Humanitarian Pause
He Knows How Many
Thomas Quitzau
March 17, 2024
(Luke 12:7)
Haught’ly though the dank dark winter winds blow
Our stars’ rays now slash through and hold my gaze.
This high new brew mirr’rs our naughty social show
Flown through windows—apt apps win today’s craze!
How bright this staunch sphere’s march appears tonight!
Lives reared, chiefs jeered, works cheered, another year—
Bronzed space, well placed, revolved leaning delight
That snugs us each time we fall, jump, or fear.
Hear Lenten, Ramadan, Passover hymns:
We’re inclined to align ourselves with Him
We’re supposed to be talking more with Him
We’re inspired to be reading about Him
Counting hairs, aware of large body counts
Financed through wars with generous amounts.
Tom Quitzau has been writing poetry for many years and has lived in California, New Mexico, Louisiana, Texas, and now New York. He has been heavily influenced by a gallant group of writers in Texas because of their special attention to detail using nature, geography, social, and historical events in poetry to express the interconnectedness of many people, places, and cultures (Zenjourno Poetry). His influences include Laurence Musgrove, Loretta Diane Walker, Milton Jordan, Vincent Hostak, Kathryn Jones, Jesse Doiron, Chris Ellery, and Antoinette F. Winstead.
For Humanity
Irene Keller
January 28, 2024
For Humanity
hate-blood on children
boots smash photos, sacred scripts
sky glows slaughter-red
In a long silk black dress with a pink bodice, she, iridescent with hues of humanity, stands in the middle of black sand that surrounds her like miles of burnt tar. The distant mountains shine more black than sinister-rooted evil under the shadow of a gray moon.
She clutches the soft pink that covers her heart, her lungs; takes one step, then another, only to collapse to her knees. She crawls awhile—hands, knees raw—then carefully stands, sensing a spark in the distance. She puts on dead man’s boots and walks toward
slivers of gold light
waiting to shine once again
on humanity
Irene Keller, a retired Texas educator, was able to spark interest in poetry with students. Past or present, she must have poetry in her life. She has always considered herself an amateur poet, especially when compared to her grandmother. Her home is New Braunfels, Texas.
Gaza
Darby Riley
January 21, 2024
my god is the god
of christ of islam
the god of israel
yahweh unnameable
the source of what is
my god is angry
my god weeps cries out
stop the genocide
the apocalypse
in the holy land
Darby Riley is a lawyer and Sierra Club volunteer in San Antonio. He has hosted a monthly poetry writing workshop since 1992. His poems have been published in several anthologies, including Lone Star Poetry, and several local publications, including the San Antonio Express-News.
In the Quiet of the Night
John Rutherford
January 7, 2024
In the quiet of the night
a child gazes at the moon,
dazzled by the shining light,
listening to her mother croon
a lullaby about the sight,
the shining orb like a balloon.
On it, she pins her hopes and dreams,
an astronaut she longs to be,
to see the world beyond her screen,
flying there, starstuff and free,
to look upon the blue and green
dot, to know all there is to glean.
In the quiet of the night,
a child gazes at the moon,
dazzled by the shining light,
over her, it gently looms,
frightened by the floating bright,
waiting for the coming boom.
Is it the moon, or a flare?
A guiding light for the platoon,
the klaxons clang, the sirens blare,
the danger will be here soon,
her mother offers up a prayer,
for their bodies to be whole, unhewn.
In the quiet of the night,
two girls dream, seas apart,
for one the sky holds delight,
the other pulls along a cart,
two wheels, a symbol of her flight,
her mother, glad of the head start.
In the quiet of the night,
the calls for peace remain ignored,
the violence, just another blight,
the hunger, fear, and senseless gore,
children frightened of the lights
in the night sky, a sight to abhor.
John Rutherford is a poet writing in Beaumont, Texas. Since 2018 he has been an employee in the Department of English at Lamar University.
The Deer Park
Suzanne Morris
December 17, 2023
–for Frank, and
in memory of Peggy
There is a tender story,
believed to be true,
that took place in
the Deer Park
at Magdalen College,
Oxford University
shortly before the
time of Queen Victoria.
A College Fellow tumbled
from a window
in a nearby building
and died.
Next morning, when
his body was found,
the gentle deer were
standing in a circle around it
keeping watch.
This morning on the way to
Nacogdoches,
I drove past a dead deer–
young and gangly–
its body draped across
the esplanade
like a sacrifice upon the altar,
motorists speeding by
on both sides.
I slowed down instinctively,
feeling regret as I always do
when I see some hapless roadkill;
then sped on, forgetting the incident
until this evening
when I happened to read
the tender story
that unfolded in the
Deer Park at Oxford
shortly before the
time of Queen Victoria
the deer paying respect
to the dead man’s body
keeping vigil
through the night.
--After the account of Portia Bomar,
an American student at Oxford,
1923 – 1924
Suzanne Morris’ poems have appeared in numerous journals and anthologies. She makes her home in Cherokee County, Texas.
Samson’s Riddle: A Brief Reflection on the History of Gaza
Chris Ellery
December 10, 2023
”And he said unto them, Out of the eater came forth meat, and out of the strong came forth sweetness. And they could not in three days expound the riddle.”
Judges 14:14 (King James Version)
When Samson slew a lion
with his two bare hands
he was not expecting honey
from the rotting carcass.
O Gaza, strength through centuries
of many nations,
how many times have you seen
the shredding of your children,
how many times have you heard
the wind-swept silence of annihilation?
And yet again the armies.
And yet again the fire and slaughter,
as if butchered and butcher be two,
like pillars in a temple.
And yet again your fathers cry,
“We only wish to die!”
When some new Samson, jinn-like,
grants their wishing,
who will harvest the mangled corpses
to savor the stinging sweetness
of their perishing?
Poems by Chris Ellery have appeared recently in Writing Texas, The Christian Century, and Wholeness: A Wising Up Anthology. His most recent collection of poems is Canticles of the Body, an attempt to superimpose the feasts and fasts of the Christian liturgical cycle and the chakras of Kundalini Yoga.
Wait a Little Longer
Irena Moon-Quitzau
November 26, 2023
I know you’ve heard me crying and so
you must be confused when I ask you
to wait a little longer
It’s not that I don’t want to see you
and kiss your tiny wrinkly feet
and smell your heaven scent
You see, in here you’re safe and we’re a team
A mighty one that can stare down the villains
and conquer impossibility
Soon we’ll have a lot of work to do
And maybe you won’t like me as much on the outside
And I won’t always know how to soothe your cries
So just for now
Please wait
a little longer?
Irena Moon-Quitzau, long time Texas resident, recently relocated to Long Island. She is an artist, a poet, a teacher, and proud mother of 10 and Gigi of 5 going-on-6, all living in Texas. She grew up in France and came to the United States at 16. She has written poetry in Spanish, French, and English but has never submitted any of the poems until now. Most of her writing was destroyed in Hurricane Harvey in 2017 in Houston, Texas.
Taking Pause
Betsy Joseph
November 26, 2023
It is true we learn by doing
yet we also learn by watching:
such as the time my mother paused
on a shopping village sidewalk
and paid a quarter for a sewing needle packet.
The seller stood stooped in the shadows—
scraggly gray hair uncombed,
brown shoes scuffed and overly large,
her hands holding a wicker basket
containing these small parcels.
Other ladies were skirting around the woman,
careful not to make contact of any kind.
My mother initially started to move past,
one hand pulling my arm, then paused—
looking first at the outstretched wares
then down at me.
I sensed the shift in purpose and waited.
Life bustled all around us
as my mother made the transaction,
accepting the dingy packet with a smile,
and we continued down the sidewalk.
Some four decades later I retrieved that small packet
from the depths of my mom’s sewing kit and paused
before slipping it into my pocket,
honoring an old transaction a second time.
Betsy Joseph lives in Dallas and has poems that have appeared in a number of journals and anthologies. She is the author of two poetry books published by Lamar University Literary Press: Only So Many Autumns (2019) and most recently, Relatively Speaking (2022), a collaborative collection with her brother, poet Chip Dameron.
Shoot. Bomb. Kill. Pause.
Kathryn Jones
November 19, 2023
Shoot. Bomb. Kill.
Shoot. Bomb. Kill.
Pause the violence.
Hear the silence.
Shoot. Bomb. Kill.
Shoot. Bomb. Kill.
Ceasefire hour.
Seize the power.
Shoot. Bomb. Kill.
Shoot. Bomb. Kill.
Let in aid.
Drop the grenade.
Shoot. Bomb. Kill.
Shoot. Bomb. Kill.
Pause for humanity.
Stop the insanity.
Shoot. Bomb. Kill.
Shoot. Bomb. Kill.
Defeat, victory.
Repeat history.
Shoot. Bomb. Kill.
Shoot. Bomb. Kill.
Pause is over.
Run for cover.
Kathryn Jones is a poet, journalist, and essayist whose work has been published in The New York Times, Texas Monthly, Texas Highways, and the Texas Observer. Her poetry has appeared in numerous literary journals and anthologies, including TexasPoetryAssignment.com, Unknotting the Line: The Poetry in Prose (Dos Gatos Press, 2023), Lone Star Poetry (Kallisto Gaia Press, 2023), and in an upcoming chapbook, An Orchid’s Guide to Life, to be published by Finishing Line Press. She was inducted into the Texas Institute of Letters in 2016 and lives on a ranch near Glen Rose, Texas.
Flight into Egypt
Jeanie Sanders
November 19, 2023
In the middle of a war when you are
told to leave the home of your ancestors
and travel South, do you know the direction?
Rubble from your former life is everywhere.
It mixes with the dust and the smell of bodies
rotting under collapsed buildings.
The Sun, that old reliable navigation instrument,
is obscured by the clouds of dust and particles
from others who are running through what seems
to be your yesterdays.
Everyone cries, everyone prays,
everyone carries a child close to their heart.
And where is this magic place of safety
you have been promised? Or the road
that will provide protection?
It is nowhere
and yet you place your feet
one after another as though
you are in a dance.
Or a race with a finishing line that keeps
moving
farther
and farther
away.
Jeanie Sanders is a poet and collage artist. She lives in Lytle, Texas. Her poems have been published in The Texas Observer, San Antonio Express-News, Texas Poetry Calendar, Passager, La Voz de Esperanza, and several anthologies. She has two books of poetry, The Book of the Dead: Poems and Photographs and The Dispossessed.
Holy Ground
Thomas Hemminger
November 19, 2023
“It’s great to be able to stop when you’ve planned a thing that’s
wrong, and be able to do something else instead…”
-Mr. Fred Rogers, from his song
“What Do You Do with the Mad that You Feel?”
The space between two people
is holy ground.
The wonders that happen in
that sacred place are a mystery altogether
awesome and powerful.
When two hearts and minds agree,
there is harmony.
There is amity.
There is love.
When there is an obstruction
in that hallowed in-between,
both must stop.
Both must feel.
Both must reason.
Remove the hindrance by
working together to
restore that holy ground.
Restore agreement.
Restore hope.
Thomas Hemminger is an elementary music teacher living in Dallas, Texas. His personal hero is Mr. Fred Rogers, the creator of Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood. It was through America’s favorite “neighbor” that Thomas learned of the importance of loving others and of giving them their own space and grace to grow.
May It Be Softly
Vincent Hostak
November 12, 2023
“…and if they die? May it be softly.”
- a civilian to a journalist reporting on the Israeli-Gaza border in October 2023
I heard you say: “I refuse to take sides.”
Perhaps you meant: your heart is with all who suffer.
Burn blisters cling to each side of a wall,
Prayers echo back to appellants,
while all means of refuge are closed.
Tell me:
Which is the safest room in which to hide in a burning house?
Peace should be deafening, we have thousands
of words to describe it, in our hundreds of tongues.
They hold still in our mouths, even in grief.
As the days dim to dusk
the heart-stopping thunder returns.
Tell me:
Why shouldn’t we bellow, what is the pain which injures us more?
I heard you say: “It can never be solved,”
perhaps you meant: “what I say will be twisted
by those holding quarter in coveys of hate
whom I’ll only enrage.”
“…and if they die? May it be softly.”
Tell me:
Shouldn’t care be furnished to every precious word and hour?
Vincent Hostak is a writer and media producer from Texas now living near the Front Range of Colorado south of Denver. His recently published poems are found in the journals Sonder Midwest and the Langdon Review of the Arts in Texas and as a contributor to the TPA. He writes & produces the podcast: Crossings-the Refugee Experience in America.
The Day the Bombs Stopped
Milton Jordan
November 12, 2023
You have nine hours to vacate this area
the sergeant said, standing at our front door
and take your possessions with you.
What possessions? Mother said. We live here.
Anything you want to save, he barked;
this suspension is temporary,
then turned and marched his squad away.
Milton Jordan lives with Anne in Georgetown, Texas. He co-edited the first Texas Poetry Assignment anthology, Lone Star Poetry, Kallisto Gaia Press, 2022.
Humanitarian Pauses
Jim LaVilla-Havelin
November 12, 2023
Do the spaces
between words
give you
time to breathe?
Thought so.
Longer
to load a truck, deliver aid
Longer
Still
to bury our dead
Jim LaVilla-Havelin is the author of six books of poetry. His most recent, Tales from the Breakaway Republic, a chapbook, was published by Moonstone Press, Philadelphia, in May 2022. LaVilla-Havelin is the Coordinator for National Poetry Month in San Antonio.