Not Quite Ourselves

In whispers
“Cousin Tommy--  
is passing among us--”
a photo

… at my father's funeral
We, dressed up to honor Dad
Spread the pall along his coffin

“The last thing you can do
for your father”
Mom whispered
to her daughters

There is never a last thing
that women do

...Then to her--
the folded flag
__

Not quite ourselves --
that grief
that echos across decades
Memory is handed round--
that photo
of my Cousin Tommy
__

His eyes gasp!
Grasp!
at me
desperate
in the sudden need for my knowing

that photo--

That this was all....

I would ever know of

you

In that instant
you pass on--

nothing--

but fear

You, paint for war like Mohawks
or something...
not quite yourselves

You guys
must've laughed
like hysterical fools
Half-shaving your heads
Painting each other's faces

And I don't remember
of course
Never met you

Not in my lifetime
_

That War
Not mine!
__

Germany
behind
the lines
of you
long since dead

at 18 years in '45

But I saw the photo!
RIP
the cord!
to slow descent!

Not quite yourself

Your head thrown back
against the terminal velocity
of your life
A war dance

that I had yet to know...
...your face reaches out
across the decades

for one last plea

“Tell them, Lizzy
Tell them 'bout me!”

Not quite myself

That's the trick...
Lay silently,
Like a cold corpse waiting to be devoured,
By birds and other....

Such animals! I cannot believe they left you like this!
They are under scrutiny and shame,
Yet they fallow a chirp of pity and pain

Birthing me, she asked...

Twilight blues?

Renegade Freedom
I responded...

Your like a cook in a desert,
You don't play nice,
With women or children...

Ok the silence is over! The butler or something screeched,
I've long winded the chase,
And i've dawned a new thought
We will rise the morrow with a crimson red...

..do you know the stakes you take?
For all the beauty you imagine
It's as if you aren't there
Or anywhere else,
I could suggest
The elephant snorts his gestures of guile
And cordless phones still reign,
But the satellite dishes, the poachers,
They can't get a rest

~
Green field is waiting
People are praying
The earth is ready for the day
~
The clouds are showing
The sun is rising
The wind is preparing the way
~
I don't have much time to see
But the heart is caring for thee
Lips are not prepared to say
~
In this field we will be free
From all worries to be
For things won't forever stay...

Dedicated to the victims of Grenfell Tower*

She stands amid the buzz of metal flies:
This obelisk, memento of the dead.
The sirens crudely mimicking their cries
As pilgrims in their guilt leave much unsaid.

A once sweet hive is now an empty husk,
Her armour was to be her Achilles' heel,
And as the cold grey sky fades into dusk;
I speak not what I ought, but what I feel:

Instead of words there comes a cry of pain -
A strangled howl and heavy sobs of guilt.
What can be said when words are all in vain -
Like rain, on this gazebo that we built?

While politicians bluster “Nevermore”,
We will remember them forevermore.

The Veteran Soul lives on always.
Papa fought in the extreme cold.
Memories of you and me.
Stills his companion nightmares on battling scenes.
All those firing bullets rage on in waves of saturating hate.
Couldn't even seal his fate.
His best friends.
His very respected mates succumbed to untimely fates.
He heard within himself....
in the context of his heart...
These words saying, 'America..
America!
How I shall fight to defend your free.
Give me that enduring faith of yours ole liberty.
If I lay down my heart beats for thee.
Just don't forget I died for my mighty country.
As he heard the grenades bursting away.
He continued to run into harms way.
And then one bullet pronounced him dead.
The picture page flips to his honored grave.
His loving wife and daughter of eight.
Hold together his hero's American flag in their shared hands.
Their tears respectively fall on that precious American flag...
That flag.
That powerful receipt represented that he had died for the ideals of his homeland.
As his family walks away.
Dressed in the silhouette garb of grieving ways.
You could hear the song of 'America the beautiful.
The beautiful song permeating in the haloed whispers from his warrior's grave.
Even to this moment.
Where we honor and celebrate him and all Veterans on Veterans day.
I love you our Fallen and those still
Alive.
You are my brave Veteran Soldier Eyes.


(C) Copyrighted

Your finger was good enough
For the first of my fledgling steps
As steady and firm I held
New step seemed easier than the first
Now your hand I see reach out
From beyond reality's veil
Gently on my shoulder placed
Nudging me on to those steps
You left me to walk by myself.

Your face was good enough
For first of my fumbling doubts
Each thought seemed clearer than the last.
Illumed by the faith in your face.
Your smile  i see each starry night
Light setting my face aflame
Filling me,your spirit resolute
For each  demon you left me to face.

Your breath was good enough
Felt it warm, so close to my face
My hurts and tears seemed naught
As its warmth breathed to my being life.
Your hug now I feel in the breeze.
Its gush telling me you are here.
Feeling the joy and the pain
That you left me here to gain.

Rembrandt, you maniac!
While other guys were down at the local tavern,
drinking and playing cards,
-- or off visiting Paris --,
you were in the studio.
Long after your students had left,
there you were, slaving away.

Did your family get sick of posing?

Others painted us as we seem
-- a bit better-looking, I suppose. . . .
You painted us as we are:
proud, sorrowful, hopeful, uncertain.

Where we'd seen only ugliness you found beauty.

The Bible? You made it human:
We felt Christ's pain! Magdalene's astonishment.

You were foolish with your money,
failed to pay your debts.
We forgive you.

You were stubborn, mean, obsessed.
You loved us
only when you were painting us.
We forgive you.

You worked on your own paintings
instead of ones which might have sold at higher prices,
ones which might have paid your debts.
We forgive you.
Because your art is so incomparably beautiful
we forgive you.