A Poem

July Afternoon

A wound up breeze unfurls, dries out
what we’ve healed
with grey water, hoses, tears.
So much shrivels while

a shameless cult leader lies to the world,
and an afternoon in solemn silence
sinks oak roots deep
into the sand.

Gudrun Mouw (c)
July 14, 2018

2 Comments

  1. Lindy Kern said:

    Gudrun, thank. you. Your poem – so poignant, I wish it could be seen by the world, and by the people listening to and believing the ” fake news ” who don’t know what is happening and that what is happening is insidious and frightening,
    Missing you.
    Lindy

    July 25, 2018
    Reply
  2. Cathy said:

    I wish I had more understanding. Of politics, of history, of humanity. It helps to share the pain of each assault. And I wonder if that dulls my obligation to take action. We’re all in this together. What is needed? In each moment? Discernment. Grief. Love. Action (including sitting still).
    Thank you for sharing this poem. I’m so grateful for what you create.

    July 25, 2018
    Reply

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