Thursday, May 26, 2016
Friday, May 6, 2016
May Father Dan Berrigan rest in peace, his poem "Some"
Some stood up once, and
sat down.
Some walked a mile, and walked away.
Some walked a mile, and walked away.
Some stood up twice, then
sat down.
“It’s too much,” they cried.
Some walked two miles, then walked away.
“I’ve had it,” they cried,
“It’s too much,” they cried.
Some walked two miles, then walked away.
“I’ve had it,” they cried,
Some stood and stood and
stood.
They were taken for fools,
they were taken for being taken in.
They were taken for fools,
they were taken for being taken in.
Some walked and walked
and walked –
they walked the earth,
they walked the waters,
they walked the air.
they walked the earth,
they walked the waters,
they walked the air.
“Why do you stand?” they
were asked, and
“Why do you walk?”
“Why do you walk?”
“Because of the
children,” they said, and
“Because of the heart, and
“Because of the bread,”
“Because of the heart, and
“Because of the bread,”
“Because the cause is
the heart’s beat, and
the children born, and
the risen bread.”
the heart’s beat, and
the children born, and
the risen bread.”
Some, by Daniel Berrigan
Sunday, May 1, 2016
Hi! Happy May Day Power to the Workers not the suits....that screw everything up....these are poems sent to a BOMB journal Poetry Context enjoy!
How
does one surprise God?
How
does one surprise God?
I
have heard the door or gate is not locked, always open
This
poem may be hard to hear…
as
it is to write or read, but we need to know
Our
vets are surprising God these days
by
alarming numbers…
Every
day I think of a vet I knew,
he
told me about the river boat he was on,
the
murky river water, many small boats alongside…
action
all around
He
was a sailor on a ship
What
the hell was he doing on a River Boat, he often asked, even now
Can’t
remember the name of the river,
but
it was Nam…
That
is all one has to say
How
does one surprise God?
I
have heard the door or gate is not locked, it is always open
The
Trauma of death, destruction, shooting at people
who
often do not shoot back but run…in the wrong place you say
why
are we there anyways?
not
our name you shout, well it is…
How
does one surprise God?
I
have heard the door or gate is not locked, always open
You
come home, home from war…
you
are different now
No
one seems to know that,
“but
glad your back bro”…they say
That
seems to be how it goes my vet friends tell me,
Yes,
you are home
but
then there is the addiction, not of killing but of forgetting
Some
will ask, again and again, the images are always there,
We
ask ourselves, why do I drink so much,
those
pills sure help
Anger,
who me, you just piss me off, no wait
Ya,
I am angry but why?
Help
me, no I won’t tell you,
Boom!
what the hell is that? Fireworks…
A
Scream! Shit watch out, a grandchild crying…
On
edge, trying to let it go…
How
does one surprise God?
I
have heard the door or gate is not locked, always open, we know…
Then
a day comes for some,
No
hope, unhappy, lonely, sometimes angry,
an emptiness,
even though one is loved
the
time comes to report…
The uniform, a symbol
Out
in the woods, away from it all
There
is that sense of being at attention, for the last time…
I
can surprise God, sorry, got to go, the pain, the memories, are too much…
Oh
my God!
Undercommons/revolution
Found
a new way to talk about where I am
or
the community and context I find myself in,
“undercommons”
The
revolution
The
movement
The Reality
When
we fight for justice
Remember,
It
is not for power, or control
But
to always to be chased by the power bugs
The
control animals, to freedom…
Three
piglets greet me as I cycle by each morning
Just
down the road,
my
sisters and brothers, telling me something…
Or
the noisy Sandhill’s in the wet lands
Protecting
the young
or
just yelling for no reason at all, revolution…
The
undercommons gather
Not
to march for
But
to march on to revolution
The
definition is always changing
But
the work never does, it
Just deepens…
Fences
As
one drives the country roads
The
old wooden fences, broken, surrounded
By
the weeds and plants of time, yet looking strong,
No
longer holding in or keeping out…
And
then there are the stones fences,
They
seem so strong, go way back,
with
an iron gate, here or there…
Often
I see wire fences, meant to keep humans in,
A
warehousing feeling, once you enter.
The
sound of the gates closing often sticks in your mind
Fences
that keep in and stop from getting out
We
live in a time, where there are fears, that often
Lead
us to believe we need more fences,
Keep
those who are different, look different,
Speak
differently, beware it is fear not security that drives this thought…
We
want free range chickens, cattle, wild animals to fill our tables and stomach, yet
we build fences…
Hey,
I got it!
How
about a bridge, building bridges not fences?
For
me, it was a small village in South Africa
The
huts were what I would call road stuff houses
Build
with love, with hope, with whatever they found along the road…beautiful, small,
dirt floor homes…
Yet
every spring a flooded area separated this small village…
One
large pipe is all that was needed
Sister
city relations called us to this village
Work
crews, health checks, visiting of schools,
Government
offices…a bridge was created, a sense of healing after troubled times, and hope
of the future…
Today
we are confused
I am
sad as I know you are, and a bit fearful, uncertain…
We
pray for those who went to dinner or a concert and are no longer with their
loved ones…
The
attacks in Paris, Beirut and Baghdad
A
traumatic time for all human beings
A
time for bridges
A
time for compassion
A
time for healing
A
time for peace
A
time for hope
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