Someone thought it was a good idea
To send out into space,
A golden map of where to look
To find the human race.
On top of that it also told
In a hundred fifteen languages no less
That we are completely disunited-
A multicultural polyglot mess.
It told about our resources
In pictures, graphics, and sound.
The more I learn about this Voyager,
The more mysteries abound.
“Through adversity to the stars” it says
In Latin- English Morse code.
The adversity likely starts when THEY
Follow it back to our abode.
Sagan called this message in a bottle,
Our planet’s cosmic hope.
That in fact may well be true
Until our overlords say “Nope!”
History says that the ones who travel,
Be that upon waves or celestial seas,
Are the one who rules the others
In their colonies.
So please don’t think it an evil whim
When I say, though they may travel far,
I prefer that, rather than being found by Them,
Both Voyagers smash into a star.
Pain
I’m writing away
The pain tonight
About something
I can’t explain.
About a man
That tried to do
The right thing
Long ago.
His actions then
His actions now
Will never ease that pain.
I’m writing away
The pain tonight
But the mud flows
From the rain.
I’m scrubbing hard
But nothing’s loose.
It won’t remove the stain.
I can’t remove the pain.
Missing Inaction
I. Vietnam
“No church today, colonel.”
Said the man who rowed
Him across the river.
An explosion, deafening,
Even to an Infantryman.
Clapboard, pews aflame.
Of 4 years of combat,
This is the only story
My grandfather told.
One man,
One sentence,
Saved his life.
He walked with God
And water buffalo,
And the Vietnamese.
He spoke 6 tongues.
And had many names.
Grandfather. Dad. Colonel.
II. Vietnam, Basic
A colonel’s 2nd deployment…
His daughters dreamed
he’d be killed in action.
But the colonel went,
like soldiers before him,
kissed the states goodbye.
He refused bad orders,
saving most of his unit,
but he was killed.
Grandpa in tears.
Why did I tell him?
I said I was sorry.
He said, “We were
in basic together.
I didn’t know.”
His friend had died
Half a world away,
Half a century ago.
III. Japan
Grandpa sent his brother
In the Navy, a note,
A 1948 Japanese yen.
Ripped in half. Written.
The names of six men,
As lost as the other half.
Officers? Operatives?
Men’s faces blur. Time.
Saki-smoke-laughter.
No one knows where,
Why it was sent,
or who the men were.
Important enough
To write, to save
for 60 years.
IV. Home
These men were.
Missing inaction.
Solid but never still.
We cannot pretend
cannot convince me
one doesn’t matter.
One sentence.
One man lost.
One man saved.
When the border is gone.
And the mission is over,
Enemies, tremors defeated,
It’s what they built.
Third culture kids.
Bridges and bonds.
I am not a soldier
It’s not my story.
But nor am I separate.
Your voice
Stand up and say
What you must say.
You have your voice
Please don’t delay.
The Sun Dial
The transcendentalist mind
Knows God through nature
And sees what most won’t see
His masterwork, our planet Earth.