john lennon

December 8, 1980

the flames are warm–
we hold hands
against wrath

what is the context of
the naked soul?
is it pure love?

who invented hate?

Britta at W3 asked for a poem with a date for a title, responding to her poem “the theory of everything”. I composed a shovel poem from this line: warm hands, wrath of soul, love, hate,

My illustration is a Japanese Bunraku puppet representing a demon, but I was also inspired by another of Brendan’s Ekphrastic photos at earthweal, below.

Imagine if someone would just give us some truth…could we all shine on?

Forty-two years. Who do we think we are?

also linking to dVerse OLN hosted by Bjorn

hollering (75th anniversary of Hiroshima)

hollering s

I hold my own hand
and step into that place
I don’t know and can’t see–

I was always making it up,
but in reaction,
waiting for clues–

Now I see only myself,
my indecision mirroring back
and making me hesitate–

More than a crossroads–
paths appear everywhere
as the center shifts–

I sway with choices–
pick a card, any card–
eeny meeny miny mo

cranes s

I wrote this for the earthweal weekly challenge strange world.  When I went to post it today, I realized it’s the 75th anniversary of the Hiroshima bombing, so I decided to include some of the art and words from my previous 70th anniversary post.

70 years cranes s

The madness of humanity has been evident for a long time.

no meaning no sense
words are lost is there a way
to stop this bleeding

70 years close up 1s

What are we going to do about it?

This is our cry.
This is our prayer.
Peace in the world.

–inscription on the Children’s Peace Monument in Hiroshima
http://www.nippon.com/en/images/k00009/

also linking to dVerse OLN hosted by Lillian

Room to Fly

perhaps hand s

Imagine a window
in a wall that is constructed
of fear and superstition

Imagine an open window–
it does not exist because
no one has built a wall for it

Imagine flowers–
bloomings that subsist only
in the invisible world of the window

Imagine wings
growing in the unseen air,
releasing the imprisoned breath

Imagine a window,
a portal to what isn’t there–
a borderless unceilinged sky

birdlings close up 4s

Laura at dVerse asks us to make some room.  And Sherry at earthweal asks us to consider all that is wrong with the world and how we can make things right.  As John Lennon knew, our ability to change is often just a failure of our imagination.

I thought the birdlings were appropriate to these words.  And the window is an old collage based on the work of Miriam Schapiro, who knew a thing or two about both portals and collage.