America,
Do not teach your children
To be proud.
Teach them instead
How all others must live
And breathe
And love
And fly
And dream
In harmony;
How we must all share
The world
Because there is only one
Teach that waste is tragic
Because there is only so much room
Teach that mistakes are both
Good and bad
But no matter what,
They must be learned from.
Teach your children
How to live in peace
How to love all regardless
Of race, creed, and religion
Teach how to respect
Tell them about the good
And the bad
Let them know that they
Can make a difference
That they can reach
Their dreams and goals
But most of all,
Show them always
That you love them and you care
America,
Do not teach your children
To be proud.
There is enough pride
Already.
nevele enin
10,000 dreams were interrupted that day.
10 million hopes lost
And twenty million eyes
Became glued to the scarlet images,
Unwilling, unable to believe.
Our fathers' fathers walked
Amongst the dust
The screams welling in their throats
Destitute, Babylon watched
As her children died
Then, subdued, the twenty million eyes
Turned away
No more to bear
Then sat at silent vigil
In the suddenly bewildering night.
What could they do?
When the initial shock wore away,
The pain was a sharp-bladed knife
That, too, was replaced
The people remembered how to hate
Twenty thousand new dreams later,
We are the ones blowing up buildings...
Some dreams will never be realized,
But more dreams will be lost forever,
Killed midway, destroyed.
The candles sit forgotten,
The cold wicks half-spent
And the smell of sickly-sweet
Dying, decaying flowers
Wafts like so many ghosts
Around the deserted memorials,
Around the hearts
that never knew grief so deep
Retreating to the most quiet,
Loneliest corner of the library
I sit myself apart, to think.
Downstairs in the forgotten room
Where the lights incessantly hum
Where the air is thick
With the old book smell
I go to think
Books are silent company,
Volumes and volumes
Choking ceiling-high shelves
Offering dusty knowledge
From their aging perches,
They're here to think too.
The house burned
Among the trees
Smoldering into the evening
We could see
The billowing smoke
From the highway
And wondered why...
Nature will reclaim
Her ashes
The grass on the playground is course and dead
It's stiff and crunches beneath the feet
Children have trampled it too many times.
But the grass on the way,
Along the riverside
Is still fresh, new, and soft
It is pleasant beneath the soles;
Soon, I will be taking off my shoes
To walk
An Ode to Bread
It was a private cafe
Full of charm on its bustling sidestreet.
My husband and I were shown
To a table in one leafy corner
Where the waiter brought us wine, and
Naturally, perfectly unbidden,
A basket of warm bread.
This caught me by surprise
Although it shouldn't have.
With blessing, we broke
Then, while my husband was
Gleefully engaged in conversation
With another retired navy man
At the table next to ours,
I was glad for the distraction.
Lured away by my thoughts,
I carefully buttered a slice.
This simple staple
Laid on our table, thoughtlessly complimentary,
Was the same food that had
Fed the hungry for centuries.
Ancient mummies of Egypt
Bore teeth with years of wear
From sand and bread.
Petrified Roman rolls
Were discovered alongside the bodies
Of those who'd suffered
Vesuvius' wrath.
All around the wide world,
Nearly everywhere that traces
Of man can be found,
Near them, the ovens for bread
Can also be found,
The two not existing
Without the other.
My husband and the man
Continued their conversation
But I?
Cautiously, anticipatingly...
I took a bite.
On the Same Side
We're all afraid
Afraid to die
To lose a loved one
Afraid of war
Afraid of hunger.
In our own homes,
Lying in our beds at night,
We worry about our children
We worry about the future
We worry
You know,
We're all on the same side
Whether we're in Pakistan
Or Argentina
In the United States
Or the Phillipines.
Why do we fight?
Why do we, really?
Stop the war,
Stop the fright
Reindeer
The magnificent creature
Lay dying,
His great antlers
Like fallen timbers
As he nodded his head
In the snow,
The agony
Vivid in the blazing eyes
I pressed my face
Against the glass
As we passed,
Unaware
Of my own tears
Lifeless
I caught my eye in the mirror
Glinting
And frustrated,
Wondered why my self portraits
Never came out looking like that.
They were always flat renditions
That didn't even stare
Out from the page
Moments of Humility
"Change? Change?"
Asked the little old woman
As I sat enjoying my roastbeef sandwich
In an Ottawa cafe.
Her coat was thick and worn,
The outstretched hand, calloused and rough
Still, she wore a smile on her face
And her beady eyes danced
When I pulled out my wallet
'I'll give her fifty cents,
And if she asks, I'll just say
I have no more.'
Thought I, taking two quarters
And placing them into her palm.
But her smile only broadened gratefully.
Secretly, I watched her.
She went up to the cafe counter
Then sat at a table near mine
With the smallest cup of coffee.
It was then that I realized
She had only one arm
Through tear-filled eyes, I watched.
She put the coffee on the tabletop
Then walked all the way back to the counter.
I saw her count a few last coins
And purchase something more.
It was two saltine crackers,
One single slice of orange cheese between;
The only lunch she could afford.
With a pit-sized lump in my throat,
I got up and walked over
To the smiling woman's table.
Without a word, I emptied the rest
Of my the change from my wallet
Into her one hand.
I heard her thanking me,
But walked quickly away
Her kind smile burned into my memory
And made me so ashamed
That my heart could be so hesitant
And distrustful
When faced by a fellow person in need
