Over Our Tables

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Over Our Tables

Rarely the main attraction
yet often the first reached for
Arepas, baguettes, bagels, bammy,
naan, challah, chapati,
tortillas, himbasha,
lefse, focaccia, and scones.
Their crumbs fall
leaving our tables flaky
with grains leavened and not
even salty or sweet.
Loaves crisp from hot dry ovens
or rolls soft with gluten
stretched and allowed to rise
or beaten flat and charred
from raw flames.

Beyond the wars we pick,
the souls we harvest with hate,
the justified cruelty & atrocities
sworn in God’s name.
We fill our stomaches
and chase away heartaches
over our tables
of broken breads
of religion,
and humanity
baked in our hearths
before we pray for peace.


Written and shared for dVerse Poetics  Grace is tending the bar, come pull up a chair and break some bread with us. 😉

Mindful Writing Challenge Day 3: Love Notes


Love Notes

Birdseed decreases
in a flutter.

Birch bark flaps
in a breeze.

Winter’s amity flies
on paper and wings.

Shared for Mindful Writing Challenge 2013 #smallstone



Mindful Writing Day One: Imprints



A snowy tree branch bends
and bounces with a cardinal’s weight
feathers puffed like red balloon
caught in the leafless dogwood.
He waits and watches.

Just beneath
sunken prints in white snow.
Among the rabbit and dog
are mine on a path leading
to somewhere warm.

Shared for Mindful Writing Challenge 2013 #smallstone

For International Day for the Eradication of Poverty 2012

The Eradication of Poverty

Is one day enough
to chase away poverty’s demons?

Is one day enough
to empower the world’s poor?

Is one day enough
to build peace when we budget war?

Is one day of dialogue, one day to
spin the wheel of abundance enough?

One day to say “That’s it!
Enough of the violence
that poverty reaps”.

Enough of the scarcity
when our shores are rich with ideals.

Enough of the deficiency
when our gardens are ripe for harvest.

Enough of the paucity
when we can feast upon prosperity.

Enough of the hardship
when there are dreams to nurture.

Enough! There is enough
empowerment for all to harvest.

There is a bountiful wealth
to be sown and secured.

There is enough for all
to rise from poverty’s grip
and obtain emancipation.

One day is enough
to chase away poverty’s demons.

© Delaina J Miller 2012

For The Love Of Britten

So this poem is going to require a little explaining. I recently had the opportunity to see a rehearsal of Edward Benjamin Britten’s Violin Concerto, 15. In the program there was a background story about the piece. The extremely shorten version of the story is that Britten started writing the piece in 1938. War loomed and Britten was upset by this and that fact that his friend and poet W.H. Auden had enlisted.

I was moved by the story and then as the rehearsal started I was moved by the music. So I wrote this poem (now revised) as the music played. I just let the music and the story walk into my heart and this poem is the result.

I have tried to create a poetic experience with this so if you want, click on the video and then read the poem as the music plays. Thank you enjoy.

PS. this was not the concert of the rehearsal I attended. 😉

The Berliner Philharmonier’s
Janine Jansen performing Benjamin Britten’s Violin Concerto op. 15 (well some of it)

For The Love Of Britten

Oh! What is happening
to poetry, to music, to art
to this beautiful world
while tragedy brews on the horizon.

One by one the talented sign
their life away for insanity…
for war, for what?

The beauty of our world through
their eyes, their words, their song….

maybe lost…
will be lost…
forever lost.

Never again will their words
stain paper, lift rafters,
and enlighten souls.

What humans have etched
into creation to be wiped
away by death.

The gentle rise of forests
turned to shards of splinters
pricking our consciousness.

Oh what is happening
to our beautiful
tragic world?

The human frailty of it all.
Dare we test
the already testy waters.

Tensions build and our fears swell.
Bombs soon replacing
symphonies’ drums.

The call to war drowning
the sounds of sonnets,
strings, and flutes.

Our tragic follies change
sunrise to human midnight.

Grab your gun for your flag
and in your wake
the chorus dwindles to a solo.

One lone violin, one lone voice
a refrain lost in the wind.

Is it for the better?
The question, forever
enigmatically suspended.

Forget your flag
remember your trees,
both wave in a breeze.

Life too high a price to pay
for your inkless pages
and your silent violins.

Let your sounds shine
and dapple our world
with enlightenment.

Let the bombs be drums
and the strings and flutes fill
our souls instead of our ground.

Let the solo become
a full symphony
lifting our spirits.

Let the composer’s ink fill
page after page
and our warless souls.

Let the harp heal our wounds
raising us from despair, greed,
fear, and hate.

Let the poets, orchestras, and artists
elevate humankind into a new awakening
where creativity is used instead of war.

Oh may the art of negotiation be
rehearsed, rehashed, and reworked
until the need for war is removed
from our beautiful world.
©Delaina J Miller 2012