Monday, November 8, 2010


When we walk with
wooden legs &
have no arms to
hold each other &
our flesh burns

Are we brothers
of war?

Inside my head, the blast raises
blood hot clouds
children shriek
entombed in their beds

i hide with war
that takes no limbs but
cuts as paper to my flesh
a lethal holocaust

i fear these long fingers
executing and extinguishing

i silently listen for
the pulse of peace

copyright: Dianne Tchir from THE RYTHMIC CYCLE


  1. The shadows of death haunt this poem in both the physical and psychological sense. The survivors of conventional war fare..maimed and limbed, once a brotherhood in arms are a disbanded brotherhood of war closer to death. Fear of nuclear war, is a greater, generations long shadow of death that maims the mind with long ballistic fingers. In this kind of war all life is extinguished and the pulse of peace wnen it stops is just silence without the pulse of lfe. A very thought provoking poem.

  2. I can remember having drills at school and nightmares at night as a child in the 50s when the possibility of nuclear war scared everyone. I can only imagine what it would be like to live in a country where there is always war. Your descriptions are apt! A good work, Dianne.

  3. Very strong concrete images---thank-you!

  4. like both your sites Dianne - and your poetry is wonderful and passionate; I too listen for the "pulse of peace" - a lovely phrase