ANTI-WAR POEMS

SELF'S ORCHESTRA

The lotuses bloom,
the vision,
appareled in spring,
smiles and sings.

Attuned to self's orchestra,
I go blessing every being.

Enter the snake:
withered the leaf,
stained the petal,
shattered my quiet.

A COURTESAN

A courtesan entices
the innocent into a bear-hug,
whips up communal passions
in the profligacy of desire.

Inside my skull
hellish fires rage
as I gamble
for the throne.

A witch lures
the hordes
to stoke the cauldron,
to taste the ultimate power.

On my face
the red shame
not to be washed.

HOLOCAUST REHEARSALS

Daggers at our neck,
cannons at our back,
rockets on our head,
how long do we go on
with our holocaust rehearsals?

How long can we sleep
in doomsday dread,
in balance of terror,
in MAD syndrome?

This self-deception,
this dope dream,
how long shall it last?

NUCLEAR DOOM

Where are we heading?
Does anyone know
the direction and the flow?
On what precipice bending?
Doesn't the flow portend
the tragic, fated end of all
that in centuries fruitioned;
a sudden annihilation?

Are we going to begin again,
have we come full circle,
is this the end of all endings,
the point whence we set out in primal times?

Peace love and well-being of all,
the goals our ancients cherished
went about spreading the message
in every corner of the world.

But could not persuade
their fellow citizens--
the consequences of clashes
of powered greed
can spell a permanent nuclear doom.

A FLAMING HEATH

The owl sits on the top,
we shall surely come to grief;
the storm is a prelude
to imminent doom.

The theory of mutual-deterrence
threatens man's very existence;
a plea for precarious peace,
a doomsday siren.

Blooming youth is pushed down
into the jaws of death,
spring-eyed garden turns
into a flaming heath.

The war
to end all wars
will be fought
not with cannons
but with star weapons.