War in Winter

Grief digs deeper when the winter months mutter war,

the loss of place, of purposeful peace and the gross

destruction of homes, humans and even habitats of tiny 

beings that have sought warmth under the frozen crust.


It’s a bloody burden that they carry on breaking backs,

as they see bursting bombs of greed and intolerance

smashing into smithereens years of toil and travail,

silencing the calls of battered birds and coy children.


We watch and groan and tearfully pray for mitigation,

to live again and not counting the cost of glorified guns,

weaponry unleashed on the fragile world already over

heated as war fuels harm to frail, failing ecosystems;


as they struggle against rising seas, warming of water

and of land, creating a damaging tide that cannot be

turned. Wearily we watch our toothless, Russian aided,

corrupt leaders sanction in word but not in action.


Avaricious armies advance taking away more acreage,

and Hitler hungry thinks to have all Europe in their

sights as they wave and wield weapons in the faces

of  the weak and wounded. A coward starts a war.


To take words and hear them is a core act of courage,

The brave are willing to alter their minds if certain;

but the craven will resort to violence to cover their

own frailty and persist against sense and humanity.


They’re usually far from the battle lines and lie low,

guarded and victualled well. Too, I want to crawl

away into a niche from the news and the blaming 

game but we shall stay struggling at the margins.


Let us stand together and link our arms for peace,

to raise our voices, tweet and write and sign every

petition that a lonely suffering nation might know 

their traumatic terrors are not yours or mine but ours.

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margins are a great place sometimes because it is where change happens fastest but it is also a horrible place when we are stuck in them and grace is the moment when we can see that someone cares.

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