MORE FAVORITE POETRY

Being Brave

Silent needles pass through cloth

quiet as a moth,

the pull of thread over and under

          allows the mind to wonder.

Yes, allows the mind to wonder

about generations past and future

while quilt-making for babies coming,

          but a nagging guilt; a brain-corner numbing.

Such a nagging guilt; the brain-corner numbing;

some music could chase away that thought.

Tonight be brave and give that thought full rein:

           Oh god, it is the miserable ones.

God, oh god, it is the miserable ones:

the hungry and homeless and harmed,

seen in our cities and foreign nations;

         oh, the centuries of dominations and devastations.

Centuries, and more, of dominations and devastations

that I usually push from my cozy ruminations;

usually closing my eyes to those terrible sights,

           wondering how they survive such a plight.

Wondering, wondering how they survive such a plight 

I recall the. beauty carefully produced by

even civilizations at death’s door.

           Anasazzi pots stained with geometric precision.

Not yet extinct, Anasazzi pots stained with geometric precision.

So many cultures famed for their artistry;

are these prayers. to the gods?

         Or a way not to think of starvation, disease and war?

How not to think of starvation, disease and war?

which I barely understand,

        nor could endure,

              which I fear to examine,

                       much less address.

I let my silent needles pass through cloth.