Category: A Poem

THE NO IDEAS IDEA

Words without connection rumble,

arrive and disappear.

Images without explanation

fly through the sky of vision.

Meanings are lost.

How and why, I do not know.

 

Mistakes, weakness and imperfections

penetrate the early hours before dawn.

Where is maturity? Humility?

Forgiveness? Change?

 

Who will finish what?

No beginning. No end.

Fear sinks its head

as a hopeful smile lingers

without reason.

Gudrun Mouw (c)
Sept. 24, 2018

A Poem

After Labor Day

A newsperson previews summer’s end;
this proclamation brings relief
and fear—the intense heat that was,
and a chill about to fall
upon an expanding national concern,

which reminds her of the violent years
that unleashed World War II.
And now, once again, she remembers:
how hard it is, not to hate hatred.

Her prayer escapes: “May I breathe
that divine and universal love,
away from those who whip their rage.
Let me not retreat
to a prison of discouragement.”

Gudrun Mouw (c)
September 6, 2018

A Poem

Friend/Enemy

Dear friend, before you died,
you complained, “I’m doing things so
I can keep doing them.” I did not think
those would be the final words
I heard you speak….

Dear enemy, will my aversion
for the harm you keep committing
bring the world, once more,
towards a common good?

May truth blossom
like rosemary
in the midst of drought.

Gudrun Mouw (c)

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

A Poem

Forgiveness

For Mutti

More than 17 years ago, on your last day,
you left your “Sabbath…Study Guide” open
to a page on forgiveness;
you were only a few years older than I am now.

Still, your multitude of sad, unspoken words
rise up from the depth of our shared
her-story and haunt my hours.
Mother, Mutti, it was never your fault.

Though it is no longer a misfortune
to be born in a family that did not
produce first born male heirs but daughters,
the guilty consequence remained for generations.

In spite of all odds, thanks to you,
I survived Hitler, as well as Stalin’s starvation camps.
And today, as a rough, fearful winter continues to invade
this spring, I release an ancient anger to honor you.

Gudrun Mouw (c)
April 4, 2018

A Poem

 

another massacre, the same excuses,
platitudes and insincerities; a numbness
covers the landscape like a wash of despair.
The brave ones must help us pierce through,
to regain our humanity and the lives of our youth.

 

 

 

Gudrun Mouw (c)
February 16, 2018

A Poem