Poetry Spotlight | “Peace” by Derek Thiem

DEREK THIEM is a former English teacher and a street poet based in Portland, Oregon. His poetry and lyrics explore recovery, street life, and Portland’s ever-changing pulse. He occasionally dabbles in themes of astrophysics, metaphysics, and erotica, revealing the unexpected breadth of his creative mind. You can find him on Facebook and YouTube under his name, and hear his work set to music on Suno.com under the monikers VioletKeyboard944 and ExasperatingVocoder2004.

Peace

“How can you just leave me standing…?”

 

Once upon a time,

The hippies preached peace,

And free love,

Along with sex,

Drugs and rock and roll.

Until the drugs took their toll.

The acid tests began to fail.

 

“Alone in a world that’s so cold…”

 

The peace,

Always frail,

Became fractured into

A million puzzle pieces,

Each one a life,

Dropped as bombs

In Viet Nam.

 

Napalm hellfire

And B-2 brimstone

Fell from the sky,

In the name of god.

 

Happy weed

Descended into

Biker gangs

Selling crank.

The hippies died,

Or transformed

Into yuppies.

A generation

That prayed

At the altar

Of wealth.

 

“Maybe I’m just too demanding…”

 

Each generation

Pushes off

From the last,

And so,

The youth discovered

MDMA,

And became ravers.

 

Peace, Love, Unity, Respect.

Emotional healing

Through drugs 

And pounding bass.

 

DJ’s became gods,

With two turntables

And a crate 

Filled with vinyl,

In warehouses,

And empty fields alike.

 

“Why do we scream at each other…?”

 

The music transitioned

From major chord

Ethereal anthems,

Into the dark,

Fragmented patterns,

Of drum and bass,

As ecstasy 

Gave way

To zapped synapses

And burnt out

Brain cells.

 

The culture fell,

Like the dancers

Fell into K-holes,

Lost in the labyrinths

Of their own minds.

 

And then

The Twin Towers

Fell as well,

Putting the last nail

In fun’s coffin.

 

Three thousand lives,

Each one a poem,

Fell from the

Clear morning sky,

Under the gaze

Of an almost

Too bright sun.

 

Three thousand poems,

Cremated and buried,

In the dust, rubble, and ash.

 

Ashes to ashes,

And dust to dust,

But no turning of cheeks.

Eyes for eyes,

And teeth for teeth,

Bequeathed

A whole new

Age of war.

 

Peace through strength;

Peace through air strikes;

Peace through war;

Peace to stop wars

That haven’t happened yet.

Pre-emptive strikes,

Were now en vogue.

 

Peace became

An afterthought,

A long forgotten dream.

 

The afterburners

Replaced

The electric guitars.

The bombs explosions,

Replaced the bass drops.

 

“This is what it sounds like, 

When doves cry…”