Jane Dougherty Writes

Inspired by Merril, I had a go at writing a contribution to the poets for peace chain of poetry. I don’t do prayer, or God, or even hope with any great conviction. Still, I know what is worth fighting for.

Edvard_Munch_-_Death_and_the_Child_(1899),_Kunsthalle_Bremen

Peace drops with the dew,

Ripples in the blackbird’s throat,

Curls with the vixen and her cubs,

Sucks its thumb with the sleeping child.

Peace falls with the first rays and the last,

The moonlight and the sunlight,

And it threads among the stars,

Into the secret dark of space.

But not here, buzz the black flies of war,

In these shiny, polished rooms,

Where men is suits or long black robes

With stones for hearts and blinkered eyes

And money in vaults and protected lives

Plot and plan with long, cold fingers

To steal the song from the blackbird’s throat,

The peace from the vixen’s joyful cubs,

And fill…

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