Peace Poets is a project produced by C.J. Prince and Carla Shafer. These postcards, poems and art send out at least 2,252 expressions of peace around the world. Some are beautiful and witty poems, others are thoughts, visions and simple inspirations.
In my case, each card has some reference to peace, not necessarily World Peace. Some are related to personal experiences; others random thoughts, perhaps inspired by the postcard itself. As well as simple whimsical poetry.
Some of these postcards are hard to part with, having been collected over the years. Others are discovered at garage/estate sales. I actually love to send them on their way and grateful for the opportunity to save this collection on my blog.
All of these poems have been written spontaneously, and if there is any editing from the original to this page, it is not remarkable.
The Post Office manages to stamp and seal out as many words as possible, so the original can be found here, with all the words intact.
Our little boat,
tucked in among big,
imposing yachts...
water sloshes between
the dock
and the gunwales, ocean
sounds
murmur once the sun
falls behind
the next westerly
island,
small animals shelter
and
squeak. Glasses clink
on a nearby deck. Peace
gathers
those who make plans
to set sail at dawn.
~~~
Together we can find a way to shelter one another, to use kindness and listen with the heart. No shouting - simply soft words of love. We somehow must escape the shooters and the mad ones, find out how they too can be embraced.
~~~
Anchored out at Sucia Island;
morning is wet, all surfaces
covered in a fine film of
sea dampness. Seagulls scream
out their love for oysters
long before we have
water for coffee boiling.
It’s a delicious life – waking on the water.
Encompassed in peace and the scent of the ocean.
~~~
My father taught us that crows were old Indians. It was very important to him that we respected crows and Indians, old, young, man, woman; crows and Indians. He told us his grandmother was Indian. They called her Pocahontas. But they called all Indian women Pocahontas who couldn’t write their own name in English. My father wanted us to understand that crows and Indians were the peaceful ones, we should follow their examples.
~~~
Wandering,
footsore,
after a long day
of gazing at
spectacular scenes
of others imaginations,
wars,
carnivals,
dance,
birth,
death;
inside the minds,
outside of grasps,
insanity,
treachery,
love,
romance,
lust, and
a little bit of dust.
We seek peace in
museums,
churches,
sanctuaries.
It escapes us still,
no matter how diligent.
~~~
The light at the end of the day,
after rain leaves everything in pink light, with sun dipping behind hills. My
little dog and I wrap up and venture out for one last glimpse, her sniffing
every little thing, me breathing deep the fresh air, inhaling the peace of
evening.
~~~
There was
a simple magic
when I’d
wake up at
Mom’s
house and realize
she’d
opened the bedroom
door, let
the cat in,
and was in
the kitchen putting
away dishes
from the night
before,
clean and dry, emptying
the dishwasher
with military
precision,
clang of
ceramic,
glass,
flatware,
the smell
of
fresh
beans brewing.
Morning peace,
waking
day,
slowly
living
brought to life.
~~~
She
walked upon the river’s path, the leaves of spring, small babies yet, just
beginning to show their soft little heads, pushing out to reach the light. It
gave her hope of newness to come. Birds of brown and blue, singing their
own rock and roll version of sunshine and happiness. She bent down to pick up a
shiny coin dropped by a passerby and it said
Peace
Love
Faith
~~~
I sometimes think of Joe, whose mother called him José.
He was a peaceful man.
His smile could settle a small child’s tantrum; his arms would soothe a baby and rock her to sleep, long before her mother’s tears could dry.
He radiated softness, comfort.
Joe was an old man in a boy’s lean brown body.
~~~
His
shoelaces got caught in the escalator and he almost went down but was saved at
the last minute by a loose shoe and a man with steady hands. They’d gone to
Sante Fe for peace and rest but had forgot about the proximity to Los Alamos.
When he got to heaven,
my brother said
he was going to first look for Dad and Mom,
and then his best friend,
who passed so many years before him. I wonder
if he found them when he got there. Or did he even get there?
He was pretty convinced
that's where he was going. Did he find
the peace
people expect when they pass over
to wherever they go? Will I find out one day?
I've got a few things I want to discuss with them.
Graduation Party 2022
It rained.
No, it poured.
It meddled with our plans in a way that made us grin, and take on the challenge, because the Class of '22 had been through a couple of years that were not a mere nuisance filled with typical teenage angst.
No... this was masks and hand gel and sing-fucking-happy-birthday-twice-while-you-wash-your-hands and tests and vaxxing and learning to ignore insanity, which was sometimes blowing up all around you.
They danced under tents and then under the bursting sky, making peace with a world that wanted to send roadblocks.
But they came with fists and umbrellas!
There are some boys who will dream of going in the Navy.
Some think in times of peace, they'll be safe from danger.
Others join because they are called by some magic siren to bear arms.
There are those who will never see anything more killer than a whale.
"Peace" she asked for. And equality and the ability to make her own choices about this beautiful new body, as surely her mate had been granted. She begged, while he dozed and dreamt of sons, those who would go on to create parental peril.
Inés de Castro, the real hero of a tragic love story, rivaling Romeo and Juliet, she, the only one to pay the price with her life, for following her true heart. Has she encountered peace any of these 700 years, or does the brutal turbulence of her death haunt the beautiful faithful Inés, deep in her marble crypt?
To some it meant victory
but to us,
it meant something else. And
to a lot or parent-types,
it was an insult. We just wanted
the war to stop and
our boys to come home,
not in a box.
Two fingers,
held aloft,
palm out,
though many saw the middle finger only.
Over time,
everyone,
from first-graders to
US presidents
were flashing it.
Let's give it a chance.
