Song of Souls

5 April 2003
Saint John, New Brunswick, Canada

Dear Friends,

Today at our peace gathering, when the son of a poet read a poem in Arabic on the steps of city hall, something broke loose in me. My mind comprehended none of the words, but my body understood the emotion carried by rhythm and sound.

No one knows where poems come from; we can only notice the circumstances in which they arrive. This one showed up about two hours after the rally ended.
SONG OF SOULS

Startled by death
that fell from a roaring sky,
we flew away.

We circled high,
higher than the war planes fly,
and we saw you far below,
piling our broken bodies
in the back of your truck,
driving to a hospital
where none could heal us
and none could heal you.

O hear our song
in the music of the wind —

We have found the forever place,
the place of no war.

We remember you, beloved.
We remember you always.

 

– Harriet Ann Ellenberger

note: photo by Jeremy Bishop on Unsplash

 

 

War Babies

 

War babies are babies
who make war
without knowing what war is.

War babies make war
on nature,
on drugs,
on anyone who crosses them,
on each other.

War babies have guns
that are big and mean.
War babies have money
that won’t buy them more time.

War babies hit a telephone pole
at 100 miles an hour,
and expect to walk away.

War babies stay babies
because they don’t learn.

Oh look, they’re doing it again.

 

–Harriet Ann Ellenberger, 11 February 2016