Poets Against War continues the tradition of socially engaged poetry by creating venues for poetry as a voice against war, tyranny and oppression.
Mia
40 years old
CA
Mia is the Editor of Tryst and not widely published. She is quiet for the most part except when it matters.
Maiden Stone
I lift my lamp beside the golden door.--Emma Lazarus
I remind you of Helen when you enter me like a horse and little men spill onto the streets bent on pillage and mass destruction, whose name begins with Al Quaeda, Bin Laden, Don Nero, Herr Hitler until history repeats itself.
You enter me like New York City with its restaurants and glitz smoky streets promising jazz midnight cafes and open bars
eat at my tables, then sleep with my wives and make friends with their husbands, all the while your beard and speech full of belch, you whore of Babylon.
Where was Paris then, my red thorn, my furnace, my roar, my loyal hounds when faith on its knees, was bruised and torn?
When you entered me like a Statesman without enquiry, without knocking, your Allahs confused with graffiti and the grime of industry
I could have huffed and puffed and blown off your doors; blown up your houses, your kids.
Instead, I prayed for clean rain and forgiveness that your children might know the taste of clemency—not mud, god forbid.
