When the balance breaks

 

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When I think of the violence the few
men and women do as our world’s leaders,
I am certain all the harm to the earth
is perpetrated by the human race.
 
And that may be.  But when I think of the
multitudes of humans who live without
causing harm and who act to heal, I know
that more love than evil surrounds the earth.
 
So far the balance holds, and is not
easily broken by daily outrage
and threats by weapons of mass destruction,
genocide, oil spills, and false alarms.
 
Aware of the danger, we work and pray
that when the balance breaks, peace is the way.

For Sumana's prompt "Contradictions" at What's Going On? 

My blog poems are rough drafts.

Please respect my copyright.

© 2025 Susan L. Chast

 

Do you hear the people sing?

 

Photo by Jonn Leffmann, 2014, Source

Do you hear the people sing?
Singing a song of angry folks?
Bringing food to children who
should not be starved again.
It’s the lesson of your heart
that genocide is wrong,
and Gazans should exist
when tomorrow comes
 
Will you join in our movement?
Who will be strong and stand with me?
It’s not antisemitism
to let innocent Gazans breathe.
 
Do you hear the people sing?
Singing a song of angry peoples?
Will you give what you can give
To feed a land of starving souls?
It’s the lesson of our hearts
That genocide is wrong!
We want the bombs to stop
When tomorrow comes!
 
Do you hear the people sing?
Singing a song in harmony?
Songs of Gazans and Israelis
who want to live safe and free.
Americans join in the harmony,
wishing to ditch governments
that disempower you and me
from ridding earth of armaments,
from ending the killing spree.
 
Will you join in our movement?
Will you act compassionately?
First we’ll feed the many starving
then build the world we long to see.

For Mary's prompt "Do You Hear the People Sing?" at What's Going On? 

My blog poems are rough drafts.

Please respect my copyright.

© 2025 Susan L. Chast

Another poem:  There will be singing

There will be song at the end of the day
Once more, we’ll hear birds sing and children play.
 
Now between the bombs it is too quiet.
We wait, but know there will be no let up.
 
How can we tell birds and living children
Why we won’t, don’t—and can’t—stop bombardments?
 
But we will sing the children’s favorite songs
and write new ones to tell our history.                

 

There will be new songs at the start of day.
We’ll hear birds sing again and children play.

 

Rhymes with Coup

 
Alarmed by the coup we are living in,
I strap down at home and wait for the pinch
of lift-off and inevitable crash.
There is no harbor inside.  Inch by inch
 
we are priced out of safety by tariffs
and deportations.  Roofs fall and windows
blow out, but FEMA no longer assists
in times of nature’s disasters.  Although
 
now is an un-natural disaster
made for those afraid to look the coup in
the eyes and see its similarity
to fascist regimes and to genocides. 
 
Could stay-ins have made a difference in
Nazi Germany had they sniffed the air?
What could end America's racism? 
What could make a difference in Gaza? 
 
What could get me to unstrap and to walk
further than the end of my own driveway?
I open the way, but let a stand of
magnolia trees deflect my purpose.
 
Truth is, any beauty could keep me from
engaging in large issues of my time.
I strap down at home fearing the coup has
won, and spend days looking for words that rhyme. 

My blog poems are rough drafts.

Please respect my copyright.

© 2025 Susan L. Chast

Seeing Red

 

 

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Red is striking as a stripe through a rug,
woven or tufted tightly, thin or wide.
But not as blood seeping through a white shirt
or bandage held tightly against wounded pride.
 
Red is pretty as petals on roses,
fake or real, or floating in a river.
But not when shot through the eyes of sleepless
and starving children waiting for succor.
 
Red is luscious as silk costumes and shawls
wrapped around lithe bodies and chilled shoulders.
But not as fire and gun burns on arms that
reluctantly use them as ordered.
 
Let red be nature’s innocent color,
not experienced as wartime décor.

 For Sherry's prompt "THIS IS NO TIME TO MAKE THINGS PRETTY" at What's Going On? 

My blog poems are rough drafts.

Please respect my copyright.

© 2025 Susan L. Chast

Mom died on Mayday

 

Branches in autumn
let their leaves fall sans protest,
nonviolently.
 
But I ache to hold
onto you who slid away
peacefully asleep.
 
The day you died weighs
on me, hay bale on my back,
brick in my belly.
 
Yet Mother’s Day reminds
me that you were the tree, and
I the leaves and seeds.
 
You let go gracefully, 
you who loved trees, and brought home 
relics and drawings.
 
I can love you in
the trees, and relieve some of
the weightiness of grief.  

For my prompt "Grief" at What's Going On? 

My blog poems are rough drafts.

Please respect my copyright.

© 2025 Susan L. Chast

History in concrete

 

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No one would use the word beauty for the ruins
of the Berlin Wall, the concrete portion
of the Iron Curtain, a piece of which I keep
in my China cabinet.  The USSR built it to be
efficient and cruel, with no thought
of art or sculptural quality.  In this, it
presages both Israel's West Bank barrier and
the partial southern border wall of the USA.
 
My tiny piece is almost two inches thick with blue
paint on one side.  When it rests in my hand, I see
the red blood of military might necessary to
separate people who need to be free.  I see
wallpeckers opening holes in the barrier for  
new border crossings.  I imagine someone wielding
a hammer to reclaim freedom, to be part of the peaceful
revolution that took down the entire Iron Curtain.

 For Sumana's link "Ruin / Ruins" at What's Going On? 

My blog poems are rough drafts.

Please respect my copyright.

© 2025 Susan L. Chast