My heart aches for the people of Ukraine and is filled with outrage at Vladimir Putin and the oligarchs behind this unconscionable war. Anger rises, but I would rather confront aggression with love than violence… and hence this poem.
Quiver (March 2022)
If I could fashion and focus words into an arrow-point
and shoot them into his heart, I would,
resisting the temptation to harm an abomination
but willing instead the flinty head to splinter,
disintegrate and dissolve into a thousand beautiful words
like love, family, mercy, kindness and generosity,
the anti-venom to murderous toxicity
flowing warm and red in his cold blood, unshed,
bathing his being in remorse and pity.
For God’s sake, what does it take to bend that twisted will,
to untie the tourniquet until he again can feel
the weight of his vodka-numbed conscience?
Now let that heavenly host of well-meant words
whisper, murmur and mumble inside,
erode and crumble hell-bent pride,
then cry and scream in visions and dreams
in his mother’s most commanding voice,
reprimanding choices and redirecting:
“Don’t wait too long, Vladimir,
to admit that you were wrong, Vladimir,
to turn from your ways and apologize,
although I doubt you’ll find forgiveness in Ukrainian eyes.”