Best Diplomacy Poems
The wave, a distant statement
“trust me, I come in peace”
The handshake, firm and strong
held just a bit too long
the hug, a gentle frisk
to minimize the risk
to those who must decide
to double down or let it ride
John G. Lawless
©11/14/2021
I have to urge myself to rediscover diplomacy
Which has been unused on a long-forgotten shelf.
I am meeting a whole new staff of potential friends.
Who do not know me, so I am marching toward the closet
of things I have not had to use for a bit, hoping to find diplomacy
among the cobwebs of other things I have not had to use for ages.
The painted Words:
When a bamboo bends over backwards, keeping her peace,
it does not mean that her sense of balance’s decreased.
The wound that was inflicted though unintentional
would have healed had a passerby thought more considerately
than to snap it to rigid position after the storm has ceased.
What I wrote:
When one tries to understand just to keep the peace,
it does not mean that her sense or spirit’s decreased.
The hurt that was inflicted though unintentional
would have gone had another thought more considerately
than make a speech about it right after the trouble has ceased.
31 July 2015
The I'Lyzette Contest
Sponsor: FJ Thomas
Threats of force seemed a sterling idea
Especially in light of Crimea
But you’re gonna get trolled
And the tanks gonna roll
When diplomacy comes from IKEA
From
A tear
Much revealed
Understanding;
How it sets one free
Unbound, the heart;
Diplomat
Builds a
Bridge.
The footman, in impeccable white hose
and pigtailed wig, halts five yards off, and bows.
An under-secretary, in the throes
of studying the Lombard Ruse, allows
the silent slippered servant to slide near.
A silver salver bears a folded note.
He picks it up. Fine ivory veneer
reflects the silver buttons of his coat.
The older man is quiet as the grave,
and just as still. He contemplates the board.
As if they were the marble architrave,
both footman and official are ignored.
Just then, the boy picks up his knight
and moves it forward, capturing a pawn.
Here in the Gloriette, warm candlelight:
beyond the window, evening-shrouded lawn.
“Your Highness has the art,” the old man says,
and sits back in his chair. The tartan pile
of blanket shrouds his knees. His face betrays
the merest specter of a subtle smile.
Prince Klemens Wenzel Furst Von Metternich
enjoys the eight-year-old’s euphoria.
“You’ll make a mighty monarch, naturlich.”
His blanket slips (a gift from Queen Victoria).
The chance the Under-Secretary sought!
He coughs and tugs politely at his cuff.
“The note, Your Highness, which the footman brought …”
It’s almost imperceptible, the Prince’s huff.
“It seems that Talleyrand – well – he is dead.
Two nights ago. Near Tours. Chezal-Benoit.”
The old man grunts. “We haven’t been misled?
He died? I wonder what he meant by that.”
There will always be wars
and talks of wars
in villages and in the mist.
Men
perpetually hunger for a land of milk and honey.
Empty,
they fill themselves with hatred.
But
we can not be bothered with that for now.
Supper is done.
Come--
sit at the table and eat.
There will be no wars today.
Megaphone diplomacy disparages diplomacy
Weakens links cultivated at great cost
Only to vanish in the twinkling of a fallacy
Spiced and iced for a tit for tat toast.
Megaphone diplomacy hobnobs with a misnomer
For nations blighted by the myopia
Cooped up in a fallacy grammar
Tinged with a dose of danger drama in Dystopia.
Megaphone diplomacy shunts aside tact
To overdramatize a scenario
That with tact violates no pact
Ascertaining partners to a dispute toast in Rio.
Megaphone diplomacy plays to the gallery
Ensconced in short-termism
To gain a political mileage salary
At the expense of more fruitful long-termism.
Thomas Jefferson’s Reply
I had my passion, my delight and me
To blend the union: fast, unfading, yet
Of doubtful glory. Willing to stand up
To daggers in the savage king's eyes and
Refuse submission to his sharp bare sword,
So well known to swathe the free natives red.
Let me sate your inquiry, as I know.
I tried my best to seek wise counsel and
Read leaves while I sipped tea with the statesmen.
I channeled my thoughts through my pen for then
And future generations, but shunned speech.
Resort to caustic language was although
There even then, but no one crossed the line.
Republic is a river, each drop moves
The other thus charts the course and carves banks
While conquers fissures and it shines rough stones.
Emerging puddles often clamor to
Gain access but may languish in earth’s crust.
Therein lies the charge of sage leader to
Corral the feral thinking and beliefs.
Remember, democratic rule counts heads
Which adds to total richness of content.
It takes a circle to uphold the pole
Atop the crest of democratic climb.
Thus the need for each and all to pitch in.
Spare me from smear of gossip on my tomb–
Though my components have now ceased to be
My thoughts are sprinkled in the pixie dust.
And I have left my writings on shared rack.
Search the shelves and you shall find all you seek.
Suffering of Yemen children
Raping pleasures in the Congo
Syrian war of super powers games
Iranian games with nukes
Love is like fallen leaves
Elevated
With eastern warmth
We hug in spring.
*
Often underrated,
Often understated,
Often underutilised.
Often misunderstood,
Often mishandled,
Often misinterpreted.
Yet diplomacy may be the only option,
To obtain a ceasefire.
Yet diplomacy may be the only option,
To obtain what you need to put out a fire.
Yet diplomacy may be the only option,
To obtain what you desire.
Yet diplomacy may be the only option,
To prevent the spread of all that is dire.
Why is it when my parliamentarian
speaks of 'the whole ball of wax'
He thinks he's so noble
for raising my tax
Those who confuse Shubert with Mendelsohn,
Most likely can’t tell Mozart from Hayden.
They wander through the world without their culture on,
And cat-call Aphrodite while fishing for Poseidon.
Conspiracy theories have them nervous as ferrets.
Academic credentials are considered demerits.
They huddle in militias where their rumors bare fangs.
In a world where truth and justice are fighting for air,
A diploma’s only value is the wall on which it hangs.
Diplomacy is telling someone to go to hell
And they ask directions, said Winston Churchill
From my recollection
It changed my complexion
Caused my flesh tones to darken and swell