"The pity of war, the pity war distilled" - Wilfred Owen

Somewhere in the after-haze,    
     Jesus sought Mohammed
who was on his way to see him.
     Moses met them on the ridge
and without a mike or gavel,
     the meeting was convened.

They fell to their knees in sorrow
      hands cupped to catch their tears -
shed for the smoldering chaos below -
     so far from what was meant to be:

Sworded and chain-mailed crusaders,
     suicide synagogue bombers,
machine guns stuttering in Palestine,
    fire raining from the skies
bombs igniting at the speed of death,
    slaughter at a Parisian concert.

Fathers of the light rise up
     from your lofty provenance.
Unite your tear-drenched hands
     and come dwell within us.
Breathe healing truth into the ears
     of every foe of love and life.

          So much more was meant to be!

Come to us now
     before the setting of the sun!

November, 2015

The artist leaned in slowly
to his daughter’s sculpted visage,
placed a slender leaf of gold
across her ceramic brow
and gently pressed it with his brush.

But for all his art and craft he knew
no gilder’s foil was half so dear
as the child with half-closed eyes –
with mother’s tender brush
caressing strands of finest gold -
singing her to sleep.

Decked out in chiffon and lace
young Ella, called after mom,
never felt so grown,
rushing to mother’s call
to pilot the stroller today.

The streets to market were bare
save for a frail widow
guiding her walker to their right -
smiling at the girl in chiffon.

Without a sign, electric shocks
seized the old woman's frame,
spreading her supine like a crucifix
beside the irrelevant walker.

Battling through glazing eyes,
she clung to images of mother, stroller
and the girl in chiffon -
their cries a distant echo.

But their images presently faded
and old dear Ella returned to primal dust.

*July, 2006

Lauren has returned from her doc
with a portrait of the future
engraved on her spirit.

A collation of sonic pings
etched on a computer screen
reveal her new legacy
lying supine in an amniotic cradle
limbs and digits outstretched -
reaching for tomorrow.

Hands and feet to
touch and navigate the earth.
Inquisitive eyes and ears
to map and explore
the wonders of the universe.

Emergent life suspended today
within a mother's womb
but destined for future liberty.

*October 11, 2015

In a Green Friar car park
a professor turns the key -
his engine shudders - falls mute.

Leaning classword into the wind,
his footfalls cover the echoes
of the lethal chaos beneath his feet -
masking the curses of proud Richard
struggling to keep his saddle.

Then, in a whirlwind of swords,
the final Rose of Lancaster
falls in slow motion
to the Leichester earth -
merging with the primal dust.

The professor's archaeologists
have arrived for the dig
and Richard's bones begin to stir.