Poetry is Good for America
Mars is a killer.
First it took our Spirit,
Now it ends Opportunity.
Through the miles and storms and dust,
We called out to you my friend,
But you would not, could not answer.
Deep Space awaits the news,
Billie Holiday sings the blues.
You changed the night sky for me.
Now when I see that fire red twinkle,
I’ll be looking at Mars,
But I’ll Be seeing You.
War is an exercise in patience and masochism.
Repetition lasting eons that age a man
With scars of body and of doubt,
Much as the ground itself trembles
Long before the elephant itself draws near.
War comes as fleeting views of mud and gray charging past,
The pachyderm leaves a jumbled mess in its wake.
In the end there are only memories:
The luminant flash of flame
Blinding in the darkness,
The brisant shock of an explosion
Rolling as a mighty gust of wind,
The impossibly loud roar of a field gun in action
Causing the never-ending ringing in one’s ears,
The wafting billows of grey-white smoke
And crisscrossed contrails of rockets streaming through the sky,
The smell of cordite on the wind,
Followed by the acridity of burning diesel and human flesh,
The burning sting of sand and pebbles
Driven along with the glowing slag in the blast wave,
The knot in your stomach as tracers reach out for you,
Or the chilling sweat on the nape of your neck
As bullets bend in flight and pass you by,
The oppressive weight of helmet and armor
Not nearly as heavy as the drawing of each breath.
Every soldier fights against the fear in their guts,
Leaning on the bonds of comradery and training
To drive themselves and others to do the impossible.
War is that place were every thought and action is simple and basic,
Because thinking and acting are so very hard to do.
Swimmer on the sea
Bobbing on the surface
Straining to see beyond the billowing waves
The ups and downs of life.
Cutting through the water
Currents push and pull
Far stronger than muscle, bone and tendon
Yet the swimmer struggles on.
This is the life of mankind
Struggling to make progress
Between the expanse above and the depth below
Unable to peer far into either.
Prejudice and politics spin us
Like the maelstrom and the eddies
Sweeping us away from logic and the course we set to travel
Fearing imagined monsters from the deep.
While Leviathan circles!
Running through the sandy spring hills, along the creeks, in the pines,
Down corduroy red dirt roads, fleeting childhood, warming climes.
Honeysuckle water and dewberry juice, sweetness in your mouth,
Magnolia and Crape Myrtle blooms, smelling springtime in the South.
The resonant tones of guitar and bass hanging in the air,
Front porch family pickin’ country gold, little dirty kids without care.
Growing up poor but with all they needed, setting the deepest roots,
Running barefoot in the pasture, or in cut-offs and cowboy boots.
Walking in burning summer sands, between the rivers, this is war!
Wearing 30 pounds of armor, tracers flashing, rockets roar.
Blowing sand and streaming sweat, saltiness on the tongue,
Burning flesh and sweet cordite, acrid smoke filling the lungs.
Summer weighs oppressive, rolling thunder booming from the guns,
Nations at war making full payment in the blood of daughters and sons.
Growing older with gnawing emptiness, forming the deepest scars,
Marching boot-clad through the trials, changing seasons, changing stars.
Sitting at a desk behind a flat screen, pecking out lessons upon the keys,
Middle-aged in autumn and breaking down now, failing back, tired knees.
Leaves dropping from the barren trees just like the hair from lengthening brow,
With the fall comes a winding weary slowing, life losing its flavor somehow.
All the tones are slowly fading, except the growing ringing in the ears,
The music now is mostly memories, bring smiles and sometimes tears.
Finding joy in all the little things, moments lived, friendships found,
Knowing soon that cooling winds are coming, frosting hair and frozen ground.
Laying still and cold in winter, in garden of stones, with frozen breath,
Never more to roam the backroads, but peaceful resting now in death.
Bluish lips and tongue taste nothing, dry and frozen in the mouth,
Spirit gone on to new places, but once again a child in the South.
The sounds of men and angels singing, reverberating through the skies,
Content in all the life gone past now, not everyone lives, but everyone dies.
Despite the winter chill around, a warming thought, this one fine thing,
Soon the frozen ground will thaw again, for after winter comes the spring.
Staring out the window at the naked bones of trees,
I see the dirty snow in patches, and ice-sickles on the eaves.
Winter time is looming, with its cold and dark and gray,
While the night is growing longer, and shortens every day.
In this season of the twilight, when the world is cold and dark,
Comes the era of contemplation, reviewing the subtle and the stark.
Past the Feast of Thanksgiving, not yet the Festival of Light,
Lies the time of turmoil- the inter-holiday blight.
Amidst the hustle and the bustle, I find that in my heart,
I need to view in circumspection, whether I’ve done my part,
To improve the life of others, and whether it’ll be found,
That I’ve made the whole world better, before they lay me in the ground.
When I measure myself against my ideals, I find I’m always lacking,
But I’ve set my course for a brighter land, and by the stars I’m tracking.
In the irony of reflection with forever-moments, as time flies,
Though born but a poor boy on a farm, as a man Noblesse Oblige-
Not better than any others, just blessed beyond any possible measure,
A life well-lived unto itself has been immeasurable treasure.
As years and lives all must end, my heart still must sing,
For the cycle holds and later comes the flowering rebirth of Spring.