We know the invisible nurse tree
for what it used to be
before that windy night that
spun and tore it from its moorings.

The tortured Bigleaf Maple roots
shaped in hollow colonnades
having nursed for decades
on a once proud hemlock
brutally humbled to the forest floor
and now consumed by elemental time.

It's Mother Gaia's eternal story -
present tree from yesterday's death
which in time will bequeath its torso
to unborn generations hungry
for a fallen trunk - ripe for suckling.

Earth's axis twisted around the vernal equinox
and March passed the baton to April
in a radiant kaleidoscope of
pink and white and fuschia blossoms.

A sudden breeze launched
a thousand tiny choppers
into the April air
each crafted of finest maple -
spinning, fluttering
searching for a helipad
in the moist and pliant soil.

A spring shower tore
an oak limb from its its trunk
and gravity did the rest.
A robin perches
on a fallen branch

Bending forward against the winter chill
I clutch my jacket collar tight.
against the moan and whistle of the wind.

A speaker clamped on a holiday post
crackles a hymn to a midnight clear
releasing from the vault of time
memories of another winter's day
when a happy boy on a Christmas bike
caroled that same Yuletide song
to a swirling snowflake congregation
tuned to distant steeple bells.

A phantom in a store front window
startles me back to now
and arrests my curiosity.
Just who is that gray haired fossil
clutching his collar like a shield
against the whistling wind
and why is he staring at me
this blustery mid-winter day?

It wasn't supposed to go like this!
Julian and cousin Henry
fled breathless down the alley
Henry turned and fired two shots
toward their uniformed pursuers.

                             "Late breaking news:
                              Police interrupted a burglary
                              in the 300 block of Hastings.
                              An officer is down and has been taken to
                              Blessed Sacrament Hospital."

Henry and Julian raced in
through his Mom's front door
scrambling for the basement.
Henry mad beyond himself said.
"I know I hit him, man, I saw him drop!"
"Get a grip you fool,
you winged him and we got away

                             "The slain officer's name has been released.
                              Brad Kravcik leaves a wife, a grown daughter
                              and two teen-aged sons.
                              Witnesses identified two youths and police
                              expect an arrest at any minute."

Julian's mother exploded
down the stairs. "Your pictures
are on the tube. You idiots
killed a ******* cop.
Get the hell out of my house!"
The two boys tried for the door
but bullhorns, lights
and a forest of rifles barred their exit.

                             "This just in: two suspects have been arrested
                              in the shooting death of officer Kravcik.
                              Julian Lewis and Henry Behrens
                              are believe to be responsible
                              for a string of north side break-ins.
                              The whole community is
                              breathing a huge sigh of relief."

The governor made no eleventh hour call,
so Henry banished all thoughts
of the plastic tube silently
dripping terminal liquid into his vein
He felt the world go hazy
then felt nothing - nothing at all.

A feast of colour
yellow, orange, crimson, black -
Dusk's kakeidescope.

"The pity of war, the pity war distills". - Wilfred Owen"

Just as a feral war begs for armistice,
    a season of peace engenders
a violence vacuum that begs to be filled
    as surely as a hollow begs for a pond.

It seems a cosmic battle rages
      between the oversouls of people
who would chisel a sculpture to grace
     and those who would hack off its arms.

History’s fools fire up their bully horns
     shouting proud oratory to ignorance -
and lemmings goose-step to the precipice -
      doomed to plunge into a sea of misery.  

Then there is quiet - guilty and reflective.
     How could we let this happen
with so much gain and loss in the balance?

and the sculptors of civilization
      find fresh marble to once again
carve reason, beauty, purpose
      from the acrid ashes of pride.
    
But the oversoul of hate will brood and re-fester
     as long as it's thought noble to **** for a cause.

© 2016 by Robert Charles Howard

confessions of a newborn

It's been something of a while
      since I tumbled down
from warmth and darkness
      into this strange bright space.

I see you coming towards me
     and curious parts of me
begin to dart about in all directions
     because I remember you.

Every time you're here
     something glad happens:
           you hold me to your warmth,
           you bring good food to my mouth
           to ease the ache inside,
           you make pretty sounds
           that tell me I am safe -
           that tell me I am not alone.

For reasons I cannot say
      I know that I am you -
that you are me.

The beauty on your face
     tells me you know it too
and like you, I smile.

*© 2016 by Robert Charles Howard