Race toward the mountains,
Peddle through redbud alley,
Chase the blood red sky.

We set their air afire,
Just as they'd set our ships
Afire,
So,
With a great killing,
We brought to a stop,
Their killing,
A fairly rapid stop,
Perhaps too fast a stop,
Too fast for some,
For sure,
But who could know,
That these horrendous things,
Would come to pass but once more,
Thankfully.
And now that bell tolls yearly,
Its lonely voice sings
“Never again,”
“We hope.”
Let us be sad For those who died,
But let us not regret.
Their deaths bought life,
For others
Who did not have to fight.
Let revisionists glory in their guilt,
Their guilt is not ours.
We can pay our respects
To Enola Gay,
And to this day
Say “well done.”

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.

We grow with passion,
Our only cash crop is rocks,
Want peas? import soil.

Thunder swept the sea,
The sky rained a nation's fate,
Great ships found their graves.

April is their month.
They've sat,
Patient,
Throughout the winter,
Those sturdy oval buds,
Sometimes cased in ice,
They don't seem
To mind.
Are they awaiting,
Tax time?
These jewels
Keep company with
Their pretty pink
Cousins,
The Redbud.
Why does the dogwood
Ask
For our attention
So?
Perhaps because it
Blooms so early,
When
There is so little else
To see.
Perhaps it is the legend that,
From the poor dogwood,
Came the wood,
From which was fashioned,
The true cross.
More likely it's just,
The timeless beauty,
Born-in beauty,
From long ago,
Needing no
Adornment,
And not a bit
Of pruning.
Touch it with a knife,
You'll invite disease.
Let it grow ***** nilly,
It will give you,
Perfect beauty,
On its own.

Wild,
It sits beneath
The forest cover,
Like a craggy,
Wasted twig,
Dwarfed,
By its bigger cousins.
And then,
Before any others,
That slim and subtle
Beauty
First appears,
As an
Exquisite miniature,
Creamy yellow flowers,
That open,
To bleach themselves white,
And show the
Blood red crosses
At their center.

They are
Gems,
That change,
Day by day,
So leave your camera
Home.
You cannot catch
Their beauty.
Instead,
Imprint the view
Upon your mind.
They'll be back
Next year,
More beautiful
Than ever.

Nature makes a peach,
But man decides just how
That peach will be,
Feel free to graze,
In the supermarket
Of your choice,
But,
If you insist
On the best,
Wait 'til all the others,
Have been finally consumed,
Then proceed,
To a singular and magic place,
Where a special man,
Sells a special peach,
A peach so special
That it ripens on the tree,
Ripens to perfection,
But you must consume it
Straight away.
It's never with us
Longer than two weeks,
But it's a treat
That you'll not want
To miss.

In memory of the seven men killed in the after fire room explosion in USS Basilone (DD-824) on 5 February 1973

We live in holes,
Each one named,
Bravo One,
Bravo Two,
Bravo Three,
Bravo Four.
There are others,
But none are MAIN,
The rest are AUX.

We work at pressure,
Six hundred pounds,
Eight hundred plus
Degrees,
That's Fahrenheit,
Folks.
People like
To visit
Our world.
Makes them,
Feel special,
They see a world,
They don't dare
Live in,
And they leave,
Before they
Sweat too much.
Come again,
But not too often,
Have a salt tablet.

We're the only sailors,
Who must
Use our gear,
Twenty-four hours
A day.
Try letting the fires
Go out
In the
Boiler.
See what
Happens.
The girls,
Topside,
Would miss their
Movie.
They'd,
Be agitated.
Did we use that
Word?
Well,
Have a salt tablet.

We say that
Down here is where
The real men live,
That all the rest,
Are *******.
It's a lie,
But,
It hides how hard
Life is,
In the
Steam world.

It's six hours
Of watch,
Six hours
Of sleep,
Six hours
Of watch,
Six hours
Of sleep,

Unless,
Something
Needs fixing,
Or
We're refueling,
Or,
We're getting ready,
To enter port,
Or,
Something else
Is happening,
Then there's -
No sleep.
There's no sun
Anyway.
You wanna see
Sun?
Look through
The scope,
At the
Stack gas.

It's a world of
Valves
And,
Burners,
And,
Sight glasses and,
Pumps and,
Pipes and,
Gauges everywhere.
A new guy,
Wonders,
How to learn
Them all.
It's an,
Incomprehensible
Forest.
And then,
You get to
Know it.
Now some other guy,
Is the,
New guy.

It's often a
Rain forest,
120 degrees,
That's Fahrenheit,
Folks.
95 per cent
Humid,
Since you're visiting,
Come help us,
Find
Steam leaks.
But,
Keep your head
Down.
Steam is clear,
You won't
See it,
Before it
Cuts you,
In half.
We'll use brooms,
Instead.
Just wave them overhead,
Along the pipes.
Have a salt tablet.

The steam
Snakes all about
The ship.
They need it
To live.
Not just the
Wake,
But,
Heat,
Light,
Water.
All life,
Comes from
The boiler.
You'd think they'd
Appreciate
Us.

The Navy says,
It's worried about,
Our heat stress,
(It's only 120)
And our hearing,
They want us,
Out of
The heat,
More often,
Nice.
Who will keep
The lights on?
Maybe they'll
Start a new,
“Program.”
Do the paperwork,
And just
Keep us in
The hole.
We've been down here,
So long,
We can't
Hear 'em,
Anyway.
Have another salt tablet,
And go back,
To your regular job,
Topside.

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.

We occupied The Willard,
Yes we did,
So over the top,
We might have fed Djibouti
For a week.
The guest of honor
Deserved it,
But,
We might have fed
Somalia
For a month,
Don't get me wrong,
If you've got it,
You deserve it,
But,
Give it away,
And it becomes
More valuable,
Try it,
It tastes better.

Leave the town;
Not everyone can,
You need a camel,
Or a Land Rover,
(a real one),
And a driver
Who can infer
The road.
Take two spares,
We might be on
The moon's face,
Behind you,
Djibouti,
Ahead,
Rock,
Scrub,
A kind of
Desert.
To be lost,
To be stuck,
Is perhaps,
To die.
Why go?
To see the light;
Light houses
Call us.
It sits alone,
They all do,
This one watches
The Gate of Tears,
Flash-flash it says,
Then it rests,
Then flash-flash,
It works alone,
Its mates
Are ships,
Someday, perhaps,
There will be,
A real road.
For now,
The track is
Half imagined,
And the place?
Unchanged,
Unchanging,
As if we,
Had never come.

Suppose you got a quasar for a pet,
And brought it home,
To play with your pet laser,
But your mice,
They stole them both,
(They got out of their cage,
I don't know how,
But I know they're wicked smart,
You'll see)
Then they ran into a tower,
With the laser and the quasar,
Where you couldn't get them out
Because the laser gave them power,
To keep you far away,
Then they made you bring them cumin,
All the cumin you could find,
Soon the tower was so full,
That there wasn't even one
Indian restaurant in the town,
That could cook a single dish,
Soon the tower got so full
That the mice began to sneeze,
So they knew they'd have to fly
With the laser and the quasar,
To some other place,
Maybe outer space,
Or Greenland,
Or Albania,
Or someplace that I can't spell,
But right now my one good hand can't type,
So I must go,
Sigh,
Bye.

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

the earth makes us free
we respond by wanting stuff
which holds us in chains

copyright 2011 by gary l. misch

Scaffolding climbs everywhere,
To help keep the canyons of stone
In repair,
Ancient patricians,
Are now made small,
By newer creatures
Of glass and steel,
Look off in the distance,
See how small we really are,
The avenues run-
Forever,
Broad,
Steep to.
I stare down my chest,
To the pavement,
Hard,
Hard as the hearts of the faceless,
But not like the balding,
Smiling,
Red headed dad,
Who got his son last week,
The same day,
That he got his
AARP card.
I'm off to a dinner
A dinner unlike any
In Syria,
Either Syria.

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.

On we drone,
Another day,
Another death,
We fly on high,
All day,
All night,
We never tire.
We've got the time,
Until we fire,
And we're assured,
It's not a crime.
It's more or less
A righteous act,
Our work,
That is.
We're told in fact,
That when we ****,
It's been approved,
Approved on high,
It couldn't be a
A crime of war.
Death comes right from
A **** List,
Like a – Fatwa,
If you will.
And should you happen
In the way,
It was just your time,
Not a crime,
Just your time.

Zero four hundred,
Early to wake,
Early to fuel,
The oiler is,
Hmmm...
Where you find it.
Radar will find it,
Only ******'s eye
Will get you
Along side,
In one piece.
Fifty men
Move as one,
Hauling span wires
Ship to ship,
Then,
Hauling hoses
Ship to ship,
Between the ships
The boiling sea,
Calls out its threat,
'Make no mistake,
Lest you be ******
Into my jaws,'
Two hundred tiny feet,
Or less,
Between those ships.
We pump as quickly
As we can,
The sooner we can
Break away,
The sooner we can
End this work,
Back breaking,
Dangerous.
For when it's done,
There's other work
Yet to be done,
Perhaps some chow,
As well.
(We hope there's time)
But most of all,
Our tin can,
Can disconnect,
From this giant
Of an oiler,
Break away,
At thirty knots,
Steam safely on
"Duty assigned,"
Full of oil,
Full of food,
Full of movies,
Full of all
That lets it live,
A full work day,
Is yet ahead.

Will you marry me?
Plus six.
I finally belong
To the dark girl,
With long hair,
On Beacon Street.
And she is mine.
May our hearts beat
As one,
And love define
Our days.

February 14th 2014

It's Valentine's Day again,
But I,
I still remember when,
You returned the call,
And set the journey
In motion.
Just a few calls,
A few notes,
A flight,
A sweater,
And something so much better.
As best friends,
Let us dance 'til the end,
'Til the end of our time,
With our hearts intertwined.
When we are together
Life really is fun,
And surely the best
Is yet to come.
Let's do lunch,
Today!
Or as soon as we
Can dig ourselves out.

Red sky at dusk
A beauty sublime,
Rests on our mountains
For moments in time,
Gone all too soon,
Close your eyes,
Imagine the clouds,
Hanging like blood,
Before your eyes.

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

For Rose
17 Jul 2012

Scribe my name upon your heart,
I'll scribe your name on mine,
Hold me close within your soul,
Let me know we're bound together,
With a love that's new and old.
Let me hold you when I will,
Stay with me forever,
Let's frolic in this world together,
And when it's over,
Meet once more,
And frolic in the world to come.

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

There is an empty world
It sits above our own,
Its silent souls
Reflect to us
A silent warning,
Like a lighthouse on a rock,
Their message,
Barely heard,
Is clear,
“This world,
It loves you not,
Our killers,
They still walk.”
Let their message
Never be forgot.

The catamount,
It does appear,
From our fair commonwealth
Has disappeared,
It's just as gone
As gone can be.
Just as the state
Environment folk,
They'll tell you
It's extinct in our fair land.
As is the Nittany Lion,
From its home
Of Pennsylvania.
They say the only Nittany Lion left
Is frozen in perpetual leap
Outside the Penn State football field.
And as a proof,
Her moaning call
Is heard no more
Throughout the Pennsylvania mounts.
We've slain those big cats
One and all
From the Allegheny
To the Blue Ridge.
So when a giant cat
Stretched herself full out
Before our car
Just to cross the street
At the time of her desire,
Not one moment sooner,
Nor one moment later,
We might have almost hit a ghost
But she didn't stick around
To tell us who she was.
The great cat speaks not,
But goes about her business,
If she's there,
And if she's not,
What the heck was that
That crossed the road?

Pink tears in sunlight,
A cherry tree's too short life,
Beauty flees apace.

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

the joy of living,
the dignity of dying,
the will calls the soul.

Clouds shaped like fish bones
Seem to streak
From
One peak
To another,
But they hover,
Slowly dissolving.
When we next pass,
They are but fragments,
Unrecognizable,
Except,
In our thoughts.

March silent by me
For I finally sleep.
In life,
They made me march to music,
And those who never wore my colors
Called me hero.
Now,
I'm thankful that
I needn't hear their voices,
For I live within a land
Of eternal sleep,
Where only truth lives,
So we call each other
Only by
Our rightful names.

Dear Jack,
It’s been so long,
Yet we cannot let go,
You are our touchstone,
Our Icon of perfection,
You did so little,
Yet your smile,
Set upon that charismatic face,
Gave to oh so many,
A stunning vision of things
Yet to come -
Perhaps.
Your three short years
Grew in our minds,
To a giant’s legacy that never was,
‘Til you could do no wrong.
Now everyone,
Knave and angel both,
Fight to have you as their own,
But no one knows
For sure,
Just what you might have been.

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.

I lost my love for thirty years,
But held her close
Within my heart,
And now,
United,
We are seldom
Far apart.
When we are,
It's only space
That separates,
Our souls still touch,
Our hearts beat close
As if as one,
And when once more united,
We can't help but hold each other;
The newness may not wear off
For another thirty years.

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.

How can beauty
Be so fleeting?
Her petals begin
To fall,
Drifting in
The wind,
Before the last
Has even bloomed.
Perhaps she wish'd
She might have been,
Fully dressed.

We pay homage
To you,
Dear Bob,
Not as misguided,
But as pure evil.
A man brilliant
Enough,
To realize he was
Wrong,
But lie,
While trying to
Understand
Why
His numbers,
Inexplicably,
Did not
Work out,
While boys died.
Not everyone
Can use teenagers
To keep time,
But you did.

Couldn't you tell,
That your data
Were
Junk?
You could command
People to
Collect,
They laughed while
They presented
You crap.
If your models
Could have talked,
They would have
Laughed,
At you.

Reporters,
For whom
Everything is new,
Were sure
That you brought
Systems analysis,
To the
Puzzle Palace.
I guess they missed
World War Two.
You did ensure
It was used,
To build
Many,
Bad,
Weapons.
You get 'A'
For effort,
Professor.

Those dead soldiers' Moms
Applaud you.
They hope to
Meet you in hell,
For another go round.
You somehow thought,
That all of life,
Could be reduced
Numerically.
How bizarre.

In the end,
Your failure
Was not numerical,
But
Philosophical,
Your calibrated responses,
Moved
Not one enemy heart,
As for yours,
You had none.

Those attempting to
Tell you that
You were
Mistaken,
Were helpless,
They might as well,
Have been speaking
Sanskrit to you.
For they spoke in terms of
Morality,
of which
You had none.


When you passed,
No one
mourned,
And
As hard as you
Had tried to buy it,
No one,
Gave you,
Forgiveness.

(No, I'm not apologizing to Thomas Hardy)

The more he thought of it
The more it seemed,
He shouldn't even be here,
Sitting in a chair,
Beside a lamp,
Enjoying food
That tasted
Nearly home cooked,
Well,
Eating it,
If not enjoying it,
Musing on his last encounter
Ever
With fear.
Why am I  here?
Why is he not?
He wasn't old enough
To shave,
Was he?
Had time and opportunity
Been different by a bit,
It might be me,
Cold and forgotten
In a pool of blood,
Never hearing that
My son had walked,
And he'd have been back home
With his Mom,
Safe and snug,
All ready to **** again.
Perhaps that boy
Was old enough to shave,
After all.

If you could train a train,
To travel at the speed of light,
Would it not arrive,
Before
It had even left?
It would put
The passengers,
Into an awful fright,
They wouldn't want,
To ride the rails
For another night  :)

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.

If spring is so nice
Why can’t we see no see ums?
Spring peepers don’t care.

Snow meanders down,
Winter smiles in its late bloom,
Our first white blanket.

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.

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

Panic walked into the room
As business like as he could  be,
He only shook a few folks hands,
He doesn't really need to,
He mixes well
Without a touch,
And carries with him friends,
Fear lives within his pocket,
And remains behind
When he departs.


He said,
I've come to take you,
Hold on tight
For now,
'Till I abandon you
To something
Worse,
Sometime later in the night.
Hold on
And pray I drop you in the light.
But be on guard,
My touch remains,
When I have gone,
So watch your back.

My soul bursts with love
I will love you for all days
I will wax joyous

Where did myself go?
Have I only the past left?
My youth beckons me.

The Crossing:
Once a place,
Where whistle, rail,
And road converged,
Now a home of
Last farewells,
Where two striped
Gate Keepers,
Sadly bid farewell,
To souls who thought
They might live yet
Another day or two,
Until a crush of steel
Decided otherwise.

We'll live at arm's length,
Close by the great monster's den,
And pray for mercy.

I never saw Teddy,
Rudy York was just a coach,
But Fenway was my Mecca
Back when Boston was a
Sad sack team.
I have to laugh,
I traded Yogi,
Traded him,
And Roger Maris
Too,
Traded them for
Tracy Stallard!
What New Englander
Would want a Yank?
Yes Fenway folks
Were not the brightest,
Back before the Sox
Were good.
Now Red Sox nation's
Nation wide,
The Sox are always
In the mix,
After all,
To love a winner,
Isn't strenuous,
I guess.

But,
There was a time,
A half century,
Or so,
Ago,
When,
That legendary jewel,
It didn't seem so small,
At all,
To me,
A kid,
Of only ten.
She was a great,
And green colossus,
Astride Van Ness,
And Brookline Ave.
To get inside,
You'd need your Dad,
And once inside,
She was a mighty
Castle of concrete
And steel,
With boxes for the
Jimmy fund,
Everywhere the eye
Could see,
She was a dark
And dingy cavern,
***** too,
Not much to see,
But when you  walked
Into the sunshine,
There was magic
Everywhere.
The famous sign
In center field,
"Hey Bosox, sock one here,"
And just the color of the grass,
That field was perfect,
Everywhere.
Back then
You could get a ticket,
Any time you wanted,
Just drive right up,
What section,
Please?
But now,
She's a celebrity,
She's all sold out,
The whole year through,
But those of us,
With memories,
Don't need a
Reservation,
For we all recall
The ghosts of Fenway Park.