#hale
It is cool, dry and very early
on this crisp September morn.
The General’s orders were quite succinct:
This man must die at dawn.
We’ve erected here a gallows
On the street for all to see:
This man will die a traitor’s death
For what he calls” Liberty”
With the Parson in attendance
He is brought here, grave and pale,
This spy posed as a teacher
His name is Nathan Hale.
I placed the noose around his neck
The knot was tightly wound
The condemned was then allowed to speak
before the drums would sound.
“The cause for which i am dying for i did not take up in an idle moment
i was born it as are all my countrymen
if the belief in man’s right to freedom is held on any other place on earth
i have not heard of it
i am proud to have lived in a country where freedom is a reality
living it has been my privlege to fight for it
in death i shall hold it forever
if i were to be born a thousand times i would choose no other life
but service to American freedom
i have only one sorrow
i only regret that i have but one life to loose for my country”
At that, I heard the drumroll sound.
My captain gave a nod.
I pushed the brave young traitor
to his meeting with his God.
We left him hanging several days,
As a lesson to the town
Of the fate awaiting traitors
Who take arms against the crown.
At dusk last night we cut him down
When no one was around
And laid him in an unmarked grave
which never will be found.
Jul 4, 2020
Jul 4, 2020 at 9:22 AM UTC
The lining of my grey suit
sparkles like it can't tear itself
from the stars full of secret passions
which belt my skin hugging eyes
to strokes of gentle smooth
back handed compliments
tightly lingering on your waist
while imaginary boutonnières
are pressing comfortably into ribs
feeling you pinch my collar
and tug towards its button hole
open to curl a whispered flower
tight enough to pin my breast pocket heart
against moving from your own
pressing loveliness
It's no surprise when you shock
my circadian rhythms out of sleep
sending me to bed at the most opportune
time's tales stalling the early hours
to wet my dry lips on doubles
of Bombay Sapphire gin
blue skies
stirred into a Campari soda aperitif
red as all round sunsets
going down on a burning gold mine
melting the ice cube universe above it
into the trailing edge of your light path
As if the cult of comet Hale-Bopp
had returned from Heaven's Gate
in the form of an insomniac priestess
landing craft crushes gone rampant
as it heads for a melting Icelandic glacier
crashing like a bouncing ball
in rolled up sheets
sliding to a temporary stop
scrunched around your hair
shaking the doubts of the day
out like a cascading highlight
rushing into the shadows
and on to tremulous scalding streams
brushing my shirt stripes apart
thoughts like magnetic locks jolted
into releasing dark bright conflict
to see where gasps could bite
without spilling tears of poisonous scalding
hot from wells dug deep in fissured oases
trying to bury hands with cupped fingers
impatient to splash in your wake
and unpack those mirrored thumbs
dug into well sprung geyser like palms
leaning hard on the prison walls of the night
like off duty guards
letting down their punishment roughly
until disappearing through wide open eyeshadows
as startled as rabbits caught escaping
by a searchlight wanting to skin them alive
and throw them under a sheet
covered in burrowed tunnels of love
to emerge the other side neatly redressed
in grey morning suits and starshine eyes
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 4:01 PM UTC