WEAPONS of war will be beaten into plowshares
ECONOMIES will no longer depend on armories
ARMIES will be built for aid and assistance
POWER-HUNGRY leaders will study war no more
OFFENSIVE schemes will no longer be heard or seen
NATIONS will share technology; not hide or steal it.
SECRET plots of mass destruction will no longer exist.
OPPORTUNITIES for united goodwill ventures will increase
FORTUNES will be measured in people, not possessions
WARS will be declared on bigotry, hate, and ignorance
AIRPLANES will deliver greater missions of mercy
RESTORATION, renewal, and respect will be realized
A mountain of some measure aligned slopes,
Silversword's statuesque uncommonness,
bikers and skiers, youth urban slang, 'dopes,'
pics of height's flowering tower upness.
Centuries of swordplay, The Word, acclaimed,
plowshares and the sorts treats its new version.
Purplish flowers are structurally framed,
like a cross handle, silver hairs orphan.
Majestic still today, handle to point,
Jehovah's watchtower, grand edifice
leans to age and weather. Volcano joint
Maui's 'House of the Sun' sole home exists.
Another species bides the intellects,
nature goes on living with the ... neglects.
KJV: Isaiah 2:4, " ... they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruninghooks:" ... by Isaiah son of Amoz re last days of Judah & Jerusalem
Insomuch, the northern rains be as brief,
and the winds tear the southern plains relief,
sobeit, that the realm is the victim,
and the seas rise as victor; its dictum,
praise be not the state claim of righteous earned,
challenge naught by singularity spurned,
howbeit, by a greater force yon ours,
deliver its wrath on the land it scars,
then sheath the swords of heartless warriors,
in their mildness find besprent carriers,
and restore the misty dew dawn's embrace,
while tethering the plains a moistures grace,
and hail the dutious guards their former posts,
and the forces that be, as the realms host's.
. for public domain
We forget more wars than we fight,
and sooner the warriors, who fade from the Light;
and the stories we tell,
those who stood, those who fell,
go gentle into Dylan's Good Night.
War as much as seek peace.
Inherit the earth, or fight for a piece.
Wherever we dwell,
Heaven, Earth, or Hell,
our Fate, always war, always peace.
So beat the sword to a plowshare,
and harvest the fruit for feast days;
but when the foes come
to devour your young,
beat plowshares into swords and fight.
If humans must wage war,
let it be upon our own evils.
Let there be genocide on
violence and divisiveness,
malice and indifference,
prejudice and inequity,
foolishness and falsehoods.
If humans must make weapons,
let us weaponize goodness,
arm ourselves with love,
beat peace into plowshares,
and (nearly) kill with kindness.
Such are the wonder weapons
we humans of the world want.
(In memory of the 19 children and two adults killed by gun violence in Uvalde, Texas on May 24, 2022…as well as the countless others who have and who will suffer similar fates.)
Firearm Requiem
By Mark Stucky
In the U.S., guns outnumber people
and sales outpace population growth.
Guns under beds.
Guns in closets.
Guns in cars.
Guns in trucks.
Guns in purses.
Guns in holsters.
Guns in forests.
Guns in offices.
Guns in classrooms.
Guns here.
Guns there.
Guns everywhere.
Guns pointing at them.
Guns pointing at me.
Guns pointing at you.
Why let so many fingers on so many triggers?
Why protect guns more than lives of children?
Why choose gun wrongs over gun laws?
Why is America the monarch of mass shootings?
Did gun rights come from Mt. Sinai,
written by God’s own fingers?
Did (not) guns (once again)
make America great(ly pained)?
When will we as a nation
collectively have courage
to save generational blood
and beat guns into plowshares?
(First published in Agape Review, 15 June 2022. See also my poems “Hate Vacuuming” and “Weapons of Wonder.”)
The man coming home, used to wear
a military suit.
Man’s little older, wiser now,
not innocent … recruit.
‘Soldier his duty,” back then told,
same told, other young men.
Told they’d travel see the world, poor
gullible … little Ben.
Ben heard, “privilege fighting for peace,
for freedom for this land.
In return, be educated,
come home … a smarter man.”
And so Ben donned a uniform,
looked handsome as could be.
Put on, so that whole world might live,
in peace … and liberty.
Christmas Eve in foxhole, Ben thought,
“should be peaceful, not fight.” *
Thought, “must have been out of his mind,”
he’d known … killings not right.**
Christians killing other Christians,
saw Priest blessing each gun.
No way no one, on either side,
peaceful men … like God’s Son.
What no one ever mentioned, and
took war for Ben to see.
Blood guilt tears, he’s experiencing,
not who he wants … to be.
Ben, valiant soldier shed tears in
cold prison many years.
His CRIME, “Not kill fellow humans.”
now God’s approval ... hears.
Valiant soldier, peaceful teacher,
neutral in world affairs.
Scripture on U.N. wall obeyed, ***
'sword beat .… into plowshares.'
Plowshares and Oilrigs
David J Walker
It was a windmill made of wood
With a metal rod coaxing the
gold standard from the ground
it was cold water held captive awaiting
its calling fulfilling a promise made
many millennia in the past
it was a lost civilization
of propane prose
and profane memories
it was itself a treasure
awaiting the unpacking
of plowshares and oilrigs
it was a land of vast nothingness
awaiting the ending of an evolutionary
transformation from a mountain to a grave
In the Hush
"It is finished!" over, complete
Echoing in the twilight hush
On Saturday's holy ground
Breathing through candles on the Sabbath table
Slowly vibrating to a fevered breath
Strong enough to shatter stone
And melt iron tipped spears to plowshares;
In sacred stillness
Centuries of exile emerge from catacombs of somnolence
In quiet breaths of quietude's understanding
And gather ragged edges of unsettled grieving,
To sit resolved with shredded edges,
Before the quivering daybreak can exhale
Before the Promise of the Ages readies to inhale
Sweet breath
Mystery of the miraculous dangles over
Smiles of silent satisfaction
Victory over the absurd re-enters
Awakening the soft slumber
Of Heaven's returning scarred Prince
In a stone womb sanctuary;
Death whimpers
Forgiveness reunites shallow breathing
In the wheeze of asthmatic gasps
And readies to explode on gales of the first rays
Of rising dawn
Piercing sorrow with breezes of wonder!
Alleluia!
We beat our swords into plowshares
And the enemy bombed all our farms
Disarmament sounds nice in theory
But it's the other side's call to arms
I’ve felt the stir of resolution
to throw off careless greed.
I’ve heard the soothing voice of reason,
long thought to be extinct.
So pound your plowshares into words,
turn your anger into votes.
Let’s march together towards sanity,
reclaiming fragile future’s hope.
Words as offensive weapons
dwell on ugliness of bad-humored life.
Words as effective tools
dwell on beauty and truth
of good-humored health,
empowerment,
love.
Yet, swords become plowshares.
Plowshares are repurposed as unwieldy swords.
Regenerative intent becomes degenerative chaos.
Degenerative discontent becomes regenerate
tipping points
within silent complexity.
Can words become weapons
for active peace?
And still tools
quietly feeling unresolved
in silent external/internal wars?
Between curious ancient communioned minds
and courageous ego-independent bodies,
Between original health-tooled womb
memories
And today's wealth-weaponed tidal means,
unsustained strength
yet resiliently flowing ways,
transparent patriarchal dissonance
revoicing maternal confluence,
empowering vulnerability;
revolutionary stillness
actively listening
between quiet health-wombed rememories.
Wisely employed wellness tools
for feminist well-being weapons;
cooperatively-managed words
for hearing beatific Truths,
re-seeing Ways,
rekindling communicating Lives;
Revolutionary politics,
awesome economics,
wondrous revitalization,
compassionate communion.
Capital is the original weapon
for blasting apart nutritional health
from commodity wealth.
If capital is human history's non-ecological economic risk,
Then cooperative investment is our original tool
for healing nutritional wealth
as compassionately felt
GoldenRule opportunity health
for achieving win/win affective and effective politics,
ego-personal
and eco-social
deep learning weapon/tool future investments
co-relational.
The hater with the gun,
the loafing lover
with all my fun,
may be horrid,
too florid,
And may, like me,
merely want to be effective,
a dramatic part, affective
on and in this great staged show
we share
and sometimes care to listen
and too often speak
and shoot off too deadly much.
When we want to blow up competitively fast,
we go it alone,
as universally hungry egos.
When we want to go far
we go together,
cooperatively ego/eco-united.
When we want to go fast and far
we travel together
synergy's intentional resilience
quickly listening for cooperative warm resonance.
Active lovers
together having all our fast fun
remelting cooperative plowshares
from hot and steely guns.
Oh! that wars may cease
Oh! that peace may reign
Oh! that men may seize
brutes who are the bane
of societal peace
so that peace and love
may never be lost
nor our fragile trust
become precarious.
May our many foes
be saved from death's throes,
may tanks be plowshares
and guns harvesters.
May our daily cares
on neighbours be cast.
May all our youngsters
cease evil to learn
by working to earn
their wages by day.
Oh! may the boisterous
child be not consumed
by his fatal fall.
Oh! that people may
seek good roles to play
in a world so small
and shaped like a ball.
Oh! that we may fast
comprehend the times,
as the clock bell chimes,
and all our callous
deeds be not resumed.
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