Friday, February 23, 2018

Horrific History

February 20, 2018

I cringe as I watch the PBS Frontline special, Bitter Rivals: Iran & Saudi Arabia.

The subtitle: How a dangerous political rivalry between Iran & Saudi Arabia has plunged the Middle East into a sectarian war.

Horrific history revisited. I listen to analysis, wonder at the willingness of multitudes to annihilate themselves in battle against some vilified other.

Mystifying – those men, self-appointed perpetrators of destruction, who claim no wrongdoing, express no compassion for the millions of lives cut short by their swords. Indeed, they now adamantly claim those actions were necessary, vital to their cause.

But the subtitle left out the part played by the US, the Soviets and other Western powers – but mostly the US. Yes, US. Through ignorance and arrogance, we sparked already smoldering conflict in the Middle East.

Watching leaders of my own country tout such tyrants, spout their glories, twist the truth so we appear righteous, I blush in shame. Because I’m old enough to have watched many of those news stories as they happened. I’m old enough to have known September 11, 2001 would be used by US to wreak havoc on foreign shores. And on our own soldiers.

Thursday, February 8, 2018

Wait, Isn't This February?


i thank You God for most this amazing day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything which is natural which is infinite which is yes
- e. e. cummings



I hiked a local trail yesterday, one that has inspired many of my poems and blog entries. A friend had planned to join me, but life interfered. I went alone and decided to just enjoy the trek, savor spring-like weather, avoid temptations to create a poem along the way.

Smiles on every face, cheerful greetings from strangers, dogs happily panting their way to the top – what a glorious day!

Sprinkled with breaks to capture nature's artwork, the climb seemed effortless. Of course, my photos of distant peaks do no justice to those bright diamonds-in-the-sky.

Long before I reached the bench near the bottom, the one with the e. e. cummings poem, I knew the truth: the trail is the poem, the trail is the prayer. I am always in the poem, not writing it.