Excerpt for A History Of Violence by , available in its entirety at Smashwords

Title Page

Writings by Sha’Ra On WindWalker

(in collaboration with Sha'Tara EarthStar)

Copyright (©) 2018 Cocoons to Butterflies Publishing

Published by: Cocoons to Butterflies Publishing

Chilliwack, B.C. Canada

Cover pictures by: Top: Patrick W. Moore.


All pictures found on

Space Picture: ESA/Hubble

I hope you enjoy these writings. Feedback


Title Page



A Derelict

A Sign Of Change

A Toast To Peace

Black Board


Extreme Sports

Food For Thought!

Forced To Change

A Single Disaster

Government For The People

Graceful Clouds


I Q Test


Illogical Mind

Illusion Of Hell

Is Earth A Prison?

Beware The Poet

Healthy Democracy

A History Of Violence


These books contain a form of free verse poetry, opinions based on observation, and some humour and imagination, engaging the heart as well as the mind. A critical look at many current issues intriguing and plaguing man. Spirituality, interaction with nature and environment, social changes, dwindling resources. Well worn issues now, indeed. But the poetry and other works in these books gives this subject a different perspective. I daresay that here we can find a "higher" vantage point from which to look at ourselves within the cosmos.

Who knows but some of the ideas in the books may get you inspired to do that thing you always wanted to do, even if this comes in a very small way, to make your corner of this world a better place to be in. Who knows but you may realize your little corner is a really nice place to be in after all.

It's all about life, if at times expressing life "outside the box" as the saying goes.

A Derelict

A derelict of cheap booze

and much unkind time

haunts the sidewalk

at the local liquor store.

He sits by his walker in the sun;

huddles under the canopy when it rains,

hoping someone will drop some coins

in his crumpled old hat –

perhaps enough for a beer or two.

Inevitably, I’ll walk past him,

say hi; hand him a dollar or two.

I like to see his wrinkled face light up

at the sound of a friendly voice.

Funny, isn’t it, how we assume

the ones we see as down and out

are there but to take the handout?

But the simple exchange of love

at that not so loving place,

fills my heart every time we meet.

Go figure!

I do not know his name.

A Sign Of Change

What if it was declared legal,

for anyone who so desired

to walk nude in public

thus marking a sign of change?

What would be the effect of such an edict

in a society so deeply rooted

in believing nudity is immoral?

I "saw" one such daring individual

welcoming this new freedom

by walking nude in a public park

and I heard another, shocked, uncomfortable,

say to another in bitter judgment:

"That person dishonours our culture.

There should be respect for the majority

who can never accept this."

I wondered about that question

and this is what I came up with:

"If I were black-skinned and without rights

in a white supremacist society;

If I had to sit at the back of a bus

or stand because of my colour,

would I swallow my pride; do nothing

to safeguard the feelings of others?

Or, should I become an agent of change;

one who acts in such a way

a world stuck in fear and apathy

will be forced to act or react?"

Either way presents a dilemma,

force creates its own counter-force.

No, I won't try to change the world

or force it into change.

I'll just be the change I seek

and enjoy "me"- and if you like

what you see,

come play with me!

A Toast To Peace

I heard a gun-shot in the night

a muffled groan answered;

I felt a cold-white blade rasping into flesh

and saw it come out dark and vapoury:

I saw a twisted, agonized face, like


A double wound poured blood over the earth

going from

freshet to stream

stream to river

river to sea:

all was hot scarlet

blood dripped from scarlet clouds


rich, warm and thick,

almost enough for all!

as the miracle became a fact,

warring was deemed unnecessary:

Said the boys at the Pentagon

and assorted war departments:

"The 'loss of manhood' risk

has been minimized

for now there is


a toast to peace!"

and everybody rose

greedily swallowing their warm


glass of blood.

Black Board

Blacks and Whites in conflict,

racial tension boiling over

into the streets they go to prove

who is right and who is wrong.

Is anything ever accomplished

by all this violence

beyond demonstrating ignorance?

No one is better: that has never been the point!

all are equal, sharing a planet

as one group soul in nature.

On an old blackboard

White and Black exist together

in peaceful, productive harmony,

providing contrast without which

no communication would appear,

is it possible to learn

from such simple examples?



the tall!

stately majestically

waving cone-filled

branches dark-green

old growth Douglas fir:

sways its rugged head

in the rain-soaked breeze

the salty ocean breeze

the breath of a thousand years

ages when the land spoke of life, simple,

when the salmon ran heedless, free

up fast flowing rivers of crystal rains

translucent greens reflected

a million times upon wrinkled mirrors

that sang past sands

where beaver tails left trails

where tiny twin-hoofed prints laughed

into the new day:

before the campfires

and children's laughter

stood the tree

tall and proud

sure time-less

home for bird

and beast

above its head:

the home of

the gods

the chainsaw

came one day

leaving only

a bleeding stump

a homeless eagle

five dead squirrels

and the ageless tree crashed!

to its side across the mountain side, dying:

the river, the reflections, the breath of God,

footprints in the sand; the fish;

the old ways which intermingled in the forest:

all died that day

Extreme Sports


the possibility of death

at maximum pleasure –

extreme your sport:

engage the danger.

Climb a sheer rock wall;

race a hot rod;

kayak thundering rapids;

sky dive!

Feel the rush

being in the moment:

on that edge

between worlds.

See the past fade helpless;

the future scream away

and the daily grind

drop from the confines

of a refreshed mind.


the intensity of a life

borrowed for the now --


the stress of life endured

moulded to a clock.

Life is sacred – isn’t it?

Food For Thought!

A tawny, scrawny ghost

silently lopes into a sleeping town

in an early, misty dawn.

Tired, hungry, searching

for a long-overdue meal.

A cat, well fed, well groomed,

with nothing else to do,

stalks a scratching sparrow

unaware of lurking danger

expertly concealed in slanting shadows.

The coyote takes the opportunity,

lunges... bites sharply – hungrily.

Indignant feline shrieks, to no avail,

echo along deserted streets:

predator and prey repeat nature's cycle.

The difference here today

is the lack of balance in the act:

The coyote doesn't have

a level playing field, you see,

for he’s made another enemy.

Artfully, he dances and dodges bullets

sprayed savagely in an empty alley;

miraculously he saves his bony hide,

his meal still dangling in his mouth.

Isn't this much ado about nothing?

Unlike the cat who only kills for pleasure,

the coyote was in need of sustenance:

Now I’m sure, being quite intelligent,

it would have settled for take-out...

if freely, kindly offered,

but it was kitty meat Tuesday again.

Forced To Change

Things being what they are at this time,

we find ourselves forced to contemplate change

in the way we think, the way we act,

yet, like running naked through devils club,

the thought leaves our ego wounded and scarred,

desperately seeking shelter from its misery.

Perhaps, we say, we need not think of change

and things will go on as they always have,

yet, we know full well our final legacy will then be

not only pain and shame, but the worst of deaths:

the death of a spirit which can no longer feel

the pain inflicted on a passive world.

Bowing beneath man's endless blows,

nature's only defense will be silent death,

irrevocable, unless we mend our predatory ways!

If we refuse to listen, think,

when all is gone, who will be "mother" then?

(Devils club: broad-leaved shrub of moist undergrowth in

Pacific Northwest mountains, whose spines cause painful

infections under the skin. If you enjoy running naked in

the forest, avoid this shrub!)

A Single Disaster

Current statistics say

250,000 people a month perish

from being denied such basic needs

as safe drinking water and sanitation -

and that adds up to more

than the total death toll

of the Indian Ocean tsunami.

The world of man was moved

by that one single disaster:

billions of dollars changing hands

in bids to be the ones

recognized for helping those struck by the tragedy,

and yet, what about these others

whose lot it is to die each month

victims, not of natural disaster

but of indifference and oppression?

Where are the headlines for them?


There are two very good reasons

why their deaths are unworthy of publication:

one: it would mean exposing

the great evils of The System,

a System that owns the Media -

and two: it would make a boring study,

month after month

and who would watch the “news”

or buy the “papers”

if all they showed

were these victims of “progress” -

or should I call it,

man's inhumanity to man?

The need to see gory stories on the “news”

appears to be human “nature”

and gore is what sells.

Government For The People


do expensive guesswork

based solely


vague assumptions


unreliable data

of dubious accuracy

provided by

persons of questionable

intellectual capacity

called appropriately




the people

accustomed as we are

to doing everything

with so little

for so long

are now expected

to do the impossible

with nothing:


pay off a national debt

we neither contracted for


received anything from:

baah! baah!


the sheep

Graceful Clouds

Look up at the sky!

See the ever changing shapes

of clouds beautifully etched

greyish white against stark blue:

no money is required to see

sights that my words can never express;

to feel that peaceful, overwhelming power

which lessens stress and builds dreams!

Then I picture those who pay to see

a grown man gyrating wildly in a closed field

holding a piece of rounded wood,

trying to hit a small white ball

while all around, his buddies yell

scream and carry on as does the crowd

safely held behind a fence!

And now if clouds should gather gently,

drifting in slowly from the sea,

all would look up in consternation,

not in admiration,

and give loud vent to their anger,

for the rain might suddenly fall

and delay their rather silly game!

Such will never be able to capture

the essence of heaven's clouds,

the energy given in joy and peace,

the freedom to be, to fly or float

upon the air, over the sea

and best of all

their gifts are free!


Conjure images of ghouls and mad goblins,

dancing wildly, grimacing, shrieking, howling;

of glens alight with the cold fires of death

which do not smoke and leave no trace...

Images of dilapidated mansions in ruin

echoing the cries of the damned and the forgotten

on some God-forsaken hill never touched by sun;

of giant vampire bats hungrily seeking blood

and horned demons with eyes of glowing coals

reeking of burning sulphur and roasting flesh,

dragging chains through the city's streets

seeking bodies and claiming unrepentant souls.

It's the Eve of All Saints Day,

hell's black Sabbath to claim all of earth

before the light brought by the Mass

celebrating demure saints in spotless white robes...

Ah! What a story has been woven

to justify the killing of innocent, peace-loving lives:

of so-called pagans, witches, and non-conformists

whose lands, bodies and souls a devouring monster,

the world has called the “Christian Church”

desired to own, to enslave, to burn, to destroy.

For in her blood-filled hands the keys of hell

had burned their mark so deep

the stench of it would fill the world

for over a thousand years of pain and sorrow.

Never shall those baleful doors close

until she is judged, condemned and justly cast down

into that smoky, reeky pit of her own making!

Upon her wart-filled face shall we lock those doors

after releasing her captives, our children, our own souls

and on that day we shall certainly, once more

celebrate a true Halloween: a solstice of freedom!

Freedom from coercion, fear and endless lies.

Gaia and her God-mate will dance with us that day

and this time, she shall give birth to a daughter! Hah!

I Q Test

They pondered the way

my eyes squinted

in their swivel lights;

they frowned at my funny ears

the way my lips quivered

when I stuttered a reply

over an inkblot:

they questioned I had a brain

they could exploitiferate.

They gave me an IQ test:

It came out negative

so they set me free to

roam the streets by day or night.

Well, lucky me, yessiree,

oh, such a lucky me!

I won't be making missiles;

I won't be dropping nukes

and the innocent I don't kill

might even be me!


Ideas welcome the morning sun,

dance beside mountain streams,

take shape in rolling clouds.

They are found hovering

over an empty robin's nest

and soaring with the arctic tern.

They incubate under old logs

and whip the tree tops

in the unleashed violence

of a winter's gale.

I've often seen them rise

in the sparking smoke

of a lonely campfire

and heard their low-keyed whisper

in summer's thick foliage

under an indigo sky.

Ideas can be the source of great joy

but though I know how to find them,

I wonder how they got there:

did I put them there for myself?

Illogical Mind

The logical mind

seeks to be considered

the one and only provider

of human identity:

but is this not a misconception?

For a complete human

is body, mind and spirit

(some would argue this:

fine– I can’t offer proof

except for one point –

can a mind “love”?

With apologies to Mr. Spock,

meditation, contemplation, prayer,

(a waste of time

from logic's point of view)

allows the stressed and tired mind

to gently and quietly recall

images of the spirit's journeys

into the dream time;

to unravel the history of one’s life;

to bring forth understanding;

to mould and shape the thoughts

that become what one is.

For we are not known only

for our attributes and abilities –

we are mostly known

for our daily choices.

Illusion Of Hell

Human life creates pictures

reminiscent of scriptural hells:

lust, greed, oppression and discord

clatter side by side, crash together

in endless dissonance...

We know, we know, we know,

life is meant to be free;

birds fly the air currents,

flowers bloom in profusion:

they do not hoard, nor pay rent

to the landlord.

Man is a very smart creature

so I was told in school:

he lords it over the Earth

yet lives in endless fear

of losing what he cannot keep.

Ah! Illusion; all is illusion

and the hell created disappears

when one like me greets one like you

with a simple 'I love you.'

Is Earth A Prison?

A stranger's footsteps

lead me down an unfamiliar way:

I realize things now

I never knew I knew!

The question arises:

Is earth a prison?

It seems we are:

we cannot leave at will

but must wait for death.

Surprising how such a thought

makes many people laugh

when I share this belief

and I wonder,

when are earth humans

going to change?

I hear the stranger's voice:

“As long as humans

enjoy their stay in their cell;

as long as they fail to realize

they live within a trap,

in binding, blinding rules

and endless limitations,

they will never try to go

beyond that point.”

For the wheel of karma turns

not in judgment or punishment

but in mindless repetitive turns.

His voice fades into the darkness

but I know what my quest is now:

to discover light travel

so I can freely leave this place,

and that, without any regret

when I know my time has come.

Beware The Poet

Beware the poet --

an artist, certainly

but more:

a prophet

a soothsayer -

a body, a mind, a spirit

linked as one

as at first it all was.

He re-enacts creation

the poet,

the empath

who can laugh

in pain

shed tears of sorrow

in laughter:

the interpreter

of life

of faith

of love.

Beware the poet --

the silly

the simple

the childlike

the innocent


bright eyed




he travels all dimensions

untouched by the



Beware the poet

the true,

he may change

your world

from within.

Don't listen to him:

mock him

laugh at him

scorn his words

ignore him


misunderstand him:

you may remain


in the arms of

father corporation

father state

father religion

if you close your senses

quickly enough.

Beware the poet

erasing lines


mixing (oh! horror!)



ordinary words,

ordinary ideas:


with the Spirit

of love


with the System

of hate

Beware the poet


your status quo:

Healthy Democracy

I saw a billboard today that proclaimed:

'Healthy People

Healthy Planet

Healthy Democracy'

Well now, imagine that!

A healthy people?

What will doctors,

healthcare workers,

pharmaceutical companies,

researchers in diseases

and cures for diseases do


Work for a living?

And what's a healthy planet?

No more 'natural' disasters?

We know these cause much destruction;

but so much sweet money

flows to the hands of the rich

seemingly so eager

to repair the damages!

Ah, sweet emergency measures!

And various agencies can claim

they are creating jobs --

what a bonus: your pain, our gain!

And what about democracy?

Would it be healthy

if the planet and we the people

were healthy of body and sound of mind?

This begs the question:

do the "sounds of mind"

call for democracy?

I never stop being amazed:

no limit to the BS humans will


when marketed



A History Of Violence

No dispute: we endure violence

and whenever possible

we return same, or more.

We need no proof of our ability

to do violence unto others,

we have our history.

In this late day, this late hour,

there is no time to ponder the why of it -

if we do not know why by now

it's a sure bet we will never know -

- why -

but we know this whether admitted or not:

we know we can no longer afford this luxury.

Luxury? You say, shocked -

of course it's a luxury, pure and simple:

so many seeking it, training for it,

dreaming of it, buying and selling it

or holding it as some sacred trust!

It's a luxury and it's time to unload it -

whatever the market will bear.

Time to give ourselves a new kind of luxury:

an entire planet free of violence;

free of a single thought related to violence -

what's so hard about that?

Impossible! You exclaim, shocked again -

violence is endemic to this world...

Well I say to you, that's one lousy excuse

because all you need to do to end


is to free yourself from all fear;

from the war within.

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