BY SHIRL A. STEWARD
We . . .
I know not your face
yet we are brothers
on the same ancestral tree.
I know not your name
yet we are warriors
fighting for the same
I know not your soul
yet here we are entwined
together, in the same
Earth vine, each feeling
hopeless, just waiting. . .
wondering if this veil
and hides our kinship
to reveal . . .
all the fibers
in . . .
the all inclusive we.
By Shirl A. Steward copyright 10/15/93.
First published in the GrassRoots Jrl, "Poets of the Earth"
Fortunate Few Blues
Please Fortune 500s !
See all the pain,
it appears you're to blame,
Take your role at the helm
of the earth's stewardship
Become the catalyst for change!
We speak for all the generations
That may never come,
Of those unfairly brought
to an early grave,
Or maimed by toxic waste,
Now, please act, while . . .
still, we pray for hope as . . .
we all hang, tangling
at the end of a rope,
over a superfund waste site,
from experiments you've long forgot,
waiting for a sign of possible escape
before the knot
gives way or rots,
All mankind ignored,
raped by oblivious
By Shirl A. Steward, copyright 1994 as first
published in the GrassRoots Journal "Poets of the Earth" 1994
Similarity of Mind
Why can't you hear the words
that speak the end
Of wars and useless grief.
To set aside the worldly care,
The differences that separate
The hands of those who wish to share.
Why can't you see,
The similarities that are everywhere to find,
Beneath the different colored skin
And the countless Temples of our God,
The beauty and the peace of mind
That makes us all the next of kin.
Where have you been
So blind to your own roots,
Reduce it all to simple truths,
Woven throughout the life
Of Enemy as well as friend.
Wars are fought over minor differences,
But treaties made through finds
Of similarity of mind.
Any difference will suffice to make a war,
But why pay the price in red,
Unless you're here to keep the score
Of gorged and broken fallen heads.
The key of peace to find,
Is similarity of mind.
Shirl A. Steward -- l984 as first published in the
GrassRoots Journal 1995.
A man without Wisdom,
Stands alone against the wind,
Unclothed, unsheltered within
The grandest Kingdom.
His wealth and trophies can not defend,
Him from the rushing of the seas,
His skin is bare,
And burns from the brazen sun
And taunting breeze,
His soul is empty, without the call of life,
His body drinks the liqueurs of Earthly cares,
And wages wars with eloquent affair,
The knowing soul, as if asleep,
Awaits the dawning of despair,
The fall of mansions built in sand.
Comes, the call to God within the deep...
Awakened, the soul of God doth speak,
Blessed is the man who hears,
In quiet contemplation,
For now, True Wisdom is within his reach.
Shirl A. Steward- 5/1/84
INDEX OF GrassRoots'
Art by Danielle "Chara" Pricing
23 by 30 in