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The Warhorse


Through the window, at a distance, I saw him today
As he meandered aimlessly in fields of weeds and clover —
Moving as one unsure of what would happen next,
Unsure if the danger of battle was truly over.

He bore the scars of a life lived- hard and full and well,
As only can be found in draft animals in service to the state;
Taught by unforgiving moments to think and plan for the worst
While carrying upon his sagging back the burdens of duty and chaos and fate.

When the thunder comes, the warhorse must run to the sound of the guns,
Remaining stalwart in the pell-mell charge of animals and men against fire;
Despite fear and fury, if the animal-instrument fails in battle just once
Then comes the flailing upon flanks and withers scarred by national ire.

Today the destrier, once a fine sleek stallion, now worn and old,
Gelded by the chaffing of time and burden, finding his days of service through;
And must create a new life and status in the field or the range or the stable,
Else the groom decide the warhorse worthless, short of factory and glue.

I catch my breath and realize —
No image through glass pane I see;
But reflections in a silvered mirror,
For that old warhorse is me.

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St. Valentine’s Day

The legato of gunfire
Flowing like music and
The beating of hearts
Now lost to love
Rhythmically pumping
The Red splatter of life
Spilled out in warm rivulets.
Seven slumped
Pierced by lead arrows
Against the cold brick and
Upon the dirty concrete
Floor of a Chicago garage.
When the sultry smoke cleared
A dog and a gangster
Were all that was left alive
Though the man passed on
A short while later
“No one shot me”
He held on to
The code of La Cosa Nostra
So only the dog knows
And Highball ain’t a snitch.

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Momma Took the Paper

Momma took the paper.
She read it every day,
And as she finished sections,
She passed them on my way.
For two bits and a little time,
The world became more clear,
(On Sunday it cost a dollar,
Because so much was there).
The paper came with sections,
So that all could clearly track,
The news, the sports, and classifieds,
Separating opinion from fact.
Section A was local features,
And section B straight world news,
Section O was all opinions,
Where people sang their blues.
The funnies and the classifieds,
Everyone knew were jokes,
That car was not at all “like new”,
The fancy personals- just regular folks.

Now the papers are slowly dying,
No one reads them like before.
And the people don’t know
Anything about anywhere anymore.
What used to be a quarter,
Now costs four or five,
Or else it’s moved behind a paywall,
To keep the press alive.
And instead of clearly marked sections,
Where people can evaluate and choose,
It’s now all fiery loaded language,
Infotainment dismissed as “Fake News”.
In the void of multi-media,
Talking heads just fight and fuss,
But the absence of real reporting,
Means the joke is on us.

There is no good solution,
Unless we the people act,
Dismiss celebrity talking heads,
And demand instead pure fact.
Though editorial and opinion,
Do indeed have a place,
It should not be amongst pure news,
As facts get lost in space.
The nation and its people,
Would be better in every way,
If we all took time and place and paper,
And read it every day,
And as we finished sections,
Passed them our children’s way.

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Traditions and Religion

 

Gate to Seoul

Few people ever learn
That the twelve-days of Christmas
Is the Wild Hunt of pagan Yuletide
Repurposed by early Christian Missionaries.
December twenty-fifth itself-
The Roman Feast of Sol Invictus
During the time of Saturnalia,
The unconquerable sun
Reborn from slothful slumber
At the time of winter’s solstice
Set as holiday by Emperor Aurelian
Again, repurposed by the church.
Our Christmas tree is a Germanic throwback
From the 16th century
To Celtic boughs of evergreen
Themselves a throwback to Egyptian palm rushes-
The greenery a symbol of life eternal
Decorating the home in winter.
The Festival of Lights
Hindu, Jewish and Christian
Falling within weeks of each other
Celebrate and rededicate
Light conquering darkness.
There is a common human need
As shown in myth and ceremony
From ancient culture through a current common use
To remind ourselves in the dead of winter
When everything seems bleakest
That new life is coming.
Traditions and religions have been built on this principle-
Peace on Earth and Goodwill towards Mankind
Despite our baser nature.

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Speaking to Zombies

Gate to Seoul

Today I heard a politician
Speak remarkably plain,
The wars of my lifetime
He said we’ve fought in vain.
Perhaps he is correct
And the time has come to vent,
Yet this same politician
Voted to send us where we went;
And he kept the funding flowing
Through the victories and the strife.
The contractors made a fortune,
On a bill that soldiers paid with life.
America, largely oblivious
To what goes on “over there”,
Argues over the frivolous
And spends without a care.
Poor fiscal policy and hubris,
The people fail to see,
Is the historical highway that
Brings great nations to their knees.