This year, the last Saturday of September, the regular day for the Global 100,000 Poets for Change Events around the world, falls on Yom Kippur, considered the Holiest day of the Jewish religion. Observant Jews around the world are fasting, having spent the Days of Awe leading up to Yom Kippur asking the people in their lives for forgiveness and inventorying their transgressions against Creation. Today, we Jews go to synagogue and ask Creation (G-d) for forgiveness. Another name for Yom Kippur is the Day of Atonement.
First, the order matters: We ask the people in our lives for forgiveness. Then we think how we have acted against the World. Then and only then do we turn to G-d for forgiveness.
Second, saying sorry is not enough, in our tradition. It is a start. In the Jewish tradition, people must also act differently, that is, they must enact the apology with a change in how they are in the world.
Third, human purpose can be understood—in how I have been taught—as working toward Tikkun Olam. Tikkun Olam is the repair or healing of Creation. While there is definitely a range of interpretations that could be made on what this healing entails, it certainly incorporates attention to the physical world as well as the spiritual. These two intertwine and interrelate in such a way as to be inseparable. Social Justice, Environmental Sustainability, and Peace—and writing, the arts, music in service of activism for positive change—are very relevant issues to our human purpose, from this view.
And thus, on the Holiest Day of the Jewish Year, it is appropriate to work toward Tikkun Olam, asking G-d’s forgiveness for all we have done that harms our fellow humans, inventorying our own role, and moving forward with action that shows our genuine desire to change and make things right again.
And, further, as the spiritual and the physical are interrelated, so are all of the arts (literature, art, music, dance, stage, film…), so are all three of the themes: Social Justice, Environmental Sustainability, and Peace.
So this year, on Yom Kippur, we ask you to join in with your contributions from any of the arts—share your efforts toward healing and repair of our World. As you do, remember this, paraphrased from the sages:
Do not despair at the iniquity and injustice of the world in which we live. For today, that is, in this period where injustice, racism, and greed seem to have risen to power, do not give up or give in.
It is not up to us to complete the work of Tikkun Olam, but this does not free us from working toward the healing and repair of Creation. That is, although we may not achieve our goals of a just, sustainable and peaceful world in our lifetime, we must continue to make progress, and in working toward them, the healing of Creation will occur, one poem, one essay, one novel, one painting, one sculpture, one song, one symphony, one performance at at a time…
By action, not words alone, will this be done. If ever there was a time when this action is more needed than others, certainly now is one—Resistance! Activism! Peace! Sustainability! Social Justice!
Instructions for how to participate follow below.
—Michael Dickel, Contributing Editor
Thanks to Jamie Dedes for getting our virtual 100TPC underway. Travel issues left me in the lurch. My apologies. May this introduction partially atone for my tardiness in getting the event going! Instruction on how to participate in today’s event are included below:
“It is from numberless diverse acts of courage and belief that human history is shaped. Each time a [woman or] man stands up for an ideal, or acts to improve the lot of others, or strikes out against injustice, he sends forth a tiny ripple of hope, and crossing each other from a million different centers of energy and daring, those ripples build a current that can sweep down the mightiest walls of oppression and resistance.” ~ Robert F. Kennedy South Africa, 1966
Today under the banner of 100,000 Poets (and friends) for Change (100TPC) people the world over are gathered to stand up and stand together for PEACE, SUSTAINABILITY and SOCIAL JUSTICE.
Here is a sampling of the posters announcing these gatherings.They give you a small idea of how far-reaching this annual global event is and for which we have the work and vision of 100TPC cofounders Michael Rothenberg and Terri Carrion to thank.
Think on this when you are tempted to lose all hope for our species. Remember that—not just today, but everyday—there are ripples and waves and tsunamis of faith and courage crossing borders in the form of poetry, stories, art, music, friendships and other acts of heroism. Hang tough. And do join with us—The Bardo Group Beguines—today to share your own creative work and to enjoy the work of others. All are welcome no matter where in the world you live.
Meanwhile our 100TPC host, Michael Dickel, was caught somewhere between Israel and the American Midwest, so we got off to a late start. Michael will be around during the day today. He did especially want you to have the link to the 100TPC Resist Wall, where you can post activist and resistance poetry today or any day.
POST YOUR WORK HERE TODAY
To share your poems, art, photography and music videos for our “live” virtual 100TPC today, please use MisterLinky for url links. Just click on the icon below. You can also simply paste your complete work or the url into the comments section. Remember the themes are peace, sustainability and social justice.
To read shared work see the comments section and click on Mister Linky. Enjoy!
On behalf of Michael and the rest of The Bardo Group Beguines
and in the spirit of peace, love (respect) and community,
Jamie Dedes
Managing Editor,
The BeZine
Friendship Lost
We were friends, girls growing
in a time when borders crumbled,
their mortar eaten by memories
of when the world went to war
and our fathers fought for freedom
against proud men who dreamed
of an empire where only fit blond
people were citizens, all others
were slaves, or destined to death.
They fought with weapons now
in museums, died in jungles, deserts,
mountains, fields and plains; some
have no graves, others lie beneath
white stones, remembered by poppies
that grew where their fathers fought.
We thought we would give birth to peace
our bond new no borders, colour
creed or flag, we knew love, hope
but now are rent by those who
build again the borders and empires
our fathers fought, died to destroy.
Carolyn O’Connell – England
(c) September 2017
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Friendship Lost
We were friends, girls growing
in a time when borders crumbled,
their mortar eaten by memories
of when the world went to war
and our fathers fought for freedom
against proud men who dreamed
of an empire where only fit blond
people were citizens, all others
were slaves, or destined to death.
They fought with weapons now
in museums, died in jungles, deserts,
mountains, fields and plains; some
have no graves, others lie beneath
white stones, remembered by poppies
that grew where their fathers fought.
We thought we would give birth to peace
our bond new no borders, colour
creed or flag, we knew love, hope
but now are rent by those who
build again the borders and empires
our fathers fought, died to destroy.
— Carolyn O’Connell, September 2017
Hear Carol read the poem!
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Robin Baldwin has posted a link to her poem, Peace of a Thousand Whales — https://rbaldwin0204.wordpress.com/2017/09/30/peace-of-a-thousand-whales/
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Michael Rothenberg, co-founder of 100,000 Poets for Change, shared this link to his poem, The Trumpeters, in Sensitive Skin: https://sensitiveskinmagazine.com/the-trumpeters-michael-rothenberg/
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COLD STONE
The bitter cold
of grey morning air
seeps into my bones.
The first faint stirrings
of another lonely day
nudge me to wakefulness
and hunger as ever
gnaws at me.
Slowly I open my eyes
to the realisation that
here I lie on the steps
of the High street bank,
closed down now…
just like me
—Grace Galton
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Soldier to Soldier Outside the Church of the Nativity, Bethlehem
DeWitt Clinton, Wisconsin USA
first appeared in Verse-Virtual November 2015
Where Arabs hawk postcards,
and tired pilgrims rest
after prayers to the Christ child,
I walk over to a soldier
who dozes in the Bethlehem heat,
ask if his rifle is an M16.
He’s surprised a tourist
would know such things.
I tell him I carried
a rifle like his
outside Chu Lai
in the Song Chang River Valley,
words I’ve never wanted to say
except now, with this kid.
He looks at me to make sure.
Did I shoot any VC?
Did I walk the boonies?
Did I get any poontang?
Then something he said,
as if his lips, tongue,
teeth, throat moved into slow motion
like tracers drawing a bead
on the enemy—
You’re a hero, he says.
Not really, I try to tell him.
He says Yes, Yes, you’re a hero,
and he smiles, happy to stand next to one,
happy to tell his mother,
everyone at dinner tonight,
who he met today
outside the Church of the Nativity.
What does he know
of the battalion of NVA,
slaughtered with seven batteries
of heavy ground artillery,
a crap shoot, Capt. Willis bragged,
a fucking crap shoot,
we waited and waited
and waited all fucking afternoon
no one had ever
seen that many gooks in the open before.
Another pilgrim in our tour steps
into the bright piazza,
wonders whatever in the world
could we be talking about,
walks over, asks to shoot
a picture of both of us,
one soldier standing next to a hero.
His weapon is in lock and load.
The boy soldier will protect us
from liberators, bombs, random stabbings,
even a stone thrown over a Wall.
Next to him, I smell the stench
all over again,
round after round
pummeling good soldiers
into the soft Asian ground.
I smile for a close up.
He welcomes me home,
my very own parade
my very own hero’s parade.
A few others in our tour
want a picture, too,
a victory parade
here on this tour of the Holy Land
lucky, fucking lucky,
to still have arms, legs,
the summer heat
rising like the stench
of all those boys
their bones lost and forgotten
revived with pilgrimages
back to downed planes
rusting metal parts
quick easy graves
for the useless dead
who always come back
on occasions
where small crowds
gather
for honor and glory.
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Powerful and devastating.
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Yes, both.
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A poem one will never forget.
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Michael Rothenberg and Terri Carrion sending our love to The BeZine friends followers, administrators, editors, founders, contributors. We are 100 Thousand Poets for Change together always!
—Love Michael and Terri
100TPC.org
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Amen! Touched. Thank you, Michael and Terri!
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The first taste
They say it has a specific taste
a kind of ambrosia
a nectar pumped by fairies especially for you
straight from the heaven’s orchards
They say it has a sweetness
more like that poison that entered the Adam’s veins
when he thought he is entitled to bite that apple
right there on that spot, he felt the intoxicating
desire of being God
right there for a second, God was split in two
That was the unforgivable sin…
The boost for all dividing cells…
So, success is a fruit you should never bite
just admire its Godly shape
or else
be prepared to crumble under its heavy curse
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Iulia, so lovely to have you participate and with such a poem. Thank you! xo
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Thank you so much!!! Thank you for inviting me, Jamie!!!
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Anytime. Everytime. 🙂
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Beautiful…
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from The Poetry Foundation, publishers of “Poetry” magazine.
IMAGINE A PEACE-SHELF IN EVERY BOOKSTORE: In May 2009, in a backyard in Portland, Oregon, a few poets and artists found themselves possessed by what appeared to be a simple question: if we were to suggest that bookstores have a “peace shelf” of books, what should it carry? We were in Portland for “Another World Instead: William Stafford Peace Symposium,” and Kim Stafford, the poet’s son, posed the question.
Read on …
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/articles/69592/poems-for-peace
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the century of possible peace
after Muriel Rukeyser’s “Poem”
.
I lived in the century of world wars and
into the century of “hot spots” and “conflicts,”
those isolated regions of hostility and battle, of
choreographed shows of military cliché and the
violent disaffected eruptions of the marginalized
Every day is an homage to some insanity
Media reports are conveyed with facile intensity
by hyperkinetic journalists – they deliver easy
and ominous conclusions based on seemingly
recondite facts, quickly moving to celebrity
gossip and other insipid topics . . .
I have lived in two centuries of wars
I know what it is to be exhausted by the
vain posturing of the ruling class and
the tired protestations of tribal unity and
supremacy based on accidents of birth
I know what it is to imagine peace across
the circumference of one small blue ball
in a Universe of inestimable size and breadth
I know that darkness can descend with the
speed of light and that love is more than an
anchor and that hope keeps our dreams alive
I have lived into the century where the world is
grown small, where the peacemakers are tireless
and perhaps enough hearts have grown large …
sometimes I think I am living in the century
where peace is as possible as war
– Jamie Dedes © 2013 poem, the century of possible peace and 2016, All rights reserved
Poem
.
I lived in the first century of world wars.
Most mornings I would be more or less insane,
The newspapers would arrive with their careless stories,
The news would pour out of various devices
Interrupted by attempts to sell products to the unseen.
I would call my friends on other devices;
They would be more or less mad for similar reasons.
Slowly I would get to pen and paper,
Make my poems for others unseen and unborn.
In the day I would be reminded of those men and women,
Brave, setting up signals across vast distances,
Considering a nameless way of living, of almost unimagined values.
As the lights darkened, as the lights of night brightened,
We would try to imagine them, try to find each other,
To construct peace, to make love, to reconcile
Waking with sleeping, ourselves with each other,
Ourselves with ourselves. We would try by any means
To reach the limits of ourselves, to reach beyond ourselves,
To let go the means, to wake.
.
I lived in the first century of these wars.
.
– Muriel Rukeyser
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Hi Jamie,
I liked your poem even more than Muriel’s, although hers was most poignant also.
Regards,
Mike
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Thank you!
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Off the shelf, so to speak, published for “The BeZine” apropos today’s themes. There’s tons. This is just a sample.
* Waging the Peace,Fr. Daniel Sormani, Rev. Ben Meyers, and the Venerable Bhikkhu Bodhi http://wp.me/p1gLT0-5P6
* The Armed Man, A Mass for Peace, John Anstie http://wp.me/p1gLT0-4DD
* Entering the Sacred Space of Peacefulness, Terri Stewart http://wp.me/p1gLT0-3n7
* Peace on Earth, Priscilla Galasso http://wp.me/p1gLT0-2rx
* My Wish for Peace, A.V. Koshy http://wp.me/p1gLT0-2bM
* Deconstruction Peace, Jamie Dedes http://wp.me/p1gLT0-1qW
MORE LINKS TO COME LATER TODAY …
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A nice library shelf…
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Yes it is!
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“Rosh HaShana 2016/5777”
(Raanana, October 2, 2016)
Enough of idle dreams and wishes
Enough of sweetness, honey and apples.
The light does not come from East
And not from West,
But from inside us.
Peace will not come from one of us
But from all of us.
There is no time but marching forward
To futures where Abraham’s progeny
Sit together at a table
Sharing food and drink
And all men’s children
Play and grow in health
Uneducated in the ways of war
But wise in the paths of peace,
All men necessary on this march because
No one knows from whence come saviors,
What will be their color or creed,
What language they will speak,
Whether man, woman, child
Or stranger.
By Mike Stone
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The sentiment is perect. The ultimate truth/bottom line. “Uneducated in the ways of war… ” I can’t wait or the day when war is unheard of and our children know only peace.
So generous for you to share three poems. Thank you, Mike.
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I shared a few more than that. I hope you don’t mind.
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That’s great, Mike! The more, the better.
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This:
“Peace will not come from one of us
But from all of us.”
Amen
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Abolutely not, Mike. I read and commented. 🙂 Very pleased to see you here again this year.
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“Sioux Mother”
(Raanana, October 7, 2016)
Mother
One eye bright
Another eye dark
We wake inside you
And we sleep inside you
Our infants and old ones
Suckle your breast
Thousands and millions
With your love staining their lips
Your love pulls us to you gently
And lightly we tread your belly
But when you’re angry
We tremble
Yes, even the bravest trembles
Some turn away from you
Imagining invisible gods
Invisible nations
But we your first born
Will never turn away
Never desert you
Even when your bright eye
Swells with anger
We are small
The smallest of insects barely visible
But we will protect you
Or die trying.
By Mike Stone
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“we will protect you” … Yes!
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“Yom Kippur 2016”
(Raanana, October 12, 2016)
There is a time in such a space
That is not so much a quiet
As a subtle shift of noises
From harsh mechanical honkings,
Screechings, motor revvings,
Metal exhaust blats, jack hammers, and drills
Into softer bicycle tires, skateboards,
Scooters, and carriages,
Children laughing and shouting,
Young mothers telling their young children
Not to go too far,
Dogs barking, and neighbors gossiping,
From mechanical sounds into human sounds.
Time stretches out yawning
And time stretches into space
So that it seems almost enough for a people to live in.
The wars are somehow put off,
Pushed back behind darkened villages
That will one day explode into ululating billions
But that day is not today.
It’s not so much a day of atonement,
For what is done is done
And what will be will be,
But a kind of temporary ceasefire
Between ourselves and others
But especially between ourselves.
By Mike Stone
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Thanks, Mike! I saw that you’ve posted some work on The Resistance Wall as well. Bravo! Really pleased you’ve joined with us today.
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Mike Stone has read at 100TPC in Jerusalem, as well. Thanks, as always, Mike!
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Thank you Jamie (and Michael). Thanks for letting me do so. I’m reading through all the other works now. There’s some really good work here.
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I’m glad that you like what you’ve seen, Mike.
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I like these lines, especially: “…a kind of temporary ceasefire
Between ourselves and others
But especially between ourselves.”
Thanks again, Mike.
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Yes!
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“What If There Really Were”
(Raanana, December 9, 2016)
What if there really were
Men and women
Who cared for their children
Those born and those as yet unborn,
Who respected the humanity
Of others as well as us
Strangers and enemies as ourselves?
What if humanity did not exclude
The animals and plants
And other things of this earth,
And loved the earth
Not as we love a food consuming it
Just to forget about our hunger
But as we love a mother
That suckles us when we are born
And caresses us when we die?
What if we really were men and women
And not just strands of genes
Crawling towards some senseless horizon
Whose only purpose was to replicate
So that some random trait or other
Would survive longer than some other genes?
If we were really men and women
We’d know our purpose
Without being told by some clueless prophet
And it’d be a grand purpose
That our earth could not live without.
By Mike Stone
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We need to be true to our humanity as men and women (and all combinations, etc.), don’t we?
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Eric Bogle’s “The Green Fields of France”
Please pardon the chord notations
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I tried to fix the chords when I posted the YouTube, but not too successfully. Hearing Eric Bogle reminded me of Judy Small’s song, Mothers, Daughters, Wives—mainly because I heard both of them for the first time at the same music festival many years ago.
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Very nice. I think I probably heard this on our underground radio station, maybe 69 or 70? Very much the distaff version of Bogle’s.
Ciao, Michael! — Dennis Formento
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Thanks for the song, Dennis. How about some of your poems? Or a translation?
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Heartbeaking. Beautiful. Human. Thank you, MESECHABE , for sharing this most appropriate and moving piece with us today.
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From Thaís Fernandes — Brazil
Fly flags high on mast
Independence Day, a declaration
what price for freedom?
©2017 Thaís Fernandes
Image ©Janina Steiner—from Flickr
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Thanks, Thaís!
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Reblogged this on Words for Life and commented:
Share your poetry about peace, sustainability, and social justice at The Bezine.com for its virtual 100,000 Poets for Peace event today.
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Thank you, Robin! And thank you for your contribution. Do you have something else you’d like to share?
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Thanks, Michael. I will check my archives.
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Please do!
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I just posted one on the Mr. Linky site 😊
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I saw! I just shared it.
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Thanks!
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“A Changeling”
(Raanana, July 27, 2017)
1.
Whatever we will be
We are already.
We always were
What we will be.
2.
Nothing has changed
Since change is all there is
And change keeps changing.
3.
If all we can say we are
Is that we are changing
Then what can we really say
About ourselves
Or others.
By Mike Stone
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Maybe change is all there is—energy shifting, building up, discharging, building momentum, falling into entropy. Or maybe we are all potential energy—potential good?
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Potential good = promise.
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Something to ponder.
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Reblogged this on Poetry Curator and commented:
Live Poetry event today – Join in the BeZine in celebrating 100,000 Poets for Change.
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Take Courage My Brother
The great Indian Chief stood atop the mountain facing the sun, the sky, the forests, and peering down at all the wild beasts of the prairies. He wondered, how is it that these white men that we welcomed with open arms, come to rob us out of our land, our homes and all that we have grown to love? What is the meaning of their flag? Why must we stand ready to fight against this foe? Why do the settlers want to possess this great land that was meant for everyone to share? How is it that they will stop at nothing until they have divided our peoples and try to kill all that remains of our indomitable spirit?
The soldiers chase us away to a foreign land, taking us away from everyone and everything that we hold dear. They rape this great mountain of its resources and plunder it until every speck of beauty is gone, all in the name of progress. What a travesty. The land is now laid waste and strip-mined for coal and other commodities all for their consumption. Federal workers patrol the small portion that remains, while the First Nations people who live are relegated to subsist on reservations. Let us not forget our brothers and sisters who are hurting. Now is the time for healing. Now is the time for reconciliation.
—Denise Fletcher
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Denise you never disappoint. Thank you! xo
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Thank you Kindly Jamie!
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Vulture
Peace is the dividing cell
ferocious in the marrow.
It coats the bullet,
cannot be marched
to with signs or weapons.
Peace is the vulture
loving the corpse.
It is the victory sign on a mass grave.
It never left. It pulses
under the noise, Peace does.
We thought we could name God.
And we did. All of God’s names
are God’s names. Even the one
you cannot speak. Peace, too,
has every name we ever gave it.
It is upon the back of the cockroach.
Peace has always loved
the shiny armor of a cockroach.
—Meg Harris
First appeared in the Cafe Review and is included in my recently released chapbook Inquiry Into Loneliness from Crisis Chronicles Press.
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Very nice, Meg. I love the last three lines!
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Thank you, my friend. I had the idea that peace is ever-present. We need only be with it.
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Remembrance
After an artifact of the Auschwitz-Birkenau State Museum
Before we left Oswiecim, went to work elsewhere for the devil, and we left you to play your sweet clarinet for those officer’s parties and decampment marches, six of us said a Novena and made a promise in the bunker you built. Remember that sweet German marmalade, Albert? And those cups of tepid soup we brought to you those August nights? I remember your ready smile and broad hands. How capable you were with a carpenter’s tools. We were, each of us, around 19 years old in September of 1944. Karol said you reminded him of his kid brother, the stubborn mass of your young muscles despite the starvation and hard labor you endured. You heartened us. And we loved you as we did another Jew, a Nazarene who was also a carpenter.
And in that place where you worked alone those hot afternoons, in that bunker that we built together intended to protect the SS in case of an air raid; the rest of us, we gathered and Bronislow wrote our names and prisoner numbers on a scrap of paper that Karol ripped from an empty cement bag. We used the pencil left by a visiting inspector and there where you hid the evidence of the food we hid for you, the jelly jars and soup tins. There in the cement wall, inside an old vinegar bottle, after we said a prayer for survival, and if nothing else remembrance of our young lives, we secreted that scrolled paper after adding your name, Albert Veissid, and A12063, your prisoner number.
—Meg Harris, New York, U.S.A.
About the artifact
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A very powerful story for Yom Kippur and 100TPC. Thank you, Meg.
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So glad to have found just the right place for this small remembrance.
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Meg, you certainly know how to find and touch the heart. Thank you for this contribution to the day. Much valued.
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Thank you, Jamie! Your response is what I felt upon discovering this artifact and its “story.”
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Reblogged this on Meta/ Phor(e) /Play and commented:
I am currently moderating-hosting The BeZine 100TPC Live Event! Stop in, read, write, post links, comment / like, share!
———-
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Thank you! 🙂
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Thank you, Jamie, for all of your work setting this up each year!
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Hard times
on a southern continent
immigrants move on
©2017 Thaís Fernandes
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Thanks again, Thaís. Keep the haiku coming…
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Thank you! ^_^
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Thank you! ^_^
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I very appreciate it. Thank you, Michael.
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From Evelyn Augusto: GUNS DON’T SAVE PEOPLE POETS DO … a call for submissions
Calling all Hudson Valley and Catskill Region Poets…
Would you like to be a featured poet at GUNS DON’T SAVE PEOPLE POETS DO…Dueling with words to stop Gun Violence. Oct 6th at 8pm, The Glen Falls House, Round Top, NY?
Send 3 poems to evelynaugusto2012@gmail.com and your contact information.
Limited space…
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Robin Baldwin posted another link through Mr. Linky— this one to her poem, Seeds of Humanity. Check it out!
https://rbaldwin0204.wordpress.com/2016/07/04/seeds-of-humanity/
Thank you, Robin!
Click here to add your own link:
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Today, I spent the day with passionate, like-minded people trying to ponder the ways we dialogue, the strengths we have, the challenges facing us, and how can we stand strong in the face of all the isms while maintaining a stance of peacemaking and nonviolence.
I have hope because together we are stronger. And this energy of hope points the way towards the future regardless of the irrationality that comes from our current political leaders.
I am inspired to write a haiku to honor the luscious souls I encountered today.
the heron’s gaze rests
bluebirds twitter senselessly
the tide is coming
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I rather think we overwhelm the irrational. We just don’t get the publicity they do. Well done. Glad you had time and energy to stop by and leave your words. Hope you get a chance for dinner and well-deserved rest now.
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Sounds like a wonderful day, Terri! Lovely haiku. I like the “twitter senselessly”…
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I so want to edit this and put the apostrophe in heron’s …
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Why? / J.
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Possessive. But I did it for her.
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I know. I like it as plural.
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Done.
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Renee Espriu shared two links on Mr. Linky— to her poem, Fragile Life Reminders: https://reneejustturtleflight.com/2014/05/05/fragile-life-reminders/
And to her poem, Satin Rainbow:
https://reneejustturtleflight.com/2012/01/25/satin-rainbow/
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writing on heaven’s walls…, a poem by Charles W. Martin: https://slpmartin.wordpress.com/2017/09/30/writing-on-heavens-walls/
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Hey! Nice to see you, Charlie. Thank you!
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More “Off the Shelf” from Zine team and guests:
* The Peaceful Easel, Paula Kieutenbrouwer, http://wp.me/p1gLT0-1QJ
* Celebrating Wilderness, Priscilla Galasso, http://wp.me/p1gLT0-4wW
* War’s Cold Night, Charles W. Martin, http://wp.me/p1gLT0-3n3
* Other Refugees, Corina Ravenscraft, http://wp.me/p1gLT0-3kp
* The Art of Work, Naomi Baltuck, http://wp.me/p1gLT0-3fG
* John Stuart Mill – On the Freedom of the Individual, John Anstie, http://wp.me/p1gLT0-37p
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Jamie and Michael, thank you for hosting this virtual event! I enjoyed participating and reading everyone’s work.
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Thank you for your contributions, Robin!
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Thank you, Robin, and thank you for participating.
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