cave that was
his school two minutes ago.
Medics minding limbs
destined for amputation.
Crowd chants a renewed vow
of vengeance, fists in air.
(Dear Mr. President,
Get our troops
the hell out of there.)
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Image from Wikimedia Commons, open license, by Gideon Tsang.
For The Sunday Whirl, where words can be found HERE. Also at my two poetic homes (yes, it’s true, I’m bi-site-ual), Poets United and Imaginary Garden With Real Toads and saving for dverse Open Mic night!
Not much more to say about this, except that IEDs are designed to kill Americans – and if North Korea had oil underground, we’d already have waged another war on them under George W. Bush (may his reign rest in pieces).
Peace. I really mean it. Amy
Heads or Tails
Symbiosis
Play or battle?
Neither realizing
both have scales
and cold blood
More things in common
than not
So it is with the game of war
played out across the globe
The US, the big fat crocodile
Everyone else worldwide
viewed by our military leaders as
slippery, needlekiller snakes
Croc’s jaws are mighty,
but venom has its own power
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Mama Zen’s Words Count prompt at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads gave us several gorgeous scientific images by Maria Sibylla Merian. I chose this because I could not ignore the balance of this drawing; and yet, there’s also an imbalance. So size “matters,” but the lithe serpent has fangs. This could go either way. The huge, well-fed croc (America) seems to have control over the snake (pick a country), but will that be the end? Or shall the snake morph into Medusa, exacting her own revenge… or quagmire? As a tiny scale on that croc, I wish I had some sway, some say, over who the hell is grinding our military jaws in MY name. Both let go, everybody wins. Aren’t we above animal games?
NOTES ON ILLUSTRATOR: Ms. Merian was a woman ahead of her time. She traveled (with her daughter and – GASP! – no male guardian) in 1699 to South America to illustrate wildlife. Click on the “Toads” link to see more of her artwork, which is all public domain. The name of her insect collection, published in 1705, is Metamorphosis Insectorum Surinamensium; however, this is obviously from another collection.
Also posted at my snake-free swamp (in the very best M*A*S*H sense of the word), Poets United. Peace, Amy
Peace and War and Pieces of Human Beings on the Ground
Hiroshima met Fat Man
or rather, Fat Man
sat on Hiroshima,
then swallowed it whole,
including civilians.
Japanese neighborhoods
did not understand the
death knell of “the flash.”
they only saw seared bodies
bobbing on river’s surface.
Ancient remedies could not
damage the damage done to
frail Japanese bodies,
some tattooed with the
pattern of a dress or shirt.
Scientists in America had
mixed opinions; some were
happy with their new-found status
as innovators, adventurers
in the heretofore unknown.
Most others signed a petition,
pleading with the government
to not inflict their dragonbaby
on innocents. They wished
they hadn’t been so clever.
Japan was losing the war;
America claimed the bombing
of Hiroshima and Nagasaki
saved the lives of 100,000 troops –
men who knew the score.
Every life is precious, has
potential to create. There is
no such thing as a just war,
and no war ever creates peace.
It simply withdraws armaments.
Until the next time.
© Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For dverse, where host Mary asked for poems about peace. This may be the odd approach, but I stand by it as a pacifist.
Saw the movie “Black Rain.” Very tough and so moving, it makes a case for the end of nuclear weapons, which America still stockpiles. The movie is must for students of WWII… or for anyone who believes that the US had to drop hydrogen bombs at Nagasaki and Hiroshima. The indelible effects of our awful weapons destroyed entire cities and put countless civilians through hell.
We wept when the Towers went down. But imagine all of NYC leveled, from the Battery to the Bronx. Or even your own town. Leveled by foreigners who had a new toy and wanted to show their supremacy.
I, too, wept when the Towers collapsed – because I knew that war was imminent, despite Bush’s assurances of diplomacy first. And the cost of the current war to Iraqi and Afghani civilians is higher than our own troops. War is an evil act. Why not try peace? Let the war machine bitch all they want. They could be building housing for the homeless instead. Peace, Amy
Following a three-day “manic panic” and the PTSD (Post-Trampoline Stupid Depression!) that followed, I’m back on an even keel. Even tried a new form today, which is the first poem, and answered a Wednesday prompt within 24 hours! Now that’s what I call progress. Peace, Amy
My Blue Plastic Nurse
Compartments are labeled, one for each day
I’m keeping track of keeping track of me
Pill boxes can be fun if you like play
Varied colors bring mental harmony
Blue, turquoise, tangerine, help color me
Curved, tubular, round; all help shape my days
Some score scarred, others numbered clinically
Count it wrong and I’ll be in stupor gaze
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For dverse, the amazing Gemma (an Aussie whose blog is Greyscale Territory)schooled us on the Huitan – basic structure being eight lines of eight or ten syllables, with rhyme scheme A B A B B C B C. A much more instructive post can be found HERE AT DVERSE. My first time with the form, and I must say, it was more fun than I thought! As always, this is also at the blessedly formless, shapeless void of pure poetic love, Poets United. But wait, there’s more!
Greenwich Village, Late 60s
The pulse of Bleecker
measured in bongo bangs
In the Beat poets’ Howls
and comic harangues
That mellow café scene
One coffee took all night
Pressure built over Nam
The Man made a fight
Scene took on substance
as poets and folkies
took on the rhythm
of Guthrie’s Oakies
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For Three Word Wednesday, Beat, Pressure, Substance. Also at my poetic café, Poets United. Coffee’s always on and the conversation is fabulous! Peace, Amy
Sharp Little Pencil 