The Old Lie ~ A Poem by JP

There’s an old lie, that saysthat it’s sweet and fitting to die.That we should fall so a nation can risehas always been the soldier’s plight–but tell me again of the glory of warand what we should lay down lives for. Were we ruled by men like Cyrus the Great,perhaps there would be glory in theContinue reading “The Old Lie ~ A Poem by JP”

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We’ve Run Out of Some Paints – A Poem by JP

I’d paint the page with sunflowers and marigolds,
But Wordsworth’s nature is long in its grave.

We have forgotten the cold mountain stream,
The little birds in the blueberry bush,
The worms wiggling beneath their hungry beaks,
And the sound of the forest is deafening for us
As the chainsaw’s roar over heavy machinery.
For us nature is a conversation,
A metaphor for human care and change,
and a political questioning of the trees
in search for meaning when we bludgeon a rose
and all the beauty that it has stood for.

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