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A CHILDREN'S DEATH


What softness lends to baby’s feet, movement in life’s yielding lips, in petite and gentle fingers, blue bird suppleness, noiseless radiance.
Stop.
And open your eyes. Tender turns of the head, small smile under red cheeks, soft hair waving down, engaging wonderment.
Stop.
And open your eyes. Arid guns at the steady aim. Rifles do not grapple with verdicts. Who is guilty? Aren’t we all?
Stop.
And open your eyes. Infection of oppressive thought, but the law cowers not in fear; it is man that has wrought the undoing of truth and breath.
Stop.
And open your eyes. Perhaps the child of ideas or the youth of convention might answer my query; will dying take wing? Will our dead child be familiar? Will the wet breath of malevolence toss water upon our infertile tree? Will the soul of our nation kill her child?
Stop.
And open your eyes. Will the children of this world give rhythm to the drums of war? Will the baby’s supple feet move to the beat of tawdry battle? Will war leave tasteless, life’s yielding lips? Might, instead, the petite and gentle fingers make a music of warless magnificence?

mrp

Woman On Trial For Killing Her 8 Children
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Comments

  1. pissed off patriciaApril 27, 2006 at 3:00 PM

    That's very moving and sadly it's true.

    ReplyDelete
  2. thepoetrymanApril 27, 2006 at 4:08 PM

    Thank you, patricia.

    Good to see you.

    ReplyDelete
  3. jennyApril 27, 2006 at 6:42 PM

    intense and on target, thank you for this

    ReplyDelete
  4. thepoetrymanApril 27, 2006 at 6:48 PM

    You are most welcome, Jenny...

    ReplyDelete
  5. pinkfemApril 27, 2006 at 7:52 PM

    Love this. Love the picture.
    For some odd reason,this reminds me of that Joni Mitchell anti Viet Nam song for some reason, The Fiddle and the Drum. Hmm, maybe because I as listening to it on the way home from work...
    Do you know that song..awesome commentary about war. If I may share? It is sung a capella in her high beautiful reedy voice.

    And so once again
    My dear Johnny my dear friend
    And so once again you are fightin' us all
    And when I ask you why
    You raise your sticks and cry, and I fall
    Oh, my friend
    How did you come
    To trade the fiddle for the drum

    You say I have turned
    Like the enemies you've earned
    But I can remember
    All the good things you are
    And so I ask you please
    Can I help you find the peace and the star
    Oh, my friend
    What time is this
    To trade the handshake for the fist

    And so once again
    Oh, America my friend
    And so once again
    You are fighting us all
    And when we ask you why
    You raise your sticks and cry and we fall
    Oh, my friend
    How did you come
    To trade the fiddle for the drum

    You say we have turned
    Like the enemies you've earned
    But we can remember
    All the good things you are
    And so we ask you please
    Can we help you find the peace and the star
    Oh my friend
    We have all come
    To fear the beating of your drum

    ReplyDelete
  6. thepoetrymanApril 27, 2006 at 8:46 PM

    Pinkfem,
    Excellent.

    I have listened to the song many times... and I haven't the slightest problem you leaving these powerful words here, my friend.

    I am honored that my poem reminded you of this song...

    Thank you.

    ReplyDelete
  7. Rory ShockApril 27, 2006 at 11:48 PM

    perhaps if more were to read your poetry and reflect after doing so ...

    ReplyDelete
  8. thepoetrymanApril 28, 2006 at 12:52 AM

    rory,
    Thank you for saying that my friend.

    I could only hope to have that kind of impact on the masses with my poems...

    ReplyDelete
  9. Neil ShakespeareApril 28, 2006 at 9:19 AM

    Touching.

    ReplyDelete
  10. thepoetrymanApril 28, 2006 at 10:27 AM

    Neil,
    Thank you.

    ReplyDelete
  11. mirthApril 28, 2006 at 9:00 PM

    This poem has the most beautiful and tender phrases I have read in a very long time. Breath-catching, they are. A joy to read.

    ReplyDelete
  12. thepoetrymanApril 30, 2006 at 7:43 PM

    :>)

    ReplyDelete

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