Living the Dream

“Terry Philips, Founder of the Corps of Diploets, was an aspiring poet from West Hartford, Connecticut when he underwent life-changing inspiration in April 2003. Eager to meet the mythical muse, Terry was skeptical that such events really happen… until the muse met him!

“I got only one word. That word hit me–like–kapow!” Terry announced to members of Meeting the Muse. “Diploet. It means Diplomatic Poet. What I don’t know is: What am I supposed to do about it?”

Fellow poets responded by naming Terry director of the fledgling circle of diplomatic poets who next adopted the honorary title “diploet” as one any writer who had signed “A Writer’s Credo” could use. From this humble start, the path of diploecy circled the world. Join us? It’s free!

THE DIPLOET’S PATH

Diploecy produces profound-yet-practical peace and prosperity, and includes a creative-writing critique technique that assures everyone wins/no one loses.

Diploetic power in motion promises to be more influential than military might or political prowess. and it eradicates religious conflict.

Terry Philips, the world’s first Diploet, died less than six months after his meeting with the muse. His legacy lived on. Plans for development of the Diploetic Corps proceeded under the inspirational light of Pratap Kotamraju, former career diplomat and journalist from India who retired in Southwest Missouri. In January 2006, Eric H. Read became Keeper of the Seal. ”

http://www.amykitchenerfdn.org/diplomat.html

Writer’s Credo

http://www.amykitchenerfdn.org/dock.html

Tags: Journal Blog, Peace Pleas, Poems by Shewolf
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He and I and a dune of dread
wait in arid anticipation
to hear old men commensurate
on when to fight
when to withdraw
when to cross ourselves

and hope someone’s best bullet
doesn’t pierce this deserted company
of young men, playing war
in someone else’s sandbox
looking for arti – facts
or China, or Russia
or any other deep down thing
to slip from camouflage
to save us from ourselves

tight-lipped effigies
of good wives
stand on hilltops
selecting suffrage
as a solace for their silence
of good man gone bad

we pretend we know
how to stop this bleed
of our boyish belief
that we have done right
in the temples of our fathers
and all the crouched
in valleys of beatitudes
bend to give their vehicles
a vile drink from a new grail
while drooling disciples
parry and plunge
another Peter’s plea of forgetfulness

“Forgive me,
for I know what I must do,”
says he, whose breath
is deadlier than a bomb.

Tags: Peace Pleas, Poems by Shewolf
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With fewer smiles and colder tears
I’d whisper to the wind’ that I am here
and being buffeted by a belligerent sky
so although my abuser may ignore,
my cries are carried to far ends of earth,
below and above, in between snaking coulees,
up over highest mountains, across wet mouth of oceans,
and into sky where each word is put back into form
that only an angel can transcribe.  There, mulled over,
checks and balances done, my pleas will be heard
and answered however I, or any other, might need them.

It is not for me to wonder why, such wild winds
bow, bend, and break off some of my best beliefs.

Perhaps my suffering is not for me.  Perhaps I am wounded
so that others might see how to rise.  Perhaps
my fiercest battles with breeze are meant
to show how geese-like others move to hold
tips of my broken wings.  If so, then blow.
Take every curl of lip forever if this is what it takes.
Let tears chisel down into an ocean’s pool
And become frozen, so, if some should look,
their reflection might be seen in my icy face.

Come wind, I am not afraid of you.  I have faith
that there are more important reasons for suffering
your wrath than simply my self-described miserable state.
Let me be sent to four corners of curious careening
so others might hear me call their name.

Tags: Peace Pleas, Poems by Shewolf
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I
Love
You…
I forgive
You…
I forgive me!

Tags: Peace Pleas, Poems by Shewolf
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Puffy-chested pigeons strut about
as if they held some secret
to this battle ground

holding their stance
like little generals on front line

she, walking crooked,
stumbled upon their little parade
that had no marshal

all leaders and no followers

and it was easy to create treason
in their ranks with a few cracked nuts

she sat and let them feed out of her hand

one warrior at a time
until there was nothing but bones left
for vultures to pick over

Tags: Peace Pleas, Poems by Shewolf
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