Is rain just God's tears,
Falling upon His children,
Soothing their souls' pain?

We enter in,
Not by choice,
Our heart insists;
We feel the need,
The need that God has burnt
Upon our soul,
The one that cannot be denied,
But when the love is not returned,
The sheltering warmth
Becomes a sad and cutting burden,
A garden maze disorienting,
It would be better if its grip were
Cold,
To let us know how toxic was
This place,
But we are trapped,
Trapped within this sad and empty
Garden,
Warmed only by the sad
And lonely heat
Of our own
Forlorn and solitary love,
There to nurse the draining
Agony
Of a heart
Permanently broken,
Whose only wish would be
That its beat would cease,
And stop the endless ache.

Copyright 2011 by Gary L. Misch

All rights reserved

The sea's grown calm,
Just two days out,
Finally,
The ice is in our wake,
We're thinking of a
Run ashore,
We've earned it,
Six days through
The sea smoke,
Fog,
Ice bergs,
Bergy bits,
Growlers,
All the usual debris
Of travel in these parts,
Now the only debris,
Pods of whales,
Folks pay to see them,
We get paid to see 'em,
Sort of,
It's been a long cruise,
But still,
We are getting paid,
In the morning,
We'll give the ship
A bath,
And get ready for
A real reward,
There's got to be
Some reward,
For vigilance,
And boredom
All across the pond,
And there is a reward,
There'll be Newfie merchants
On the jetty,
Bringing to us,
Barrels of...
Lobsters,
They don't have much,
In Newfie Land,
But lobsters they've got,
An over supply,
We'll bring 'em home,
Steamed and frozen,
Ready to eat,
And while we're here,
Perhaps a little beer,
A reward for not hitting
A single whale,
Let's keep the Navigator sober,
Insurance that he miss
Sable Island,
On the next leg south,
After all,
It's the last leg home.
And so,
St. John's,
Not a garden spot,
But good enough,
To be the last stop.

I'm flying to the clouds
Upon imaginary wings,
I don't need any help
For God will take me there,
I need to be above the troubles
Of the earth,
I'm never gonna come back down
To ordinary life.

I thought I might find heaven
When I got up here,
But all I found was
Water vapor ice and snow,
No angels,
Faeries,
Spirits,
Not a paradise,
Just me alone with water vapor,
Snow,
And ice.

It  doesn't matter,
'Cause I'm staying any way,
I kind of like this place
The way it is,
If others come,
I'm going to charge them
Rent,
You see,
I'll be the king of heaven
In a mortal way.

We all looked for peace,
But peace was never where we were,
Peace was at home,
Better there
Than where we were,
Funny how
The fellows with the least use
For a peace
Were those who'd never put
The uniform on,
A golden bunch of
Chicken hawks,
Too smart,
And too important,
To risk their lives,
They oughta send their daughters,
Said
A man of few words,
Him with only half a face,
Well,
We didn't join
For the money,
Did we?
Can there really be peace,
In the place we left
To go to war?
I thank God my son is
Back there,
I'll ask him,
When I see him,
Next.

So they wanna occupy Wall Street, eh?
I do believe that it is already well occupied,
Occupied in making money,
Not in makin' stuff,
That would muss those custom suits,
And chip those polished nails,
You can't see Wall Street's residents,
They're busy behind smoked glass,
Trading the most expensive vaporware
On earth,
Buy it for a thousand,
Sell if for a hundred,
Heads they win,
Tails you lose,
Try retiring on that,
It's working out for them,
They're important people,
Don't hurt their morale,
Mayor Bloomberg is worried
They might get sad,
(Sigh).
Don't turn around,
But while  you're occupying,
Your jobs are occupied,
With migrating to...
Another hemisphere,
Enjoy your camp-out folks,
And your three weeks
Of fame.


Copyright 2011 by Gary L. Misch

All rights reserved

Let us render clear,
The vital items
Of our lives,
Not the things of pleasure,
But those things without which
We may find ourselves expired,
Or at least severe impaired,
Beyond
Those things that are
The sustenance of life,
There is a list that can be made,
Food,
Water,
Air,
The last is mostly critical for its
Oxygen,
What if we were to lose
An equally critical component,
The oxygen of our life,
Not the O2,
That mixes with the nitrogen
We breathe,
But that very something that
Sustains our soul,
That very life line
That many of us must have.
True,
Some are more tightly
Interwoven with it than others,
For some it is
Like unto the umbilical cord,
As critical as that to which we cleaved
Within the womb,
Without it we wither.
What is it?
For some it is a place,
For some a drug,
For others
A person,
For all,
A vital element,
Defined only by us
As individuals - involuntarily,
The level of criticality unknown,
Until it is lost,
Whereby we are,
Perhaps for the first time,
Truly working without a net,
Or a sense of direction,
And we begin slow suffocation,
Not of the lungs,
But of a different kind,
A drowning of the mind and soul,
For,
Without that special oxygen,
Whatever,
Or whoever it may be,
That beacon,
Like unto a horizon reference,
We are slowly,
But surely,
Unmade.

God bless you,
(I think),
You kept the peace,
Mostly,
For forty-five years,
World wide peace,
Anyway,
You were our tool,
Your threat of white heat,
Kept us off the edge of
Madness,
With MAD,
We carried you everywhere,
In the air,
On the sea,
Under the sea,
Under ground,
Over land,
We protected you,
As we protected
Nothing else,
You were our magic
Touchstone of safety,
Our ultimate security blanket,
Whose security was
Unknown,
But
Whose safety might turn on us,
Vaporous,
In the flash of the
Moment,
Now you've become a *****,
Over bred,
Your power unwelcome,
Desired only by your
Fellow lepers,
Sorry,
But you're done,
Thanks,
(I think).


Copyright 2011 by Gary L. Misch

We salute you,
Gentlemen,
And Ladies,
God bless you,
(He clearly has)
We bless you,
We support you,
At par,
So far,
Lest you bring us all down,
(That was the threat,
Was it not?)
You are so
Wicked smart,
Except those few,
Who couldn't hold on,
For our gravy train,
To respond,
For those few,
We hope last year's bonus,
Will help you survive,
Your trip down the tubes,
(Sigh)
And for all,
We are led to believe,
That you're back on your feet,
And doing quite well,
We were glad to help out,
Your derivative pleasure,
Just makes our hearts soar,
And to help you to help
The economy heal,
We're taxing your janitors
More than your managers
'Cause we know you're the source
Of all job creation,
Within this great nation,
How do we know this?
Well,
We've been told this
Been told by some very fine folk,
Some folk whom you... own?
For sure there are doubters,
But we question their wisdom,
We don't even think that
They're being good citizens,
But there are some suspicions,
My well heeled good friends,
That what's good for you folk,
Might be just a bit toxic,
To those of us few,
Who compose,
That diminishing remnant,
Of what once we could call,
The vast middle class,
Today,
We ain't even,
Half vast.
Sad to say,
Now a few of us wonder,
If you're not quite our friends,
If you don't have our best int'rests
In your schemes and your ends,
All of those yachts,
They're critical – right?
We believe in you now,
To make every thing bright,
To bring our economy
Back from the dead,
To create all those jobs,
With that barely taxed bread,
So,
While we're eatin' those grits,
In this world that you've made,
With the pols that you've bought,
Just Remember my friends,
Rot infects not just wood,
But your hearts and your souls,
And the Fire Next Time
Might be more than a book
It might be unhappy folk,
With your ***** in their sights.

Comes the time
When work must end,
When games expire,
And the boundaries
Of social *******
Are set firm,
When shades are drawn,
Our heads can no longer
Remain upright,
We can at last retire
From all the sad
And unfulfilled
Anticipation of the day,
***** out the light,
At last be in
Firm equilibrium
With nature,
And lie alone,
In the ether,
With our thoughts unseen,
And there commune
With death,
Fence with sadness,
Joust with heartache,
Lay upon
That silent field of play,
All that we dare not
Set forth in daily life,
Hoping that before the dawn,
We may divest ourselves,
Of all the cares,
Impossible to take back
To the light.
For if we fail,
We'll carry this great burden
Back to the light,
The truth is that,
The darker forces,
Aren't beholden to us,
It's us beholden rather
To them,
And so they are to be
Respected,
Kept at arms length,
In the dark,
Not permitted out,
Lest our demons
Cross that boundary,
Where their presence
Will engender,
Fear and loathing,
Take control,
And drag us into
Endless grief.
And so,
It's in the dark,
Upon that silent,
Sightless grid,
We struggle with
Our demons,
Each and every one,
And never cry for help,
Lest we be forced to share
Our darkest parts with others.

The mighty
Breath of air
Roared past,
And,
In a stark moment,
A city of trees
Is no more,
It's just a broken
City,
Awaiting help
In stunned disbelief,
While a hundred
Chain saws,
Strip it bare
Of the wreckage
Of its beauty.
They were spared
The Presidential
Circus
For a week,
A week to
Take stock,
To look for dead,
To gather pictures,
Broken treasures,
But now they've got,
Their photo op,
They can plant
Their trees anew,
And if they live
Ninety years,
Well,
Ninety years more,
They'll see
Their city
Bloom anew,
It's a time,
To contemplate
Our limits,
Forget what
We have lost,
And give thanks,
For what we have,
Amen.

The hay will have to sit,
A few days more,
Too bad,
It was just dry,
Ready to bale,
The clouds that sat,
Just halfway down the mountain,
Are now down 'round the house,
They've turned the pasture into
A perfect picture-
A cottony smooth mist,
It makes you want to stop,
Just to look,
And stay quite a while,
Maybe watch the crows,
Before the sun burns it off.
We couldn't get this in August,
Just hard baked drought,
And doubts about the future.
Now a billion droplets
Breathe new life into
Every green thing,
We've escaped nature's worst
For another year.
The streams are swollen,
Again!
They're safe for trout ***.
In August,
We had to wonder,
Would those tiny rivulets
Come back?
Just when we had our
Deepest doubts,
The wand of nature
Said Yes,
The cycle was safe,
In her Faithful Breast.

A poetic of love in two parts

I

My love's beauty rests
Inside her,
Her heart and soul
Shine through,
They overwhelm
Whatever beauty
Might beholden
Upon her face.
Her mind itself
Calls out to all who
Know her,
Delighting those whose hearts
She touches,
No one can capture her,
But if you're patient
She may come to you,
And bring to you
Delight.


II

To be with her
Is like unto
A field of
Fresh flowers,
To hear her voice,
Makes it seem
Those flowers have
Given off a heavenly
Bouquet,
She can make an ord'n'ry day
Into a feast
For the mind and soul,
And so heal
The heart.


Copyright 2011 by Gary L. Misch

All rights reserved

Gotcha,
Sheik,
It took a while,
But most government
Jobs do.
You had a good run,
And died a lion
In many eyes,
Though a caged lion,
In a cage
Of your very own,
Behind walls of your own.
Didn't know
There was a breed
Of Seals
That went over walls,
Eh?
I wonder where
Your buddy Ayman went.
Perhaps it's safe
For him
To go home now,
Egypt,
Right?
Inshallah.
I saw the wild celebrations,
Outside the White House,
At Ground Zero,
At the Air Force Academy.
Once we had:
VE day,
VJ day.
We cheered then,
For the dying
Would stop.
What of VO day?
I thought VO was,
A whiskey.
The dying won't stop
For VO day.
What's all the cheering for?
Celebrating the death
Of one enemy?
As if we'd won
A war?
We should feel
Just a little *****.
Let us thank
Those who did this
Most necessary deed
For us,
Then let us
Go about our business,
And leave them with
Their thoughts.
I think I'll stop by
The old Ebbitt Grill.
Maybe I can find
A chicken hawk,
To have a celebratory
Beer with.
Rest in Peace,
If you can,
Sheik,
With the fishes.
There are no virgins
At full fathom five.

Copyright 2011 by Gary Misch

All rights reserved