Illumed by a Star

Since I am the pilot--

My ship built of days--

I sail for an islet

Beyond the earth-ways,

Its lighthouse a Temple

Illumed by a star--

The bells in its steeple

Call "Peace!" from afar.

Song for an Infant Son

O little man-child, sleeping on my breast,

I pray the carillons of peace will sound

Before the doleful drums disturb your rest;

Before a cross for you marks hallowed ground.

And yet my son, this grim, chaotic world

Whose greed's strong henchmen ride on crimson sod

Will some day see the flag of peace unfurled

And build a great imperium to God.

I wait the dawn to follow the dark night

Of horror, with the cross of Calvary.

You may behold, my son, the growing light.

One of the chosen builders you may be.

So sleep my darling, in your infant bliss,

For you may never feel the sword's sharp kiss.

The Emancipator

Hon. Mention in IWL Contest

Let Your Black Tears Flow

Weep black tears

for the fallen hero,

for the uninhabited mountain from which he fell.

Weep, for he lies at the foot of the mountain

wizened to a dwarf with his spine curved

like the willow.

Weep, and pull the sword

from his bleached heart.

Let your black tears flow

till the sword corrodes with rust

and the soaring Eagle sky-writes PEACE

with the ashes of the war-stallion.

No Light of Bomb

The flag of peace will be unfurled,

The light of hope illume the sky,

Vast reels of selfless-love uncurled.

The flag of peace will be unfurled

And God's own fingers clasp the world

When man decrees that greed shall die.

The flag of peace will be unfurled,

The light of hope illume the sky.

First in MFCP Triolet Contest, Fall 1952

The Pipe of Peace

Gitche Manito, the Mighty,

Grieved to see His people fighting.

Ever following the war trail,

So descending from the Sky-land

Called the nations all together,

Met with them in tribal council

On the upper Mississippi.

There, upon a wall of red rock,

Seeing, on the plain below Him,

All the wigwams of His children,

He broke off a piece of pipestone,

Turned it in His skillful fingers,

Molded it into a peace-pipe,

Smoked it till the smoke ascended

In a cloud-trail reaching Sky-land.

Then He called, His clear voice ringing,

"I am weary of your warring,

Of your chanted prayers for vengeance.

Cleanse your hearts and let forgiveness

Burn the candles on your altars.

See, my people, see the color

Of this pipe which I have made you--

Red, the flesh of all the people!

Therefore it can be a peace-pipe

Only when you cease your fighting.

Smoke the calumet together,

And let peace be here forever."

Gitche Manito, the Mighty

Vanished from them and ascended

In a smoke-cloud into Sky-land.

In that valley ever after

Not a tomahawk was lifted.

American Myths and Legends

First, "American Myths and Legends" Contest, 1953

Earth Can Be Beautiful

Come, build a Parthenon of Peace to youth--
Hold high their torch; bid them know hero-height--
Who now lie still, lips made for laughter mute.
Remove the sword from their pale hearts, once blithe.

Earth can be beautiful: Flame peace until
White lilies bloom where swords dissolve in rust,
And the stallion--war--that lopes through crimson mist
Plods before the plow, servile and dull.

Calm Waters

Wearing despair's dark mantle, bowed in grief,
I sailed rebellious waters; on my head,
The ashes of my dreams. I craved relief
From sorrow's cross. My son--my all--was dead.
The octopus of war had barrened me--
The joy of watching children's children grow
Was ever lost. Within Gethsemane
The darkness fringed with silver; through the glow
There came the Master's timeless lyric, "Peace!"
With Him I walked calm waters of release.

Sing Gently

A mother's lullaby becomes a star
To lead the earth to be peace-beautiful.
Lilies will bloom where swords dissolve--How far
Away the hour? How near this miracle?

O mothers, answer: Lift your eyes, and sing
The song of love, to bid small fingers curled
About your own reach upward to the King
That He may help them build a tomorrow's world.

Sing gently; kindle high, white fires to burn
Within the heart; give sons in youth the rod
Of flaming faith that they grow strong to turn
Back waters of the sea ... and lead to God.

For faith implanted through a lullaby
Will flame to blazon PEACE upon the sky!

To Blazen Peace upon the Rising Sun

Let the skilled fingers strum the silent harp;
The proven voice ring out to batter down
The blinding walls ... Let man, too long the clown,
Cease now his foolish mimicries, and leap
To learn new patterns from the stars, to build
A nest for eagles--not for the timorous dove--
Men lion-couraged--not the rabbit-willed--
Strong men whose passion is the strength of love:

The voice that thunders for the Mighty One;
The thought that lightning-swift will stay the hearse;
The arm to build the shattered universe,
Will blazon PEACE upon the rising sun.
Trenches were strewn with sons too long caressed--
Birth MEN OF FLAME within your eagle nest!

We Dare Have a Son

My dear, your letter said,
"When I return, if we dare have a son ..."
Darling, believe me, we shall bravely dare.
I hear you saying, "But she does not know:
She has not seen the fiendish face of war.
Still in the swaddling clothes of innocence,
And cradled in the arms of apathy,
How can she know?" My answer is, I know.

I know the curse of war.
But this I also know: that we who toil
Unceasingly for peace, and toiling, glimpse
With prophet-eyes, the glory of the dawn
After the long, dark, anguished night; who view
The Holy City rising tier on tier,
The last one touching Heaven--we must bear
And nurture sons for peace. Our sons, my dear,
With sons of those who likewise toil and see,
Will build and grace the new imperium
Whose soul is love; where every race and creed
Will meet as brothers, and will drink the wine
Of deep compassion, and partake the bread
Broken by Him whose hands are scarred, whose lips
Will speak the code to close Gethsemane--
So smile my darling, we dare have a son.

Builders of Peace, Begin Your Task

Those who have prophet-eyes
Now look beyond this selfish hour
To time untouched by greed's long ego-fingers,
And see apathy's limp spine strengthened
And the hurricanes of intolerance stilled.
The prophet-ears now hear,
Above the voices of diplomacy worn thin
And the mingled heart-cries of all nations,
Chords of universal harmony.
Then stone by shining stone
Men, working as brothers of the Royal Rank,
Will build the Millennium of Peace.

Gay little feet of black and white will skip
Down flowered lanes together;
Toil-imprinted hands, both light and swarthy-hued,
Will fold in prayer and clasp before love's altar,
Each face illumined by compassion.
When school bells ring, the schools in all the world
Will make each child a friend to every child.
Star-tall upon their dreams,
The youth will view beyond their own confining rim
And reach to take the hands of youth of every race
Then enter, side by side, through open doors
And build the Temple of their noblest dreams.

Listening, can you not hear the universal melody?
Builders of peace, begin your task!