How  do  we  remember ...war,
victorious! or lost... or oh, the cost...
how  do  we  remember ...battles
the call!... the charge, or the silence ... the toll!
how  do  we  remember...soldiers, and when they are...older
scarred but not forgotten, MIA, KIA
after war
after battles
after soldiers
honor,
bravery,
scarred, not scared
loved,
missed,
by wives and mothers and all the others,
this one
battle
"defined
a nation" and at a cost of 10,000 men, who would soldier no more,
but take postings to peoples memories once lives turned from war,
and to war again
and war again and
to peace makers.

Vimy - April 9 - 12, 1917

wispy clouds
on a blue sky
and a blood-
less sunset, lost on all for now
some despised boys in
cowardly mens bodies
have more bul-
lets than teeth,
yet the chickenshit bites
and mark and
grief they leave
behind, spent
casings litter the
halls of learning
peace, pieces, seething, see the thing
is now, lost on all for now  

so how much hate do you have to harbour, to ****** a child?

yet the clouds of
witnesses stay silent;
no, not the common
man, the common
women, who have
in common with you and
I, tears falling from, my eyes
our eyes, there is
horror, there is shock
there is mouths
open and no air is
getting to the lungs,
a silent scream for
justice, as no one
can bring the children back, memories do not cut the loses,
yet the clouds of
witnesses stay silent; those
seats of power
must be real com-
fortable at this hour
eschewing respon-
sibility, for there
is no gain by get-
ting involved,

the ultimate of pre-emptive fear,
how hard can they be to find leaving a yellow streak
wherever they go, crawling on their yellow bellies.

this is not to be read,
out loud for even the
sound and rhythm,
from anywhere in
world, would break hearts, my heart
cannot make rhyme and reason
about this crime,  see there is
an evil scaramouch, no credit
the pantywaist
deserves, takes on flesh and
payment is required.

What is lost on all for now..
What is lost on all for now..
What is lost on all Africa for now..
The value, the energy,
the beauty, the potential,
the future, there were
musicians, there were
geniuses, there philan-
thropists, there were
artists, * there were poets,*
they were children and
grandchildren, they
were going to be parents,
they were going have
children and that is
lost on all for now and forever.

some talk of destiny,
like they have met before,
so much unrest in me,
going back to the times of yore,

needing quiet and above core of a bustling, busy
sleepless island streets, needing noisy trees and
a West coast breeze, needing some distance
to lend a farm hand a hand, needing times in
a city with not the tower, to refresh my batteries.

call me a dreamer, from where you are
the triathlon, want I to run is reading,
writing,
sleeping
so I can digest, express and dream of
kinder times where imaginings touch
is never enough.

Refresh not the force field, but the power
of the yield ... knowing when to stop
and when to go is more power than
you know, and if the veil and the
mail made of chain should brush
as they fall to the floor...
worry not for I will have already closed the door...

I stir in the soft glow, in the room, and traffic is a slight ocean's wave, in sound,

I put my hand upon my chest, this ceiling isn't mine, the fixture here is round?

When I roll over, you are there, face hidden by your hair,

Pillow grasped with hands still bunched, have a hunch

We loved last night under, the moonlight, cloud light , no light

If I remember anything, ... umm I must get dressed and take my things

I must leave without saying goodbye, or get the stare from sleepy eyes,

That could **** even me, with the air thick with thrill, from the eve before,

No, I must leave sleep and you, to walk the dog who is scratching at the door,

for sure before I leave, this early early morn.

To make, a

p r a i r i e,

it takes

a clover

and

one

bee, one

clover and,

a bee

and revery,

the revery -- alone

will do if bees,

are few…

Emily Dickinson