Whenever I hold peas
In the palm of my hand
I marvel at the wizened orbs,
They feel ancient

My Grandfather told me this,
His brown eyes gleaming, he said,
“Peas are easy planting,
After turning over the soil
Push them in one by one
No more than one finger square deep
Two finger squares apart
And they’ll come up, you’ll see;
The best time for planting peas is winter
Soon as the ground can be worked,
Winter, it’s the best time for sowing peas.”

Wherever I’ve been
I’ve planted peas
Marveling that small wizened orbs
Carry an entire world
Inside them.

My Grandfather told me this,
He said, his brown eyes twinkling,
“Growing peas is easy
Growing peace is easy too,
Peas have a season though
They grow and then they go,
Nothing to be done about it,
But peace, now peace when cultivated
It’ll last a whole lot longer than peas
And that’s the hard part, arduous work,
The cultivation and keeping of peace.”

I asked him how it’s done, Peacekeeping.
He smiled a toothless smile and said,
“Did you know, I was born with blue eyes,
They didn’t last though and nether will I;
Here, take these seeds and go plant them.”


Silver moonbeams spill to the floor

Through the open warp on the loom

The pattern as yet incomplete,

Watermelons and stars: a difficult undertaking.


By now you know

Never to eat watermelon seeds,

They grow into thick walls with vines

Creeping round, confining the heart.


The heart, that feeling red organ,

Generous as the watery fruit

Which quenches its thirst,

Circulates love.


Stars spangle the inky sky

Sequins on chiffon they whisper,

“Spit it out, spit it out,

With each seed sow peace.”


A sustained undertaking,

The tapestry complete when

Weavers come together in union

While silver moonbeams spill through the open door.

Peace Poet

"Peace" Mixed Media Collage

I learned about this convergence of poetry, peace, and postcards organized by Carla Shafer yesterday and signed up to participate with my family.  Should you be interested, there’s a wee window open to fly through, join in, and infuse . . . peace.

“Every time people speak their hopes, address their losses and fears and listen to each other, we are taking a step toward peace.” ~ Carla Shafer


February is Peace Poetry Postcard Month
Sign-up by January 30, 2017
at worldpeacepoets@gmail.com

See facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/worldpeacepoets

28 Days for your peace and resistance postcards

Peace poems can lead to peace-filled conversations and inspire our thoughts and efforts in the months ahead. Here’s how to sign up.

JOIN poets from around the world (28 to a group) and send one of your original peace poems on a postcard for the 28 days of February.

SIGN UP at worldpeacepoets@gmail.com and you will become part of a group of 28 writers who promise to send new poems on peace to each other.

To SIGN UP use the subject line: Peace Postcards
In the body of the e-mail provide:
Your Name, Street Address, City, State, Country and Zip or Postal Code.
For every 28 poets who sign up, a group is formed.

You will receive an e-mail with your list as soon as your group reaches 28 names and addresses.

1. On the first day of February (or before) write an original poem on a post card of your choice and send it to the person whose name is listed below your name.

2. Proceed down the list sending a new post card every day.

3.Circle back to the top of the list until you come back to your own name.

It’s that easy!

PROMPTS! Words about peace in these anxious times can fit on a postcard and are your original poems on peace. Also, original poems of peace can be inspired by a postcard you have received or by a prompt listed at World Peace Poets (Check it Out!)

POST! Feel welcome to post your peace poem and comments on the World Peace Poets Facebook page if you wish.

Postage: From the U.S. International postage is 1.20 per card or 4 first class forever stamps. Within the US there are postcard stamps at 0.35 (cents) per card.

Beauty Fields


In beauty fields

Wild horses run

While rabbits nibble weeds,

Then goblins come

With sacks piled high

And trample between steeds.


Stomp bellow snicker smirk

Goblins jostle through;

Then at the sight

Of Raven hunting

Black as night

They helter skelter scurry

Disappear without adieu.


For Raven does enjoy a feast

Of beady goblin eyes

He swoops and plucks

Then leaves them blind

Winging high

Toward clear skies.


Hark hither beauty fields

Where horses run by day

And rabbits under brambles pop

Blackberries dangling play,

Have thorns grown high that tangling ply

Dewdrops in the fields.


Chasing Waves

Brilliance is its own reward

The Sun glanced off my shining shield

And all those who gazed upon me

Were blinded by my audacity.


My helm was tall, my spear was sharp

I strummed the strings on my golden harp

My flag bore the shape of a silver whale

The ocean is from where I set sail.


Pallor is its own reward

The Moon glanced off my dark deception

And all who stepped in my shadow depart

Obscurity veiled my heart.


The sky is red, the moon is blue

Where I am from the pines are new

I chase my ambition in hot pursuit

I wear on my foot a winged boot.


I chase the golden apples

They were stolen from my tree

And in my heart I bear the image

Of the woman who stole them from me.


The golden apples in her hands

Guide me to her bower

My spear in hand I fly

Lightening sears the tower.


I throw back my hand, I cast my spear

Her eyes plead for mercy

She knows death is near

Obscurity veils her face.


Within her eyes, in the depths of the sea

The whale sings of her theft

My path in brilliance now stands clear

Her heart with my spear is cleft.


My audacity did not save my life

From the poison that stained my shining hand

I watched my brilliant soul depart

My boots lay on the blood stained land.


Now my golden harp I play

On the wave that carried me away

I sing the songs fortune foretold

That I would die from being bold.


My fingers pick a lively tune

My eyes behold the waxing Moon

She lifts me over onto the shore

And bids me be brilliantly bold once more.


I run on the sands with the joy of a child

I am alive and feeling wild

I ache to pick the golden strings

I shall seek out a tavern where I will sing.


Hail the world! I am a bard!

I’ve learned my lesson well

Of all things great there’s this I’ll tell,

Virtue is its own reward.