JOHNMICHAEL SIMON POETRY

We circle the wide waters of Galilee

Violin lake shimmering shades of blue into turquoise

on our right tracks wind up past boulders to purple heights

we gaze down from fortifications empty now of blood

where hushed echoes of tank tracks and gunfire

zigzag across history’s scarred plains so that

even the fish glinting in the depths can hear them

and say to their children

‘this is how it was’.

 

Up into the finger of North beneath stars

we dip toes into icy streams sparkling life

from melted snow rushing by to join Jordan’s flow

of life.  Grafting words onto birds we watch them fly

the north wind, sailing like rocket shells, exploding

exploding in long weeks of colored stars that drift

down onto roofs, schools, hospitals
and in a final burst of fire, spread metal pellets

splintering glass, wood, flesh, glistening pink and red.

 

Lying under a bridge by a bend in Banyas stream

we watch the stars ripple out between ripening

apple years, fig years, cherry years,
close by soft water music and silver

laughter of playful fish
 

Wishing that peace was more than a dream,

more than a smudge on the map,

more than a prayer chanted at sunrise and Sabbaths