#peacegrooves — Public Fediverse posts

The Archer

In the high sea of clouds,
in willowing wisps of white,
an evil lurks.

The winds of the world bring
the first whisper of change,
an alien thing.

A dragon.

Red as blood, gleaming darkness,
its armor, invincible?

Heavy metal talons, drooling jaws,
acid falling, burning earth below.

It screams through the sky,
wings creaking, flapping furiously,
breathing flame.

Men flee,
like tiny ants scurrying
from desecration
into it.

Only One holds his ground,
a bow and one arrow
in his hand.

The Prince awaits,
as if to allow the dragon to
devour him.

Then with a flash,
he looses his arrow.

It soars through the air.

Blood gushing,
the dart buried deep,
the dragon crashes to the ground.

Landing on the One.

From amongst the dragon’s corpse,
amidst dying coals and wisps of smoke,
a figure crawls,
stands.

It is the Archer,
the One,
Him.

From the collection “Words at 16 (1983)”

The Archer

In the high sea of clouds,
in willowing wisps of white,
an evil lurks.

The winds of the world bring
the first whisper of change,
an alien thing.

A dragon.

Red as blood, gleaming darkness,
its armor, invincible?

Heavy metal talons, drooling jaws,
acid falling, burning earth below.

It screams through the sky,
wings creaking, flapping furiously,
breathing flame.

Men flee,
like tiny ants scurrying
from desecration
into it.

Only One holds his ground,
a bow and one arrow
in his hand.

The Prince awaits,
as if to allow the dragon to
devour him.

Then with a flash,
he looses his arrow.

It soars through the air.

Blood gushing,
the dart buried deep,
the dragon crashes to the ground.

Landing on the One.

From amongst the dragon’s corpse,
amidst dying coals and wisps of smoke,
a figure crawls,
stands.

It is the Archer,
the One,
Him.

From the collection “Words at 16 (1983)”

The Archer

In the high sea of clouds,
in willowing wisps of white,
an evil lurks.

The winds of the world bring
the first whisper of change,
an alien thing.

A dragon.

Red as blood, gleaming darkness,
its armor, invincible?

Heavy metal talons, drooling jaws,
acid falling, burning earth below.

It screams through the sky,
wings creaking, flapping furiously,
breathing flame.

Men flee,
like tiny ants scurrying
from desecration
into it.

Only One holds his ground,
a bow and one arrow
in his hand.

The Prince awaits,
as if to allow the dragon to
devour him.

Then with a flash,
he looses his arrow.

It soars through the air.

Blood gushing,
the dart buried deep,
the dragon crashes to the ground.

Landing on the One.

From amongst the dragon’s corpse,
amidst dying coals and wisps of smoke,
a figure crawls,
stands.

It is the Archer,
the One,
Him.

From the collection “Words at 16 (1983)”

The Archer

In the high sea of clouds,
in willowing wisps of white,
an evil lurks.

The winds of the world bring
the first whisper of change,
an alien thing.

A dragon.

Red as blood, gleaming darkness,
its armor, invincible?

Heavy metal talons, drooling jaws,
acid falling, burning earth below.

It screams through the sky,
wings creaking, flapping furiously,
breathing flame.

Men flee,
like tiny ants scurrying
from desecration
into it.

Only One holds his ground,
a bow and one arrow
in his hand.

The Prince awaits,
as if to allow the dragon to
devour him.

Then with a flash,
he looses his arrow.

It soars through the air.

Blood gushing,
the dart buried deep,
the dragon crashes to the ground.

Landing on the One.

From amongst the dragon’s corpse,
amidst dying coals and wisps of smoke,
a figure crawls,
stands.

It is the Archer,
the One,
Him.

From the collection “Words at 16 (1983)”

A BetTER Day

Independence has its day,
when o’er the skies fireworks display,
and dependence, too, is good,
as every tender spirit should

learn the grace of being held,
when pride is hushed, and fear is quelled.
But methinks we need another name,
a deeper word, a wider frame.

It happens after we let one IN,
past the surface, past the skin,
past the guarded gates we keep,
past the places where hurt runs deep.

In the space before DEPEND,
we see the other as vital friend,
all as branches from one tree,
as the grains of sand receive the sea.

Then add three letters, soft but true,
TER arrives and makes it new.
Not just me and not just thee,
but something born between the three.

In-TER-dependence names the art
of hand in hand and heart to heart,
while I am I, and you are you,
something sacred binds us too.

Independence stands alone,
dependence leans on flesh and bone,
but interdependence humbly sings:
we rise by sharing roots and wings.

July 4, 2015 (updated June 2026)

Bullet the Blue Sky*

I went outside 
to watch the 
stars.

It is as if 
all the bullets 
from the war 
have been fired 
into the sky,
tearing holes 
in the black velvet 
for a little bit 
of heaven 
to shine 
through.

Every once 
in a while 
the fabric rips 
as a shooting star 
races across 
the sky,
but then 
it quickly 
mends 
itself.

November 2, 1988
La Esperanza, Nicaragua

Part of the continuing Ugly American series, a selection of writings from my travel journals from Central America in 1988

*From the U2 song of the same title