my dream of peace- with chicken soup and jazz

eleven degrees, dreaming of round things: dining room tables, faces, clocks, a full moon, the repeated jazz tune, sevens, nines, elevens- horns, strings, keys, drums dare build a frenzy

one of hope and heart ache- too close to the hard undiggable earth to muster mirth- trudging on with this jazz that lifts and opens those dark corridors in the isle of willis- preventing the brain from draining its inherent abilities to learn and retain---the wisdom that would allow bones to
 soften and bend

for any situation is as good as any other to reach out to a sister, a brother,

a stranger lurks in our peripheries- dare we let go of the grip of ego saying
he'll be ok-- or do we go out of our way, because that is the demeanor
of soft chiffoned angels:

cheering on a neighbor, or a tree in a public place
 that did not get the proper care back in the spring-

it's the time for everyone and everything
to get down on knees---to resist the need to control everyone below-

and trust the rust, the metallic shine of racing cars, and horses--
slowing down enough when driving-- to really look at cows and sheep in the pasture-
to provide a palette of neutrality-

for us all to lay down the silver dagger, the golden gun, the bow and arrow,
the nuclear bombs- and get to know each other-

(scene fades as a burt bachrach tune pours from stage right, and the smells of mama's chicken soup waft- center stage)

.promises of peace become concretized in willing eyes and feet
stepping up to act on principles too important to get any further out of control--
love light peace prayers!

author, kate lamberg (c) '16