Discipline

“Don’t hit your brother.”
“Don’t fight!”
“We don’t hurt people. It’s not nice.”
On the playground, at the grocery store,
on children’s TV shows;
out of our grown-up mouths.
Hear it, believe it, repeat it.

“Don’t fight.” “Don’t hit.”
Drill it into their moldable minds
like an annoying Internet ad,
always in the background.
Be effective parents.
Be consistent; be real.
Teach them about non-violence,
sharing, honesty—
Life’s greatest lessons.

And when you find your youngest
colouring the National Post in purple,
his innocent fingers tracing the truth:
Fighting in the Gaza Leaves 18 Dead;
Pudgy, Band Aid-patched legs
barely covering gruesome photos of
“necessary hits” on families like yours,
hits justified by fear, by greed—
by nothing at all,

Don’t see it, don’t believe it,
Don’t bother to explain it.
Only now learning to read,
he’ll flash an oblivious smile,
his crayons erasing the dead.

'At War' by Heather Grace Stewart

Make Your Mark

Voting day for our federal election here in Canada is next Oct. 14, so I thought I’d post a few election-related poems from Where the Butterflies Go. I wrote Golden Dreams a little over four years ago – how odd (and sad) that very little has changed and this poem still makes sense for our coming election. I penned My Mark just before our last provincial election – it was published in Babylon Burning: 9/11 Five Years On, an anthology edited by Todd Swift- all proceeds go to the Red Cross so please consider buying this collection for a great cause.  I won’t get all political on you here and share how I’m going to vote -  just want to say please don’t forget to make your mark – one vote can make a difference.

Golden Dreams

Durango Gold,
Durango Gold,

We choose ceramic tiles
content,
while war rages
over the ocean.

7 Soldiers Dead in Baghdad

We care, but still go about our lives.

“Shall we buy a BBQ?”
“Get the driveway paved?”

And I cringe, to think we can build
a house of dreams
While 200 thousand Canadians cry for
simple shelter.

Enter another election
sure to lead us nowhere
but back to Status Quo.

Durango Gold,
Durango Gold,

Doesn’t shine the same
for me anymore.

There are dark clouds
across this Canadian sky.

My mark

In the streets of Baghdad
women walk with trembling hands
to cast their vote—
fearing for their lives,
searching for snipers in the shadows,
pointing their purple-stained fingers
in the face of terror.

In these streets of red and white
I will cast my vote with pride;
no longer apathetic.

I make this mark
for the women who paved the way,
told to mind their husbands;
to stay out of a man’s world.

I make this mark
for the women who dared to think,
to dream, to speak;
whose words were stifled,
but not their spirits.

I will make my mark
for my foremothers—
and the bloodied women
of Baghdad.

Heather Grace Stewart