Talking bombs,
fast-draw uranium enriched
nuclear bullets, missiles aimed
at predetermined targets—
like the enemy’s essentials:
water, electric
and transportation grid
poisoned and petrified—
and who’s got the best,
them or us? Fighter jets
or drones, B-2s
or attack subs,
who can blow the biggest hole
in the planet? Who can drive
the herd of humans
over the cliff of reason first
into the flames
of Armageddon,
barbecued and
swallowed whole.
Dawn near the Solstice, shadows
seem to shrink in the same places
on the hillsides where cattle graze
towards midday shade, oblivious
to the hackneyed news of war
‘to end all wars’ my whole lifetime
promising everlasting peace—
one way or another now
on the cusp of my reward.
Pale ribbon of dawn—
war fears rise
as somewhere east of here
helter-skelter backroom maneuvers
make knights of pawns.
One more war to end all wars
hangs in the heavens—
one more barren planet
to explore
when your work is done.
Perhaps a better day awaits,
a better way to stifle the narcissistic
egos bent on power, born of greed.
But it must trickle to truly flourish
from the bare ground up.
Blessed are the meek
for they shall inherit the earth.
– Matthew 5.5
Posted in Poems 2025, poetry
Tagged Beatitudes, Jonathon Swift, meek, poetry, trickle down, trickle up, war
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