Poets Against War continues the tradition of socially engaged poetry by creating venues for poetry as a voice against war, tyranny and oppression.
Craig Oare
55 years old
Olympia, WA
Election
(October) Away with Commander Kerry, away Deserter Dubya too. If Dante's eschatology was real, John and George could both start packing for eons of inferno in a napalmed village.
Actually, God (to use your dayshift name), just between You and me, let's away with the whole puppet show. All I want this day in time is to see the face behind your veil. Please consider this some kind of prayer.
"Why is it, do you think, that from where you are, the sun and moon, like eyes in the sky, are exactly the same size? Please consider this some kind of answer. Yours truly, God. P.S. Bush is worse."
(November) The first thing I did this morning was bang my head to bleeding. I don't think I meant to hit that door, but everything is strange today. What has become of my generation and our ancient summers of love? The cold seasons of hate are here, the worst have all the power. May they reap what they have sown.
This afternoon I got lost in the woods. It took a while to find a trail, but finally it found me. The red states have won, it seems, but here now the sky is blue. I don't know where our trail goes-- I don't really want to know, I suppose. Just follow the call of the wild.
Peace and War
The weather is suddenly warm on the last day of winter, as an old zen raccoon hustles off the glistening muddy trail. There's a wild deer and a tame goat a mile apart in this river cathedral, and between them a half-wild human who whispers along with John Muir, "this feeling is my true religion." But the war is five years old today!
