Poem: “The Cure is Us” by Merril D. Smith, 2026. published in These poems kill fascists, compiled by Fin Hall
I’m sharing this with dVerse Open Link Night. Slight quibble that my name is misspelled in the anthology.
Tomorrow, June 6, is the anniversary of D-Day, when the US, along with its allies (remember when we embraced democratic allies?)–nearly 160,000 troops– fought fascism on Normandy’s beaches in 1944. Now, we those in power are embracing fascism, racism, and White Supremacy. Tomorrow, some will be celebrating D(emocracy) Day.
I write of masked men, zip-tied children, Liam with his bunny hat—the schoolgirls–
I write of kidnappings, deportations, and renditions—concentration camps— though no yellow stars sewn to coats—not yet.
I write of billionaires getting richer, the hypocrisy, the corruption, a ballroom, the slush fund–
a Supreme Court only in name, not quality,
the failing healthcare system, the lack of oversight, loyalty to one man, ignorance, cleavage with a cross.
I write of wars as distraction, disinformation, of Epstein files and predators, of follow the money, of coverups—
but I think of trees older than me, and the nearby river—bearing witness, too–
robins, mockingbirds, sparrows singing of love, for love, there is still love
under fresh-washed blue bees buzz, roses bloom, a couple holds hands,
but there will be no cherries, nectarines, peaches, or apples this year—freak heat and freak frost, our climate lost.
A little girl plays hopscotch, dogs bark and wag from yards,
a cry in the dark, words into cyberspace—I write
too much, not enough, something.
This is a poem I wrote for Poems About on Bluesky. And this is my first attempt at a video. I’ll get better. 😂I thought this was a poem that should be heard, and I thought I’d try to give people something to look at, too. Sharing this with dVerse Open Link.
Before We Capsized (After Wilfred Owen, “Dulce et Decorum Est”
Here we are, oblivious as a drifting raft, no rudder under the water, no brakes, no anchor. A current courses us here, there. I see green trees, grass, then endless sea. Where are we going? I thought a beacon glowed, but who saw it? Who? No one questioned him– the rocks! No one tried to stop the drowning.
A golden shovel for dVerse. I was surprised we haven’t had a golden shovel prompt for dVerse’s MTB since 2016 because I’ve written several. A revisit to the War Poets seems appropriate for our present time, so I’ve chosen this line from Wilfred Owen’s famous anti-war poem, Dulce et Decorum Est.
“As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.” –Wilfred Owen, “Dulce et Decorum Est”
Tomorrow comes, the mockingbird sings yesterday’s candle, guttered out omens stirred in crows’ whirred wings.
Earth and sky, in balance swing but something wicked is about. Hush! Tomorrow comes; the mockingbird sings.
Now blood will have more—the stings will stick, the men will shout the omens stirred in crows’ whirred wings.
Many winters, many springs, murdered sleep, endless doubts till tomorrow comes, and mockingbird sings
for love, for survival, all things foreign to tyrants’ hearts. To their rout in omens stirred in crows whirred wings!
Still, bombs are dropped by would-be kings, masks are worn to cover monster snouts. Tomorrow comes; the mockingbird sings. Do omens stir in crows’ whirred wings?
For NapoWriMo, Day 23. “Try your hand today at your own take on a villanelle, and have the poem end on a question.”
William Shakespeare’s birthday is traditionally celebrated on April 23, though his exact birthdate is unknown. I’ve taken some inspiration from Macbeth and the mockingbird that I heard again before dawn today. I use a template for villanelles designed by Sarah Connor and posted on dVerse several years ago. Sarah is much missed. She would have enjoyed this prompt.
I saw him at the river, Why are you running? I asked
wondered
was he chased by wind or crow–trickster god— I’ll make it right, he called.
Perhaps all gods are prestidigitators, creating worlds with sleight of hand—
humans, fire, so, it goes.
For NaPoWriMo, Day 20, “For today, try writing your own poem that uses an animal that shows up in myths and legends as a metaphor for some aspect of a contemporary person’s life. Include one spoken phrase.”
Also for dVerse quadrille (a poem of exactly 44 words). The prompt word is dig or a word with dig in it.
It seems nearly every Native American tribe has stories of Coyote, but I don’t feel they’re mine to tell. He is a creator of tribes, a fire-giver, and very often a trickster.
Things I love– blue, of lapis, Chagall’s violinist, a September sky. Remember the azure of that September day, perfect until it wasn’t?
a shattered sapphire, cutglass shards slashed the sky, toppled with the towers.
But grey skies are not always dreary. The clouds over the river are deceptive. Look closely. They’re shimmering strands—slate, gunmetal, a glaucous
cloud tapestry where light shines through to dance upon the water. Grey tastes like peaceful co-existence–earth, water, air, sky, me and you—beautiful in its own way
yet not the electric thrill or the calm that I savor in blue,
the scent of summer heat and winter ice, blueberry jam, but with a fizz, a flavor-bomb with a long finish, as in a fine wine. Blue somehow stimulates and calms at the same time, like the ocean, salty-sweet, it tastes of joy, tears, memory, hope. Past and future
swirl in so many colors, so many shades—shades, another word for ghosts. How sad to be trapped in a timeless in-between. I wonder can they see the colors? Can they appreciate just before dawn when the robin soloist begins his oratorio, then the rest of the bird choir joins in, aided by wind-harps and percussive spring peepers, the tap-tap-tap of woodpeckers?
Such beauty here! I imagine—can’t imagine–the astronauts on the Artemis, the awe of Moon, the splendor of our Earth, blue planet–
and I remember that July when my dad watched giant steps planted in lunar dust, while I watched our new puppies
I follow the brushstrokes of my mom’s paintings, through color, through time–
Things I love. Things I’ve lost.
This is for my prompt on dVerse for Meeting the Bar. It’s an attempt at a zuihitsu. I’ve no idea if I’ve written it correctly or not. But I’d love to see others join in and give it a try!
Yesterday and today: Merril's historical musings 