by Glen Stephens
great black clouds
rise here far above
the fruitless wars
shake loose their snow
to float down on rocky
peaks and wide canyons
to settle on the rusty remains
of blown up trucks
and mounds of broken houses
to sizzle on the oil-can fires
surrounded by the beards and turbans
of young men with guns
young men who cannot read
but pass their time reciting poems
in endless streams
written by poets who
lived through fruitless wars
eight hundred years ago
Glen Stephens lives part of the time, when it's cold elsewhere, in Riverside, California and part of the time, when it's hot in Riverside, on Orcas Island, about ninety miles north of Seattle. He has been writing poetry since his retirement as a practicing attorney. His poems have appeared on line in Shark Reef and The Huffington Post.
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