History in concrete

 

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No one would use the word beauty for the ruins
of the Berlin Wall, the concrete portion
of the Iron Curtain, a piece of which I keep
in my China cabinet.  The USSR built it to be
efficient and cruel, with no thought
of art or sculptural quality.  In this, it
presages both Israel's West Bank barrier and
the partial southern border wall of the USA.
 
My tiny piece is almost two inches thick with blue
paint on one side.  When it rests in my hand, I see
the red blood of military might necessary to
separate people who need to be free.  I see
wallpeckers opening holes in the barrier for  
new border crossings.  I imagine someone wielding
a hammer to reclaim freedom, to be part of the peaceful
revolution that took down the entire Iron Curtain.

 For Sumana's link "Ruin / Ruins" at What's Going On? 

My blog poems are rough drafts.

Please respect my copyright.

© 2025 Susan L. Chast

Dreams of peace with justice

(I have no beauty to weave around this, the truth has been stated too often. Someone else must write the song!) 

Here’s the dream: get rid of greed
and relieve the poor and lower classes
of their burdens.  Get rid of greed and
let peace spread around the globe.
 
Greed is the cloud that blocks the sun,
and rots roots that could feed everyone. 
Without greed we’d share earth’s bounty
and find that cooperation ends scarcity.

 

Greed builds barriers to empathy and
blocks the best instincts of neighbors and kin.
Without greed nations could end treachery,
witness against hoarding and inequity.
 
The opposite to clouds of greed is love
and kindness, two forces whose
symbiosis would, in time, ground
diverse populations in peace.

 

For Mary's prompt "Last Night I had a Dream" at What's Going On? 

My blog poems are rough drafts.

Please respect my copyright.

© 2025 Susan L. Chast

History / mystery

 

Though I believe presence has a certain kind of magic, I couldn’t
rush to Vatican City at the death of Pope Francis—nor take
the time when he was alive.  I observe the crowds on my TV
screen and feel a missed opportunity to grow magical
by association.  Isn’t that what mourners hope for?  The crowds
spill out of St. Peter's Square, and water the stones with tears. 
And fears about what level conservatism the Conclave will consider
now that the liberal Pope is dead and fascism thrives elsewhere.
Francis was a pauper with no greedy aspirations.  In that,
despite towers of structured authority, he was like Jesus.
He was the Sermon on the Mount addressed to those who consider
themselves better than others, holier than others, judges of others.
He was the Sermon on the Mount as poor and disenfranchised
people might wish for it to be understood, as first to do no harm.
And to love the neighbor and the stranger and God as one’s self.
 

We planted this tree.

So even in absence, we

are its mystery.

My blog poems are rough drafts.

Please respect my copyright.

© 2025 Susan L. Chast

After the poetry reading

 

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Poems within poems within poems
linger with participants and listeners.
Word- and image-refreshed, sighs, laughs. Eyes bright.  
Bodies aware of where they are, hearts open.

 

The poet, impressed by this new poem,
recalls standing in a circle of wind-blown trees,
the rustle of leaves, a wood within a forest,
a poem within a poem within a poem.

 For Sherry's link "Poetry is . . . " at What's Going On? 

My blog poems are rough drafts.

Please respect my copyright.

© 2025 Susan L. Chast

What We Planted

 

 

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The patience I gained
in school prepared me
for these tough times. 
Now I wonder
what we planted
in the children we taught: 
Kindness?  Love?  Joy? 
Intelligence, for sure. 
But did we plant
deeply enough to carry
them through lonely days,
and water lightly
enough so they have courage
through the dark night?
Soil matters most—
too sandy and water
is lost, too muddy,
seed loses its breath.
Were they sound ground? 
Did they grow into trees
Tall with integrity? 
Did they flower
both boldly and true?

 For my prompt "Seeds" at What's Going On? 

My blog poems are rough drafts.

Please respect my copyright.

© 2025 Susan L. Chast

In April

 

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Warm showers break up  
cold sunny days as
spring pushes itself
into awareness,
blossoms erupt
pink, yellow, and white,
and trees unfurl green
from their fingers.
 
Enter baby showers
and welcomings,
memorials and
earth days,
poetry readings,
protests, and
Passover and Easter.
 
Life flings
off sleep
and hustles 
all existence
into action
while I try
to slow down and watch.

For Sumana's prompt "In April" at What's Going On? 

My blog poems are rough drafts.

Please respect my copyright.

© 2025 Susan L. Chast