Poets Against War continues the tradition of socially engaged poetry by creating venues for poetry as a voice against war, tyranny and oppression.
Jim Ricker
49 years old
San Diego CA
Jim is a non-traditional English senior at SDSU and an environmental activist with the Desert Protective Council.
Hammers and Blood
“…nuclear weapons are the scourge of the earth; to use them, is a curse against God, the human family, and the earth itself.” -Philip Berrigan’s statement upon his death on December 6, 2002
I. Philip Berrigan (Requiescat in Pace)
On Ash Wednesday of 1997, he entered Bath Ironworks with a hammer in his priestly hand to disarm the Aegis ship.
They had their own blood with them. Susan Crane and Steve Beggarly used it to write a prayer on the Cruise Missile’s hatch.
Philip handed his hammer to Steve who pounded the hatch closed, poured blood: conspiracy. They were arrested immediately.
Imagine the still waters of Maine in the dawn’s early light and the hammering clangs of steel outraged and bent by the Priest of Peace.
II. Katya Komisaruk
In June of 1987, Katya left cookies and flowers for the guard at the gate to a NAVSTAR computer at Vandenberg Air Base. She took two hours, writing
poetry with a crowbar, a hammer, and spray paint. The silicon chips were smashed. She wrote, “International Law” on the wall, but was forbidden to say it
in court at her trial. She spent five years foregoing metallic embraces, in a high plains federal prison where the cold wind poured through her peaceful heart.
Imagine the dry west wind on you as the fence wires sing, lonely, as the sun goes down, five years gone by without a kiss from one you love.
III. What You Can Do
Take a long walk in the Coso Range in the desert near China Lake. You’ll need: plenty of water, a hammer, and wire snips to get in.
As you walk up Petroglyph Canyon, notice the ancient signposts, bright evidence of a shaman’s vision. Carefully, run your glance
over the fire-headed beings with spiraled eyes, their outstretched hands open to your spirit’s quest, a painted vision of peace, the Ancient Ones walking.
Imagine yourself at the Parrot’s Peak radio facility, your head aflame, your eyes spirals of prophetic anger as you smash the hammer down on the dials of war.
