Gaza response

When I observe the intensity and the horrors of a new round of war, as we see this week in the Gaza Strip, my emotions overwhelm my ability to find the prose to speak of it. Floods of emotion have always flowed out of me in poetry, and so I ask for your indulgence with a verse that undams the waters of my feelings. I further ask of you to find the bravery within yourself to give attention to, and to honor the many photos of buried and wounded children available from Reuters, AP and other news services. They deserve our view.

A New Round

Oh, to respond to
a crisis which never ends…
Violence begets violence.
Violence begets violence!
What confusion stirs
the passion to ignite
a new round of bombs,
clustering and defeating
the possibility of Now.

Vengeance is mine, the Lord
says to the deaf, blind, and
dumb impulse for destruction.
What is this grey line we
dare designate for convenience?
What defense do we have
to skip past the purpose of
History’s interplay of force
and power… the pride.

Life is confusing, but need
we repeat the worst parts of
a past not worth repeating,
a bloody misuse of the Grace
that only God can proffer,
for such a time as this?
We need not fear; this
past of never-healing, never
ending can resolve itself
into the dance of Infinity’s
time, in time, in now to offer
a new way to recover.

Hollow threats, explosive lust
will not satisfy the needs born
of a holocaust too great to grasp
and far more dangerous
to repeat, as we create that
which we strive to integrate, to
experience the impulse we have
fallen victim to, so greedily anew.

Each moment is a new
moment to recover; every
child is a new child waiting
to be saved from a past
that’s equal to our own.
Violence begets violence.
There is no in between.
Only restitution begets a new
pattern of possibility, the
sense of purity that pervades
everything—a restorative impulse
can change everyone, just one,
for the instance at hand.

I am not new at this.
Violence is old in me.
When will I grow past its
immanent whisper to control?
A new round will not make
right the eons of suffering
that designate winners and
losers for a while, till another
cannon is loosed on another
village of souls that are equally
frightened and innocent. Just
break free, just let go, just
hold to the now that is
precious and available to ease
all the years of impotent valor.

A new round, a new round,
a new life of resolved boundaries,
celebratory borders, of checkpoints
for healing, coexistence, a
round of commonality—I am
not that much different than
you are; I am not that much
different than you think I am.
Both are true, both are true;
I shed blood like you.