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Robert C Howard Nov 2013
Battling back troubled tears
Robert took the mike in church
to confess his sins to all
for the lives that had fallen by his hand.

In a causal web as dense
as a tropical thicket,
men in suits and brass
had ordered him to his post
at an Apache helicopter door.

Robert fired and men became bodies.
Those whose fate he sealed
would have done him the same
had they fired sooner or straighter.

But had the wheel turned otherwise
would they, like Robert,
have darted up from their sleep
in the dead of night -
soaked in the sweat of terror and regret?

For every Robert's sake
in every land,
I prefer to hope they would.

*November, 2013
Robert C Howard Oct 2013
intermission with the UMSL Orchestra

The backstage hall was wall-to-wall smiles.
Just moments before,
Barbara Harbach had charged the stage
after we premiered her joyous *Jubilee Symphony

screaming at them all the way,
"That was spectacular"!

The Arianna Quartet's Kurt and Joanna
stormed down the steps
spewing out pieces of their minds
in no uncertain terms
"excellent" - "great job" - "beautiful".

I preferred to hang out on the edge
wrapped in the silken echoes
of Tchaikovsky's Andante cantabile
(so eloquently sung by our youthful strings).

Intermission was up and it was
back to work time.

In the abyss of despair
over his dying ears,
Beethoven flooded the world
with the blazing sunglow
of his prophetic second symphony
and it was now up to us
to pass on the word.

Just call me,
"Grateful (underscore) 1".
Nat wanted me to cough up a music poem so here's my latest verbal fur ball.
Robert C Howard Oct 2013
In the year I discovered baseball
I stumbled on my brother's marbles.
I begged Jim out of a few and he
showed me how to make my thumb a trigger.

Soon I was checking out at Woolworths
with my pockets a couple of quarters lighter
but otherwise enriched by
several "purey's", a pair of "cat's eyes",
a largish agate as black as anthracite
and a pull string carry sack.

At home I lined them up in rows
admiring their reflections
on the glass top table.
I held my favorite cat's eye" to the light
(The diadem of my molded treasure trove)
However  did that orange swirl get inside?

Whistling through the playground
I joined a group of older kids
haunched around a circle
etched in the summer dust
with marbles clustered in the center.

Not to be left out I said,
"I've got marbles."
Before I had a chance to question why,
My orange diadem was in the center

Then WHACK, another marble sent it
flying out beyond the rim
and the shooter stuffed it in his sack.

I yelled,"Hey, that's my marble"
"Not no more, kid, the game is 'keeps'".
"What's 'keeps' I asked?"
"It means you lose"
and everyone laughed but me.

I scooped up the balance of my treasury
and left the circle quick -
(I dared not show my ***** tears).

So I left the cruelty of that dusty circle
sadder but just a little wiser
and never played for keeps again!

Well, not in marbles anyway.

October, 2013
Robert C Howard Sep 2013
Snowfall gently covered Belleville
in a blanket of softest down –
iridescent in the gaslight coronas.

A carriage pulled up at City Park Hall where
the coachman took white-gloved hands
and eased the ladies gently down the steps.
Some paused to pat the horses
in thanksgiving for the lift.

Top - hatted men offered arms to their wives,
escorting them up the snowy stairs
and into the buzzing lobby.

Trays of wine circled the room -
their cargo reduced at every stop.
Each raconteur spoke of celebration for the
Philharmonic had turned a decade old that week.

Programs in hand, people claimed their seats
while musicians on stage
practiced random admixtures of
excerpts that would come to order soon.

Then by the light of gas chandeliers,
Julius Liese raised his arms and brought
Haydn’s symphonic London to Illinois -
a citizen orchestra led by the local lumber czar.

After the final echoes melted into applause
and coats were lifted over shoulders;
the time had come for the waiting carriages -
snow still swirling in the gaslight glow.

The clopping of hooves on cobblestone
drifted into the passengers’ ears
and co-mingled with the echoes of
strings, drums and wind blown music
still singing in their memories
and irradiating their souls,

*January, 2007
This poem depicts an actual concert that was played by the Belleville Philharmonic Orchestra in 1877. The featured work on that program was Haydn's Symphony No. 104 the "London" symphony.  Night at the Philharmonic - 1877 celebrates the orchestra's 10th season.  The first concert was held on January 26, 1867.

Included in Unity Tree - Collected poems
pub. CreateSpace - Amazon.com
Robert C Howard Sep 2013
Ireland's emerald hills
     fade and fall into the sea.
        All my world is blue.
Robert C Howard Sep 2013
How could I ever understand
what it is you choose
to call existence
and how could I ever
tell you what it means to me?

A solitary dot stained
on the canvas
of the expanding universe,
I sense a primal shiver
whenever, 'stranger'
cries out from a page
or whispers in the aether.

*February, 2008
Included in Unity Tree - Collected poems
pub. CreateSpace - Amazon.com
Robert C Howard Sep 2013
The sun boils off its heat-light flares
        over 93,000,000 miles away
                yet as close to us as sunburn -
    drafting the circles of our years.

Our ancestors fill our boots
        with us and our descendants
                (one pair - so many feet)
    stepping out to where we've been.

Along the corridors of time,
        our mind screens play what passed
                before we fledged and fled our nests:
    There is here and then is now.

Whether we tilt the earth to shake out
        wisdom, fame or empathy
                or let chaos light our paths,
    our curiosity is a sturdy ladder raised

to scale the walls of space and time.
        Who cares that life presages death and
                decay calls breath from dust?
    Our earthly sojourns - our souls' domain.

*January, 2007
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