A nation of plague doctors
in plague doctor masks,
walking untroubled
by the smell of bodies.
What long beaks full of flowers.
What dark cloaks they don
to walk among the sick insisting
they have the cure: social unity, false kindness,
willed blindness to what ails
those who stand before them.
A reliance on unseen Someones
in the sky.
A certain ruthless innocence
upon hearing corrupted narratives.
What short memories.
What a short time since
they were themselves
the sick, the subjects of pain and lies.
What pity they would feel for themselves
if they were to be unmasked.
What panic would ensue, what
screaming, what fever would spread
if they realized how little
lavender and rue can do.
Dark Matter 
December 1st, 2015 at 4:33 am
Superb poetry, I’d like to say more of how profound I found this piece, but words fail me. Very nice!
November 30th, 2015 at 3:39 pm
Thank you for your reply. I was really sad. Sorry things are rough.
November 30th, 2015 at 2:48 pm
Wow! Didn’t remember saying anything you write is dull.
Sorry I offended you by implying you are not doing anything to make a difference. You are absolutely right, I know nothing about you other than your poetry. I do read poetry of yours that is more positive.
And perhaps that is what I should have sought out today. My reaction to your poem came from my own current discouragement over how little difference I have made with my life and how now all I can manage is to cheer up a few home bound old ladies once or twice a week. I do write some things that I hope are uplifting without being Pollyanna fluff. And normally I don’t react negatively to your poetry whether it is uplifting or not. But justified or not, this poem’s timing simply accidentally elicited a defensive response because I am struggling with my own failures that seemed to be what you were describing.
But it would appear that I too have hit a nerve by challenging you to read where I am coming from and have a dialogue about possibilities for how we can actually respond to the darkness that sometimes feels overwhelming.
Your blog is my favorite because it either says what I believe and can’t say as well or it challenges me to see things differently. The writing is incredibly skillful and motivates me to try to learn to be a better writer.
But it also makes me hungry for dialogue with thinking I relate to so dynamically.
I apologize for reacting personally from emotions rather than intellect. If you prefer, I will quit responding to you on what you write. A lot of the time I don’t know what I am thinking or feeling until I express it somehow.
Which is a flaw that sometimes has very negative results. This was one of them and as hard as I try, I can’t guarantee it might not happen again.
With much regret,
Eileen Norman
November 30th, 2015 at 3:00 pm
Well…I don’t care if you read or respond. I’m fine with that.
This is the poem in question: https://radioactiveart.wordpress.com/2015/11/26/forest-for-the-trees/
Thing is…I’m an artist. I see what I see and try to interpret it. What I do in life from that interpretation is not all that visible here, by choice; who I am as a person isn’t at play on this site.
I’m involved in MANY things when I’m not being a writer and musician. MANY things. That’s where I put it all into action.
Poetry of witness is a small form of activism indeed, but it’s what I write.
I’m sorry if I overreacted. It’s a very rough moment here.
November 30th, 2015 at 1:09 pm
Whoa. Getting into the Christmas spirit are we? 🙂
Sorry, couldn’t resist that.
Doesn’t take much intelligence to point out the horrors
in our society or in the entire history of humanity.
But I have to admit you do it extremely well.
And you are honest enough to turn the same cutting edge on yourself.
But where do you suggest we begin to inch toward a better world?
And any suggestions on how to get a majority to agree on what would be a better world?
Will look forward to reading that.
I admit the terrorism in France has been terrible, but the seemingly accepted terrorism in Nigeria is worse. The numbers are much greater, the lack of concern or offers of support much more discouraging,
The seemingly endless tendency of humanity to inflict heartless pain on one another would make me give up, if I didn’t believe we are almost imperceptibly evolving from a survival of the strongest, toward a willingness to sacrifice for not only the weakest, but the unworthy as Jesus did. Grace is real where ever it may come from. But as Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s life choices and death illustrated, it is not cheap, so not many seriously seek it. It is easier to either ignore or curse the darkness.
See my posts:” From Monkeys to Jesus: Has Humanity Made the Leap from Monkey Yet?” and “My Tiny Personal Creed.” And possibly even the three posts: “Hubris Part One”, “Hubris Part Two,” and “Hubris Part Three” that outline my spiritual journey from about the age of twenty to forty.
November 30th, 2015 at 1:16 pm
How about in the poem you said was dull a few days ago?
You don’t have a clue about how I make my living, what kind of volunteer work I do, or really, anything about me.
You don’t know how I give, where I spend my money, or really, anything about me.
Other than my poetry, of course.
I’m a poet. I do what I do. This is what I do. Read some more of my older Works for the uplift you seek, or write it yourself.
Or stop reading altogether.
This is how I spend this historical moment…as witness.
You do you.