Sifu of Tai Chi
By Norma Hebel
Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee.
Stand quietly, breathe deeply, feel the energy flow.
Ride the wind-rising eagle above the head.
Practice each move in advance...in the mind,
Smoothly weaving together the steps as you go.

Slowly opening the Silk Road scroll,
Sifu steps upon the revealed path.
Then, leaving all else of the world behind,
He enters the inner soul of his mind.

Relaxing and thoughtful in deep meditation,
Releasing all tension and stress,
Then, as a spool of silk slowly unwinding,
The steps of the form commence.

Liquid as honey that drips from the comb,
Enchanting as butterflies floating in air.
He is quick as the sting of the wasp and the bee,
And smooth as the river washed stone.

He seems like an image in slow rolling clouds,
Moved by the force of the wind as he breathes.
With the delicate grace of a thread-let of silk,
Sifu moves with the strength of the mighty Yangtze.

"Sifu" means Master of Tai Chi.

Desert Evening
By Norma Hebel

Looking across the desert in the fading light of day,
I could barely see the outline
Of the Pyramids of Egypt...in the sand dunes.
The waters of a mirage were shimmering in
The late glow of day.
My eyes searched along the shoreline
Of the non-existant water,
For sight of the camels that roamed the desert.
Hoping to see Pharaohs Ornate Solar Powered Canoe
Glide into view... behind the sprawling sage-brush forest.

The light was gone.
Still, nothing could be heard
From the kitchen of the house.
Because the kitchen was a campfire,
And the house was a tent.
All was silent, as the sky deepened to purple.
And in the darkling sky...
The stars came out.

Weapons of war
By Norma Hebel

From the long-bow to the neutron bomb,
With rifle and cannon they die.
Then came tanks and napalm,
And death that fell from the sky.

It came in ships the rode the seas,
And ships that glide under the water.
Each new generation seems to find new ways
To send young men off to slaughter.

Today the drums of war are calling.
And off he went so proud and brave,
Now all you have left is a folded flag
And tears to water his grave.

But some have found there are things worse than death,
As many an "Old Hero" can tell,
Of the legless, the armless, the blind and insane,
And the memories of time spent in hell

They still hear the screams of agony
When the land mines blew them away.
They remember when they were young and whole,
And how war took their lives that awful day.

We all clap hands when the flag goes by,
And hold our hands to heart.
Now if and when this present war ends,
Do you wonder when the next will start?