Armistice Is Only Words Away

Armistice is only Words Away

Red and yellow leaves smash above remaining green
On brittle trees stressed by drought.
The fall crop grows together from fear.
War ruins the party here, starving refugees move out.

Warm sun parches grass to dust in Chapel Hill.
Light kills. News disrupts gentle walks.
Two thousand one claims close lives, no way to hide
The reign death’s image starts with superficial talk.

Peaceful winds entice lovers bent on keeping war at bay.
Rice is blown to bits, extreme starvation, war means war.
The dissidents’ Gulag hut awaits activist Americans,
And “your flag decal won’t get you into heaven anymore.” 1

Three deer caught in lights that look like monster’s eyes.
Nature, fraught with tarmac, endures another “bombs away.”
Scream , young angst poets. Wipe the cynical smirk off and scream!
One life to infect your neighborhood. One chance only: today.

1- John Prine, 1969.

 

 

Copyright, Doug Stuber, 2001. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given, and with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

 

 

And One By Ed Lyons, Copytright Ed Lyons, 2001.

 

        Dawn, New York

 

Light seeps into every narrow lane,

Creeping down the skyline ledge by ledge;

Over queens, the morning star’s in wane.

 

The station’s empty as an empty train

Grinds underneath the sidewalks of Bay Ridge:

Light seeps into every narrow lane.

 

A harbor beacon blinks now and again;

The tide rolls out beneath the Brooklyn Bridge:

Over Queens the morning star’s in wane.

 

The bells of Spanish Harlem ring out plain;

In Central Park the dew falls from the hedge

As light seeps into every narrow lane.

 

LaGuardia’s lights still lit, an outbound plane

Taxis whining to the runway’s edge.

Over Queens, the morning star’s in wane.

 

While rising swiftly toward the Atlantic plain,

The sun plods its slow course from age to age:

Light seeps into every narrow lane,

As over Queens, the morning star’s in wane.

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