This is another
one of the calendar poems inspired
by random, or not so random, coincidences of dates, usually discovered as I am in a mad scramble for a blog entry topic. It first appeared in 2013 but the calendar
serendipity is annual.
Tomorrow will be the first day of Autumn but here in McHenry County sky will be an opal haze from the drifting smoke of Western wildfires. Many of us are still hunkered down in our homes and may be cheated of glory march of the season. We are bombarded with terrible news.
This year low grade wars bubble underneath American consciences in all of the old battle grounds of Afghanistan, Iraq and Syria.
The Saudis bomb and starve Yemen. The Israelis
bomb Gaza whenever they get the itch
and raze Palestinian homes and
villages at will. The Turks
shoot the Kurds and the Russians still are at undeclared war with Ukraine. China crushes
democracy in Hong Kong. And thanks to Trump’s whim to end Obama’s
Iran nuclear deal and Kim Jung Il’s erratic
sabre rattling the Bulletin
of the Atomic Scientists has re-set the Doomsday Clock to just 100
minutes to midnight.
Among its grander visions which must have seemed distant even to the founders of the Day of Peace, was at a call for an annual one day cease fire of on-going hostilities. I can recall no armies ever standing down, but perhaps I missed something.
The rapid
deterioration of the environment—melting
ice caps, rising seas, hurricanes, heat waves, fires, droughts, and famine—also displaces
millions creating international
migration crisis, destabilizing
governments, and creating conflict over
scarce and vanishing resources—the perfect recipe for war and more war.
And here at home we seem teetering on the edge of
Civil War.
No wonder this
old piece is still relevant.
International
Day of Peace/Autumnal Equinox Eve
September 21,
2013
The immanent
equinox advertises itself
this morning with crack crisp air,
elderly maples beginning to rust at
the crown,
a touch of gold on borer doomed
ashes,
mums and marigolds,
hoodies up on dog walkers in shorts,
all under a prefect azure sky—
you know the one from
the Sunday song
reminding “skies
everywhere as blue as mine.”
The globe
teeters on the edge of equanimity,
ready to balance for an instant
between night and day,
seasons, yesterday and tomorrow,
a perilous, promising, moment.
The poor
creatures swarming over its surface,
fancying ourselves somehow its
masters,
alas, bereft of any balance….
From the Wishful
Thinking File,
institutional division—
Festooned with
doves and olive branches
brave words on blue banners,
a speech here, a lovely little vigil
there,
an earnest strumming of guitars,
litanies sung, mantras chanted,
kind hearts and gentle people…
The creatures go
about our brutal business,
blithely ignoring it all—
proclamation and equinox
alike.
—Patrick
Murfin
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