To watch the brute force
that takes the place of reason and communication
Wars have titles, but they are the worst things on Earth
How is it that violence comes to us over and over
like an alcoholic, thinks, this one last drink
then, I will never have another
This will be the war to end all war
some really thought it

I have lived in the Holy Land
I have felt the sun of history on my face
The sands that so many have sought out have been in my path
And with all that wisdom collected
through the human ages--isn't it there
in a place of such value?

I remember, an Israeli soldier or two
killed, bodies dragged around
brutal ugly deaths celebrated by the mob
and out of the sky came a power that
destroyed the building where the murders took place

And people celebrated, as if this
would end the bloodshed
This power, this explosion would
bring peace

Thousands of bombs later, gallons of blood spilled
even some I saw with my own eyes
body meat on the street and we still
don't know that the most powerful force
we have is our brains and the ability to communicate
and come to the table to talk and fight the battle as a debate
and search for answers in our voices
and why do we give up this power over and over
and return to brutality that is just a mobius strip to more?
If we are really so brave, why can't we come to the table
two opposing forces, and wage a battle of words
to work these things out
Why is this never the priority?

a shroud approaches me from the side
it's grey with wide, wide eyes
it follows me and brings a melancholy
it's wide eyes are like bloodshot
wolves in water
why does it follow me
what have i done, i know not
i do know it means to cause
an uncalled for resentment
where the implement of death
will furrow the fields
and blood uncalled for becomes  
a withering harvest of tongues
that cast upon the world
vile, putrid and villainous words
whose untruth becomes the cause
of bloodstained vocabularies
way beyond all compass
giving speech to black shadows
where these congregated silhouettes
dump their nightmares  
and two perfectly disturbing towers
plant signs in defiant ground
ignoring the tragedy this setting shall provide
causing a destruction as it goes
destroying the sparkle of the universe
through all the ages
ending in an eternity of shrouds

You're sitting here on the internet,
Scrolling past timelines and getting into cyber wars.
But in some part of the world,
A child is losing her parents.
A nephew is losing his aunt.
A granddaughter is losing her grandmother
A boy is losing his cousin.
A woman is losing her husband.

A boy is being gunned down,
A girl is being forced to starve,
A boy is being forced to watch his parents die,
A girl is being forced into believing her grandmother is asleep.

Blood runs down like streams,
Peacefulness is completely being snatched,
They are treated like trash in their own country,
And everything is being taken away.

Don't you dare say you can't do anything about it,
Because everything makes a difference.

A word,
A phrase,
A thought,
*Just a sense of concern.

the wind sings a song
of howling sadness today
catching at the corners of
the old teak farmhouse

as the sky cries in long
exclamation points
and puddles of loss
form on the ground...

we stay inside away
from the worlds pain
cocooned in warmth


the blucat a sleeping
hearth stone...
me making soup a
nd scones
to the sounds of my clan
the click of knitting needles and building blocks followed by demolition...and laughter

this is love.
this is easy,
everyday love.
under a grey and
brooding winter sky.

They swarm in
Their thousands,
Moving as one,
Erratic it seems,
Rolling and undulating,
Rippling like a
wave on the sea,
Traversing the Valley
And Hillsides,
Seeking plunder,
In their numbers.
A well rehearsed
Sky dance perhaps.
A demonstration of
superior, formidable
and menacing forces.

Soon the air cannons
Will boom
And echo.
Hired men will walk
Among the vines,
Banging on metal pans,
Firing shotguns.
The swarms you see,
Wants the fruit.

Starlings care nothing,
for aged fermented,
Fine Pinot Noir,
By the glass,
Or bottle.
The grapes their prize.
Nor are they concerned
with the efforts of man,
Or his air cannons.
What is noise to them,
When fat sweet grapes
Are in plain view?

The war of the Vineyards',
A yearly event.