poetry murdered on the streets

I in my distant rooms
read aghast
that a poet was murdered…

shot
killed
her innocent face targeted

by hate.

If you are murdering

people in the street, in Tehran
or Minnesota
or flooding the skies over Kyiv
with drones

We see you, while you all lie,

how do we write poetry
on our ever-present phones?

We must stand
as much
as we can,

while we plan
our holiday
where to stay?

The face of evil, masked or unmasked
is always so bland,

I find in myself a raging roar
shouting at the world

No more! no more! no more.

CP