POETRY OF PEACE GALLERY
e'k, rangimarie, hedd, pace, tutquin, shanti, vrede, paquilisli,
MNP, Onai rahu, amani, kev sib haum xeeb, shaantiM, hedd,
gutpela taim, lalyi, pesca, damai, raha, fred, eirni,
pax, mir, peace, heiwa, amn, nabad, rauha,paz, frid, paco,
shAnti, paqe, danh tu, ittimokla, rahu, paix, beke, shalom,
the Poetry of Peace
We must allow ourselves the joy of loving through
life more than we fear our living.
Living In the Bullseye
by Cliff Kindy
Dear Family, Friends and Good People,
This is an open letter to my daughter Miriam.
I invite you to share in the emotions that are entwined in
Dear daughter of my blood, compassionate Sister of the human
We have raced the wind, side by side on our bikes,
dragging the breath of life into our lungs,
As we hit the marsh flats on the straightaway
headed for Joyfield arm.
I write from the center of the universe, the beginning of
where the Tigris and Euphrates flow together,
At the Garden of Eden, several hundred kilometers south of
My housing rises from the earth between the two rivers,
the Fertile crescent, the birthplace of civilization.
This is the land of Ur, the place from which Sarah and Abraham
out on a journey that led to the action of faith.
I write from the lands nurtured by the wells of the Spirit,
the sea deeps
From which Jonah was spit out toward Nineveh,
the prayer deeps that carried Daniel, Shadrach and company.
I write from the center of hell, the seething, swirling maelstrom
that threatens to capsize our souls.
I've stood in the pit from which Daniel was pulled away
from the closed jaws of the lions.
I've parked my body here where the U.S. dumped
500 tons of depleted uranium (DU),
Sowing death on the earth for 4.5 million years.
You were with me in the DU-ridden downwind trade winds of
We were the largest Christian Peacemaker Teams
presence on the ground ever.
And you, yes, you Sister, are one of the reasons I'm in CPT.
"Daddy, maybe we should make it possible for you to go
Sons and fathers leave home and never return,
you are only going for three months."
I write from today's Auswitzian ovens.
These gases are radioactive and economic.
5000 children a month die from leukemia,
diarrhea and waterborne diseases.
The war brought the cancers and the sanctions
stopped the repair of water treatment plants.
I write from the center of death where the rivers of life
have become the rivers of hell.
Friday I was moved deeply at the Chaldean Christian school
that Peggy and I visited.
The exuberant smiles and handshakes, children 3 to 21,
burst my carefully constructed dam.
I built the dam after Gaza. "As you cross the border
into Gaza you cross
the border into hell," Said Rabbi Jeremy. It was brutal.
I cried deeper in my soul than I've ever cried before.
One can't live. Too much anger. Too much pain. One must dam
I strengthened the dam in the memorial building in Acteal,
45 massacred by paramilitaries.
And again on La Framboise Island with the Lakota warriors
protecting their land and people, nonviolently.
I shored it up in Puerto Nuevo Ite as the bananas were planted
and the chickens hatched,
While the band of 500 military and paramilitary still roamed
I built the dam as high as the Aswan in New Brunswick
with Miigamahan and Geesatanamuk.
Yesterday the high wall was breached by an eroding rivulet
that threatens a flood.
We've worked the floods of Riley and Ft. Wayne,
the storms of Mt. Olive and Mobile, the furies of Culebra
Here The Flood once washed clean, but now the flood, or as
"The Fire Next Time," Threatens to engulf us.
The Gulf War burned deep. Etched on our souls, it trained
City bomber as he plowed under the surrendering Iraqi soldiers
for two days
After the cease-fire on the Road of Death.
"It was a turkey shoot," proclaimed the U.S. soldiers
They brought the war home.
It was reborn in their babies without eyes, organs outside
Without brains - and in the D.C. sniper who learned his lessons
I write from the land of empires,
built and collapsed Babylon, Assyria, Alexander and Babel.
Here God looked down on the tower.
Here are the ruins of empire, the grave of Alexander.
Dear Miriam, sister of Moses and Aaron,
the one who danced as the winds held back the floods,
The one who walked through on dry land,
who watched as the waters terminated empire.
Dear Miriam, Mary, mother of Jesus,
there as the birth waters broke, the healing river.
The one who watched, nurtured, pondered, wept as the crosswinds
salvation bucked empire and lifted humanity.
The one who probably saw the beginning of the Body gathered,
a resistance to Empire, a witness to the created humanity.
Well, Sister, where is the saving flood?
Where today the healing winds of Pentecost?
As Empire emerges from the wellsprings of Hell,
is there a Body willing to be nailed
To the cross with its Jesus, in resistance to this powerful
Does the resurrection
Live in the scattered "least of these?"
Miriam, you who held the abandoned ones in your arms
in the Worker houses of San Antonio,
Where are the arms to hold these 23 million,
abandoned for 12 years to the manipulated
Intrigues of oil, money and power?
Here in Iraq are the wells that fuel the engines of empire.
Where are the wells that undergird us deeply enough to battle
Life in the depths of horror we must enter today?
Compassionate Sister, what is the dance that will
celebrate the waters held back here?
Is he still Lord of the dance?
North Manchester Church of the Brethren, is in the
with the Christian Peacemakers Team.
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Imagine all the
people living life in peace. You may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not
the only one. I hope someday you'll join us, and the world will live