I did not do enough,
although it was in my heart.
I wanted to enjoy
the warmth of life
more than to put out
the fires of war.
I protested
but I did not sacrifice.
I marched
while the innocent and guilty alike
were burned by death from the sky.
Maybe if that child in
Vietnam
had not died of napalm,
the children of Iraq would
not now be
dying in my name?
Being an American,
I chose the ease of
what we call freedom.
I said, "No,"
but I did not make myself heard in
the power of compassionate
denouncement. I said “Yes,”
but not always to otherness
and not with the strength and
reverence of beatitude.
When I die
war will not have
left the lovely Earth and
should I come back in
the perfume of a flower, likely
the petals will be
stained with freshly fallen blood.
What child’s cheek
may yet come to paint with
pain the soft white of the lily? What
lust may yet harvest
the agony of thorns,
while crushing the ecstasy of roses?
I did not do enough,
although I had set out
to make a monument of
War No More.
There is my failure.
The teeming world of
tears that so easily tips
into fear and madness
does not need
these words alone. Rather,
a communion
where none are absent. Where
there can be anger as
an emotional bubble but
not enemies and
not crimes of hate.
It is said that
freedom is not free;
but it is
death that is made wholesale.
The axiom is propaganda. Peace
requires the greater vulnerability.
I have done some:
having spoken
when others remained silent; having
stepped up on occasion,
while others withdrew. But I have
not done enough. I know this,
so do you.
That yet another generation must
plant the seeds of healing I
have dreamed of and they,
labor for the season
I have not known.
Yet have I read, in
visions of prophecy,
that a tree will in twilight later grow
at the center of the circle of life; the
weapons of fratricide be
beaten down, the vineyards filled
with the royalty of angels. Robins
singing and butterflies,
not boy-men crying
for their mothers’ mercy.
Rather,
to dance in that round in
footprints of a loving God! To stand in prayer
blessed beneath that
earthly bough.
When?
hi John,
i finally got the book and look forward to digging into it...(i was traveling and wasn't accessing that address, yikes)
i will get mine out to you soon...what is the address?
in peace ;) p
When the one who is awaited comes
and you find your face
within his face
and your heartbeat
living inside his heartbeat
as entwined as lover’s breath;
when the angel that he brings
bears your name as
clearly inscribed as his own
and the animal at his side
walks peacefully
in the shadow of your footsteps;
then will the Earth Revolution begin
like a child
awakening at the onset of morning
(a Dawn Child)
and green will be as red as gold.
And that which starts
prayerful in a whispered word
swift as lightning
or as wildfire consumes
not but bitterness
and the lusts of exploitation and war.
And it shall end in this:
The never ending fertility
of the dream of God
and the promise filling the fields
of holy prophesy. For we
in the companionship
of the awaited—of one coming on—
shall eat at the banquet of our preparations.
And the one will be invited
to sit here
and be among us.
That day shall be called
Abundance. And that night
Deliverance from the Apocalypse
of manmade evils. And the world
with the one at the center of
the everywhere from
now until always will dance.
Dance as people dance
around a tree of fire
that does not burn but
shines with joy. With life.
With redefining
Liberty.
David Sparenberg
6 August 2008
ON HEARING AGAIN BEETHOVEN’S
ODE TO JOY
In the terrible
conflagration of war
it is not only armies
that are consumed
but the obo
and the violin die
die tragically as well.
In the monstrous
rampages of hatred
it is not only the victims
of insidious propaganda who
are the targets of political rage
but the flowers of perception
are withered too.
Like a winter storm
the land that longs
for love of spring
wastes with wounds
and ugly memories.
Somewhere in the darkness
of petrifying screams
there is the smell of
carrion earth
an outcry of blood.
Music too
like a sweetness in the soul of
struggling even
as a song bird
nesting
in the heart of the angel
of human discovery perishes.
Who then pleads
for the others who
are scattered everywhere
like dust in the wind?
Thank you so much for sharing your book. On the day it arrived I wasn't thinking of it or peace or anything but my busy life, so it was the most wonderful surprise to find in in my mail box. I have only glanced but am very excited to have some time to really sink into it.
When I write mine, I'll send you one too. Thanks so much...
Thank you John and what a wonderful presence you have on your page. God bless you, your son and all of your work. My particular purpose in life is early childhood education. When you have a chance please view articles I have written on that subject at http://www.examiner.com/x-10971-Early-Childhood-Education-Examiner Thank you so much and have a fabulous day!
Thank you, John, for sending me the book "Reverence for ALL Life" by you and your son. I wanted to let you know that I received it and WOW! it is quite a book!! THANK YOU!!
I liked a lot the material you and your son included about Albert Schweitzer and Dennis Kucinich (who I voted for in our primary for President) and liked a lot the websites you and your son included too!
This may sound odd by I saw you were from Wisconsin and it put a smile on my face. My family lives in Iowa and I am in Virginia. I enjoy going home and back to the midwest. I have family that lives in Sparta. Your book sounds very interesting; it must have been an amazing experience to write it with your son!
iPeace.us
John Webster's Comments
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at 1 and 60
I did not do enough,
although it was in my heart.
I wanted to enjoy
the warmth of life
more than to put out
the fires of war.
I protested
but I did not sacrifice.
I marched
while the innocent and guilty alike
were burned by death from the sky.
Maybe if that child in
Vietnam
had not died of napalm,
the children of Iraq would
not now be
dying in my name?
Being an American,
I chose the ease of
what we call freedom.
I said, "No,"
but I did not make myself heard in
the power of compassionate
denouncement. I said “Yes,”
but not always to otherness
and not with the strength and
reverence of beatitude.
When I die
war will not have
left the lovely Earth and
should I come back in
the perfume of a flower, likely
the petals will be
stained with freshly fallen blood.
What child’s cheek
may yet come to paint with
pain the soft white of the lily? What
lust may yet harvest
the agony of thorns,
while crushing the ecstasy of roses?
I did not do enough,
although I had set out
to make a monument of
War No More.
There is my failure.
The teeming world of
tears that so easily tips
into fear and madness
does not need
these words alone. Rather,
a communion
where none are absent. Where
there can be anger as
an emotional bubble but
not enemies and
not crimes of hate.
It is said that
freedom is not free;
but it is
death that is made wholesale.
The axiom is propaganda. Peace
requires the greater vulnerability.
I have done some:
having spoken
when others remained silent; having
stepped up on occasion,
while others withdrew. But I have
not done enough. I know this,
so do you.
That yet another generation must
plant the seeds of healing I
have dreamed of and they,
labor for the season
I have not known.
Yet have I read, in
visions of prophecy,
that a tree will in twilight later grow
at the center of the circle of life; the
weapons of fratricide be
beaten down, the vineyards filled
with the royalty of angels. Robins
singing and butterflies,
not boy-men crying
for their mothers’ mercy.
Rather,
to dance in that round in
footprints of a loving God! To stand in prayer
blessed beneath that
earthly bough.
When?
David Sparenberg
3 Feb. 2009
i finally got the book and look forward to digging into it...(i was traveling and wasn't accessing that address, yikes)
i will get mine out to you soon...what is the address?
in peace ;) p
Sincere regards,
Kerry Echo
Buried @ PhotoCasket
Check out our video blog
SpiritualGraphics.com Thank you for your friendship John....Namaste' Linda
Thanks for your friendship..By the way the little kid you are carrying is very cuteWhen the one who is awaited comes
and you find your face
within his face
and your heartbeat
living inside his heartbeat
as entwined as lover’s breath;
when the angel that he brings
bears your name as
clearly inscribed as his own
and the animal at his side
walks peacefully
in the shadow of your footsteps;
then will the Earth Revolution begin
like a child
awakening at the onset of morning
(a Dawn Child)
and green will be as red as gold.
And that which starts
prayerful in a whispered word
swift as lightning
or as wildfire consumes
not but bitterness
and the lusts of exploitation and war.
And it shall end in this:
The never ending fertility
of the dream of God
and the promise filling the fields
of holy prophesy. For we
in the companionship
of the awaited—of one coming on—
shall eat at the banquet of our preparations.
And the one will be invited
to sit here
and be among us.
That day shall be called
Abundance. And that night
Deliverance from the Apocalypse
of manmade evils. And the world
with the one at the center of
the everywhere from
now until always will dance.
Dance as people dance
around a tree of fire
that does not burn but
shines with joy. With life.
With redefining
Liberty.
David Sparenberg
6 August 2008
ON HEARING AGAIN BEETHOVEN’S
ODE TO JOY
In the terrible
conflagration of war
it is not only armies
that are consumed
but the obo
and the violin die
die tragically as well.
In the monstrous
rampages of hatred
it is not only the victims
of insidious propaganda who
are the targets of political rage
but the flowers of perception
are withered too.
Like a winter storm
the land that longs
for love of spring
wastes with wounds
and ugly memories.
Somewhere in the darkness
of petrifying screams
there is the smell of
carrion earth
an outcry of blood.
Music too
like a sweetness in the soul of
struggling even
as a song bird
nesting
in the heart of the angel
of human discovery perishes.
Who then pleads
for the others who
are scattered everywhere
like dust in the wind?
David Sparenberg
25-26 July 2008
Thank you so much for sharing your book. On the day it arrived I wasn't thinking of it or peace or anything but my busy life, so it was the most wonderful surprise to find in in my mail box. I have only glanced but am very excited to have some time to really sink into it.
When I write mine, I'll send you one too. Thanks so much...
Peace, love & joy
I like the sound of the book. Don't really want to give my address out, but I would love to read it! Do you have it in E-book/PDF format?
If you do not have that capability I will have to give my address.
Thanks again for your generousity and reverence!
Namaste
Only when this inner still
descends upon my soul
can I hear the world weep
for all its children’s pain.
By David Gould © 3rd September 2008
I liked a lot the material you and your son included about Albert Schweitzer and Dennis Kucinich (who I voted for in our primary for President) and liked a lot the websites you and your son included too!
Very appreciatively,
Stuart
This may sound odd by I saw you were from Wisconsin and it put a smile on my face. My family lives in Iowa and I am in Virginia. I enjoy going home and back to the midwest. I have family that lives in Sparta. Your book sounds very interesting; it must have been an amazing experience to write it with your son!
Katie
www.globalyouthvillage.org
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