I cast a wish into  the world,
A message from a good old girl,
As  I wish for good intentions,
From a pacifist, I mention,
Make the best of every situation,
Step back from their manipulation,
Nasty makes negativity,
Let's hear it for positivity,
I am okay here today,
Are you okay this way?
Yes, we're both good as gold,
It's a ****** to be growing old,
So let's pray for tranquil ways,
Peace means calm, hooray!

Nature is, what you are not.
It’s fires swallow up forests;
so new life can bloom again,
while the ocean will take back beaches;
when land grows too greedy.
River waters rush and churn,
so only the strong can grow
with the power of evolution.
You burn so soft,
as not to wake the dark, but,
your fire will wither out,
for faint flames-
stand no chance against the wind.
You won’t move forward,
yet you won’t move back,
for fear of rocking the boat.
I say,
let the waters rise,
burn through the weak,
and I will rock this **** ship.
I say,
let's take a swim,
and let the water flip and carry us away;
for you won’t get far on the shore.
I sit and let the storms rage on,
for I’m a tornado of my own.
I just hope you’ll learn that peace,
doesn’t always get the job done.
Take a risk,
rock this **** canoe
and you’ll finally find how to breath.

Sincerely yours,
Raging Fire

“If you grow old, it is your own fault,”
I say to Terry as we climb
the mountain behind his cabin.
Terry is wearing a device that transmits his heartbeat
by cell phone to doctors at Stanford.
Terry has a flutter, nothing serious, probably.
Terry has a great heart, actually,
something serious, warm and wise.

We ascend this hill on Tuesdays every week
discussing poetry and plumbing, our twin passions:
the gathering of mountain water funneled into pipes,
delivered to homes,
the ordering of words funneled into pages
delivered nowhere, sadly.

We discuss friends fallen or falling,
the arc of marriages, parenthood, oddball relationships,
each a story and a puzzlement,
webs woven of love and rage.
That, and motorcycles, we talk,
pacifist veterans who walk still seeking sense
of an incomprehensible war that shaped our lives.
Objectors, conscientious, we realized too late,
not an easy path but better than following orders.
We walked away from war.
He, the Air Force; I, the draft.
Branded dishonorable.
So we hike, hearts pounding,
the simple friendship of two old men
seeking the hilltop
again and again.

"You want to hit me, fight me, kick me or bite me.
You think you're tough, you aren't.
Come, try to fight me, you won't succeed!"

"Oh yeah, why?" He hissed.

"Because, my friend, I'm a pacifist".

I am a fighter,
unbreakable under their taunts.

I  am an optimist,
seeing that life is not a series of misfortunes.

I am pacifist,
looking for love rather than conflict.

Life is what you make of it,
don't make it bad,
in perception or action,
we can all change it,
together.