"One is left with the horrible feeling now that war settles nothing; that to win a war is as disastrous as to lose one." Agatha Christie

Peace Slept by J. Lorian Young (69)

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

The jewel shone brightly,

upheld by the breath of the Universe

in its orbit around the sun.

She wept. And a river overflowed.

What is it now? she cried,

her voice thunder in the mountains.

Again the fever was high

and the child lay shivering

in his cradle.

Each time he seemed stronger,

able to survive,

the infection renewed;

wracking his small body,

wetting the sheets on which he lay,

destroying his strength

and her resolve.

It came from the jewel;

her emerald,

green and blue and glistening

in its orbit.

It was her very body,

transformed, polluted,

poisoning her baby

with every feeding.

It was the infection.

It was Legion.

It was Mankind!

Why? she sobbed,

as she held the dying child

to her breast.

She had given them everything.

Had she not made the earth fruitful?

Had she not given them a garden?

Was there not water to drink,

and air to breathe;

didn’t darkness always give way

to the light?

Wasn’t there fire to warm them,

gentle springs to cool them?

Wasn’t there a cornucopia of delights

on which to stuff themselves?

Wasn’t there enough for them all?

Then why?

Why were they never contented?

Why did they behave like dogs

afraid another has a bigger bone

from a better cut of meat,

and willing to die for the conquest

all the while missing the point?

How could they be so stubborn,

so obtuse?

How could they keep offering

up their beautiful, healthy children

as sacrifice to Carnage;

holding their very education

as a bribe to serve…if they live;

feeding their machine

with the blood of their immortality…

stroking the ego of heroics

while ignoring the courage of conviction.

Promising freedom through service,

when the only true freedom

lie dying in her arms.

The baby stirred,

his eyes wide open,

and the heavens were in them.

“Don’t give up on me Mother,”

her heart told her,

“for I am their only hope,”

And he drifted off

into a deep and troubled sleep.

she screamed,
and volcanoes overflowed
and the earth quaked.

And the battles raged,

and the soldiers died.

And the children were without parents.

And the parents were without children.

And azure hues turned to crimson

as blood flowed into the ground.

While, cradled in his mother’s arms,

Peace slept.

© J. Lorian Young
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The Monster by J. Lorian Young (68)

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

It stirs and gives a mighty yawn
and opens one reptilian eye
then slithers out to face the dawn
awakened by a battle cry.
'Tis War that rears it's ugly head,
it's feasting ground the battle field;
painting foreign soils red
as talons crush what will not yield.
For no one ever wins but War,
the blood soaked ground its one conquest.
Then, when our souls can bear no more,
it crawls back to its hole to rest.
How many more must die in kind?
How many mothers eyes must weep
before we have presence of mind
to kill this monster while it sleeps?
© J. Lorian Young
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the cost of war (67)

Friday, July 17, 2009

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Oh My Majesty by Diane (66)

Wednesday, July 08, 2009

Your crowning spires
Your towering glories
Of glass
And steel
You have stolen
The deer that roamed these hills
Before you leveled them to make
Roads of concrete
You've sired the ghettos
And molded men into vagrants
Their ladies
Are now roaming the streets
Looking for recyclable trash
Or pinning notes on doors offering
To clean the offices
To fluff the carpet
For your expensive shoes
To walk on!
Walking to your desk
Phoning to make another
Deal to develop
More human waste
Your deal with those who will give
The nod much like the
Wild mustard nods...
Nodding to me this morning...
It agreed that it was perfectly fine for all
The tiny Finches to nest
In the near-by willows.
It nodded that it heard the
Trees crash when they
It nodded that it did hear
The crack of the
Eggs the birds had laid
And it
Nodded that
That 'yes, it's sad' there's no
When the abortion of their babies takes
Place - no controversy, as to
Whether it was legal
Moral, or right
To kill
Unborn Robins!
The token playgrounds;
The basketball poles
The nets that hang
Still hang while you
The homeless
At the same time!
The nets swing - rotted from rain
And sun
The wind blows the truth
It shreds the cotton
As you shredded the lives of so
Many now
Chain-link walls are twisted; bent - backs are broken
Like the bottles from the near-by bar
Where the unemployed spend their checks
And welfare dollars
Because they'll never make
Enough to get out
So why not watch the bubbles
Take their troubles
Up to the sky
Like smoke spirals
From your
Industrial chimneys!
And where is the land that grew the food
You dehydrate and package
So you can send to the victims
Of foreign wars
You started to insure
Your energy resources
That fuel our cars, trains, planes, and
Future wars?
The baby is in a cardboard box
Maybe abandoned
Or maybe just a cradle in the corner
Of the cold-water flat
The cereal is in the cardboard box
But there are little cartoon characters
To cut out
And a toy to play with
While mom is out mopping
And dad is out sweeping!
The cardboard box carries the paper
And the news
Gets printed
On that paper
That paper tells of sorrow
That paper tells of prosperity
That paper burns nicely
When you add a few sticks
So you can warm your hands
By firelight
Before you go to sleep
On the streets!
The cardboard box
Makes a great shelter
If it once housed a refrigerator
For the appliance store
The cardboard box is my boat if I believe it to be;
My car is my coffin if I don't find a warm blanket
For the night
And no one knows my name!
The birds and I cry; the Golden Rod and I nod together
The mist still seeks me out
Though it has to bend and
Stretch harder now that
The buildings block its path!
The morning sun is reddened by pollution
Yet it glows in my heart
And the music I hear
Is not coming from your newly-built symphony hall; the
Art's Center exhibits - no painting as real to me
As the one pervading my pathway
While I walk over
To smell that April violet that somehow found a reason,
And a way
To bloom!
Diane Stirling-Stevens
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waxing and waning by betmo (65)

Sunday, June 14, 2009

early morning sun
rises upon america's
waning empire
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life after birth by betmo (64)

Thursday, June 04, 2009

precious, unborn babes
murder done in saving's name-
while elders languish
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The Planet of Trees by Diane (63)

Friday, May 29, 2009

It's almost trite to tease
And write as I please
A simple poem; nothing complicated
No fancy words - you won't be inundated
With glorious efforts to make you seek
A meaning to this prose
That doesn't require you to 'suppose'
Simply notice what rhymes with 'trees'
Are words like 'breeze' that sometimes
Chills - we even 'freeze' when the wind blows strong
And we admire the trees who stand so strong
They don't fight; bicker, kill or complain
About not being more beautiful or whine because they're plain
They give resource and life to those who cut them down
The birds' nests forever are their seasonal crown
We build log homes; we build wooden boats
We make fences to confine our horse and goats
We carve them into totems; we hang wires from their poles
We think nothing of destroying them as if they had no souls
But when I seat myself under a sprawling willow
I look at the the sky from my down-filled pillow
I like the stars when they peek through the trees
I find my heart so put at ease
I find such a marvelous peace
..........among the trees.
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America's Favorite Pastime by Spadoman (62)

Friday, May 29, 2009
round circle

(sung to national anthem tune)

Oh say, can you see it?
I know light is dim
It’s early in the morning
That’s our flag still standing

After all the fighting and shelling.
The bombs dropped all around
And the damn thing still stands
We saw it last night

We watched all the night long
In the glare of the bombs
Now it waves the same way
‘Cept we start wars and kill kids

Hard to have pride when the truth is out
While holding slaves and killing indigenous people

We’ve learned our history
Land of the free and home of the brave.

Play Ball!
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A Walk In The Dark, Dark Night by Time (61)

Thursday, May 28, 2009


At dusk, the fog rolls in just as the Sun hits the horizon.
Making the sky a grayish green, like an ancient plague from God.
I look down the valley of rolling hills, and see nothing.
There are no stars, there is no Moon.
The wet air chills to the bone.
As I walk, it's like walking through a cloud. The quiet is eerie.
The birds are asleep, the animals too.
The creatures of the night have decided to stay home.
I have my mission. I gave my promise to my loved ones.
Strangely, I'm enjoying the murky atmosphere.
There is a restfulness to it, that comforts me.
Still, I dream of sitting in front of a roaring fire,
my dog at my side.
I have reached the graveyard.
The fog seems to be coming out of the ground.
I can hardly see three headstones ahead of me.
The rain starts to fall, like a spray bottle mist.
I hear the Moody Blues in my head.
But all I can think about is my twin brother, who now, is dead.
My shock is gone. There are no more tears.
But the memories flood my mind, unchecked.
The burial is in 16 hours.
My job, to set the simple identifying ground stone,
which I made myself.
Then to cover the hole so it won't be water filled by burial time.
It's raining harder now, but I do my simple, dreary tasks.
From dust, to dust?
He will be going back to be part of the Earth again.
The Earth will engulf him, for it's own purposes.
He was a good man, but I'm not one for saintly eulogies.
I start back. The rain has washed away most of the fog.
The mud is thick now, making my legs tired.
In all this dreariness, I feel good.
The seemingly simple but important task for the family is done.
The weather has matched the atmosphere of the night.
Tomorrow the Sun will be shining.
I will stand in the same place I stood tonight.
I will think good thoughts then,
but tonight I walk in the dark, dark night.
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