"arlington" poems
Sometimes the flashbacks
Can be picture perfect like a gallery
Every once in a while
I struggle with what life's like actually
As the memories resonate
Depression eventually catches me
It always baffled me
and still rattles me
Why did my best friend
have to be a casualty
I'm setting my GPS
as I pull down the street
For Arlington Cemetery
in Washington D.C.
Whenever I feel the need
I just sit there with him
No reason to speak
I let the ground beneath me
relieve some of the grief
Then just before I leave
I about face and say
You'll always be with me
Semper Fi my brother
Rest in peace Marine
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 11:03 PM UTC
They’re recruiting me
MI6
And the CIA
Land sakes alive
Dual citizenship
No hindrance to me
Helps to have a major in Slavic languages
And an Oxford degree
How they latched on to me
I don’t really know
That Dad worked at
Arlington might have put them in the know
Interesting life choices being offered
Investment banking has its rewards
That’s on the table
I’m inclined to VC
I could have a capital time
Avoid DC and endless bureaucracy
See the world
It’s nice to be wanted
I feel like the girl everyone wants to dance with
I’m still at the prom
I’ll ask my parents
I know they’ll have thoughts
Oct 21, 2018
Oct 21, 2018 at 10:55 AM UTC
Three friends in a row
On a windswept hill there
Had they but eyes to see
It’s a spectacle rare.
Three friends in a row
on a former plantation.
Three soldiers confined here
just for the duration.
It was Robert Lee’s land
Before terrible war
Made it a plantation
Like none was before.
There are soldiers and sergeants,
Many heroes, few saints.
Some are here since Antietam
since the war between States.
Marse Robert’s plantation
takes the proud and the few.
No serfs and no slaves,
only freeborn and true.
Dec 15, 2011
Dec 15, 2011 at 8:15 PM UTC
Why is it those with least to lose
are first to give the most
To walk the fields of Arlington
with too many other ghosts
The generations rested there
sacrificed in all those wars
Do they still feel nobility
when its lacking in the cause
For what is war but posturing
sacrificing others sons
in the name of "threats to freedom"
where most blood shed, decides who's won
Then afterward come treaty's
bits of paper end the war
and I have to ask the question
what was all the killing for?
Aug 22, 2010
Aug 22, 2010 at 9:57 AM UTC
Beautiful tribute
Tended lawns
Snow white crosses
In their throngs
Men sent out
To right the wrongs
Some were knighted
Some were pawns
There are lovely
Spreading trees
Bowing in the
Scented breeze
In the winter
There to freeze
There our nation's
On its knees
There are many
Stones for heads
Punctured by
The flying lead
There are widows
For those wed
The hearts are countless
They, too, are dead.
SoulSurvivor
Memorial Day
(C) 5/25/2015
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 3:49 PM UTC
A cyclist in a purple turban and salwar pants
whizzed past us as we trudged up the steep hills
of Arlington, Virginia
His gaze caught mine
just a starry
flash in the bucket
wordless soul communion
that said so much
Do you know what religion he is?
queried my hubby, David
"Sikh...I think" still reflecting
on our brief exchange
David and I were in town for our niece's wedding
and also on vacation
enjoying the sights and plethora
of attractions that flourish in the capitol
city, Washington, DC
As I surveyed the beautiful capitol
abounding with lush gardens, parks,
magnificent magnolia trees and
fragrant pink and white crepe myrtle
I couldn't help observing the rich diversity
of people and cultures working and living
here
"Where are you from?" I asked our taxi driver
"I'm originally from Ethiopia,"
a waiter in a restaurant told us
he was from Morocco...another person from Egypt...
India...China and so on…
USA has a diverse topography
heavenly mountain ranges, verdant forests,
fruitful farmlands
span outward to luminous blue shores
The racial, political, cultural diversity of our
great nation is what makes us so
unique and special
It's in our DNA, and literally in mine,
a real melting ***
All Americans have one thing in common:
our thirst for liberty and freedom
These words from the Memorial of Abraham Lincoln
are brilliant with truth and timeless with love:
"I leave you, hoping that the lamp of liberty
will burn in your bosoms until there shall
no longer be a doubt that all men are
created free and equal." ~Lincoln
Jul 24, 2016
Jul 24, 2016 at 12:15 AM UTC
Give them no ribbons. My dear friend who was following orders in Vietnam
was blown to bits when he tripped a wire. Give him no ribbons. Ribbons and medals will not bring him back to his wife who is now in her mid-70s, whose two sons and one daughter each have families of their own, but have no Grandpa whose knee to sit on and play games with and just have fun and laugh with. Michael Dillinger went to Iraq to fight because W told him to. Unfortunately, his amored truck hit a road mine and killed Michael instantly.
Ribbons? They gave ribbons to Michael's mother before they buried Michael in Arlington? Ribbons, for God's sake! Did those ribbons and medals really help console Michael's mother? Did Cheney ever call her to see how she was doing? No, he was in charge of creating what he called "enhanced interrogation," a gross euphemism for unspeakable torture and terror that went on at countless, secret camps in the countries of our allies, and still goes on at Guantanamo even today. Give them no ribbons. Take all the ribbons and medals you can find that were given to those soldiers who gave their very lives for lies, for all those soldiers now lying in all the VA hospitals throughout our country, their bodies permanently disfigured, their minds completely lost, and dump that pile of ribbons and medals in the front yard of wherever W lives in the suburbs of Dallas.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Apr 15, 2020
Apr 15, 2020 at 1:32 AM UTC
Ornamental graves set like feasts
for unfaithful lovers,
the broke marrow of virtuous phantasms,
now swaddled rapture
chanted as basilisk verses.
Scarred Alice wraps it around
torn limbs--
festering gauze--the cynical made anew.
"Creation moves," the gluttonous moper speaks again,
"to erase itself."
Alice's children blasts
the afterlife caboose
to the front of the freight
--saeculum saeculorum--
"Wake again and again
without ghosts and wrath,
dear children." The wind whispers their souls
back to her--"the molding of men
and women attend to sponge the graves dry."
They will raise themselves
--chanting the basilisk verses,
mother Alice
departs her children twice
to the corridors of rose fields
in her naked cloud.
"Come back, dear mother...."
"Come back, dear mother..."
they chant,
"Your salted epitaph
still lingers in our throats."
Not fit there
or here.
Nowhere, Miss, nowhere--
Sin is the party
that doesn't die
and neither does the health
of lyrical sand.
--Floaters like discontent
Alice,
recreate the world,
--our world with
pastels and finger-paints
doodles on Arlington headstones
--messages for our ear bones
--disasters on eleven
turning stones roll over--tortoises play dead
but whisper,
"Clergy cerebral
won't wisp away
beds of jewels.
I pity people who think
themselves powerful.
"Frost-bit devices dilate
like the hands of a watch
tearing time apart with
rusty blades.
"Counting fingers--useless freedom
--bothersome slavery."
Alice knows what the basilisk knows,
we would sacrifice
the only righteous heart in *****
& Gomorrah
to save
&n
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 9:22 PM UTC
"Hello baby, how have you been
You know I'm coming back there soon,
I'll get to tell you of things I've seen
As we sit beneath the moon
I miss you so with all my heart
And till we meet again
It's been rough to spend this time apart
So, I will wait until then.
To hold you once more in my arms
And look upon your face
You know I'll keep you safe from harm
You make my heartbeat race
We;ll have our wedding in the churchl that
We were christened in as kids
You know there church where we once sat
And as children we once hid
We'll soon be one when we are wed
Our family has begun
It;ll be like we both said
We;ll be stronger now as one.
You know I miss you every day
But you keep me alive
A safe return to you I pray
It's the goal to which I strive
It's been three years that I've been here
In this hell hole of a war
But I've been strong and shown no fear
With your love at my core
My time is short and I must go
Our squadron has to part
But in two weeks you know I;ll show
The love that's in my heart"
As I look out upon the field
The green grass specked with white
I really think how beautiful
To see this scene so bright
There are those who've come beofre today
and stood here just like me
Of those who come for JFK
Who died in sixty three
You see I am in Arlington
To lay my love to rest
He died when he was fired on
With five more of our best
He wrote me that love letter
Post marked two weeks ago today
Our lives would be much better
When he got home from the fray.
His squad was taken quickly and
Not one of them survived
They're together now on sacred land
And my letter just arrived.
Hello baby, how have you been
You know I'm coming back there soon,
I'll get to tell you of things I've seen
As we sit beneath the moon
I miss you so with all my heart
And till we meet again
But now we're not so far apart
Now he's in Arlington.
May 4, 2012
May 4, 2012 at 10:29 AM UTC
(This poem posted in tribute to the life &memory; of Robin Williams...Rest in Peace)
Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.
And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
'Good-morning,' and he glittered when he walked.
And he was rich - yes, richer than a king -
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.
So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.
(Edwin Arlington Robinson)
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 11:12 AM UTC
She said, "They use to call me busy-body, now I'm just a no-body,"
as I stroll up, headphones to unplug, to sit and wait for buses of school children to come up.
Feeling kind of broke of a sort that wont shut down, inside I'm meaning, reeling for home unfound.
Prospecting, working, commish here and there, "case management" on my case breathing till no air.
Looking and ardently searching for something that's not there, a plain jane job, to just give room for air.
Plans on paper, sound right in my head, but seem less and less practical in practice of what's read.
"Help? Daddy has a headache and sickness with no want to help baby,"
as she fashions a meal from play food in a play kitchen to make me feel better.
But I wont sit at her table, I wont play with her dolls, not today, when I've got the world at my *****
biting and stabbing me in the back of my brain,
no, now I'll just put on a movie and try and sleep for a change.
"I love you's" are exchanged as I cover my head,
and the ultimate weight that is me lies in my bed.
Troubled, down, pierced by the bad negative points of life,
I'll rise later again looking for a "re-set" button to make alright,
while she sets the table with guests to an imaginary meal
cooked to perfection in hopes to change the way Daddy feels.
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 11:39 AM UTC
what were the means by which
they came to wear a uniform
it is meaningless now
what was the color of their skin
in what manner did they speak
what was their music
what place was home
all that made them who they were
overshadowed now
by why they are gathered
wearing that uniform
standing in ranks
standing for their fellow
warrior beside them
giving to the final breath
for the most precious
gifts they themselves
had been given
family
whether family was
10,000 miles away
or next to them in a hole
in the dirt
so close each could feel
the others pounding heart
they are in ranks still
at Arlington
at Leavenworth
at Miramar
at Normandy
at Belleau
at Manila
at hundreds more
and unseen graves in
jungles and mountains
all around the world
ranks that will stand till
the earth itself changes
Jun 6, 2019
Jun 6, 2019 at 11:18 AM UTC
So you lost your innocence
in a darkened cemetery in Fallujah,
do you go looking for it
on a grassy, sun-drenched hilltop in Arlington just because the
light is better? No, not you.
You return to that dark place and break every marker, leave no stone unturned, disinter all ghosts tossing them to the wind and shout
"Want more?".
Marching upright/quick-step/head high
back home to Bethesda to find your peace.
r ~ 15Feb14
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 8:49 AM UTC
I had this dream a few night ago that I was on a plane and the god **** plane malfunctioned and we started falling from the sky. I just ******* started crying because I knew I woulf probably die. I don't remember anyone else being on the plane. I think it was just me and the pilot. We were both about to ******* crash into the ocean and die. Anyway, when I woke up, I was crying then too. I'm a real pathetic 18 year old baby. How old are people usually when they're in first grade? Back when I was in first grade I would cry during thunderstorms. I remember when Katrina came by. I was really ******* done then. A remember telling my parents that I loved them. I remember I used to have anxiety attacks because I thought that when I died I'd go to hell. I thought I'd go to hell because when I was in 2nd grade I stole like 10 packs of Pokemon cards from some gas station. I still feel guilty about it, but I don't think much about going to hell.
The plane is crashing and it's just me and the pilot. I don't even know his name but I know that we're going to die together.
Jan 25, 2014
Jan 25, 2014 at 3:18 AM UTC
There was a Promise For Two
I am here, because, there was a promise for two.
It was a commitment to their bond,
a mutual elective.
But Maria’s beam disappeared after five hours.
Separated from mother’s womb,
her innocence was unable to endure the rigors
of an indifferent world,
She was suppose to be daddy’s little girl,
Mommy’s alter image and brother’s shining star.
Soft....angelic.
Their expectations converted to muted despair.
A balanced homecoming became questionable.
and over time, insurmountable.
The heartaches began to escalate, and eventually barricade concern for the mysteries destiny.
Tears fell, for what never would be,
tears for dreams,
and tears for abandoned dreams,
tears for Maria.
Two years past
and I was the one chosen to replace her shadow.
Conceived to witness the hearts vacuum.
To kneel, with my back straight, next to an older brother before the hallowed space,
where, under the tightly packed sod, among uniformed columns of god’s beloved children,
sweet Maria lies in peaceful repose by the stone Grotto.
My adolescent hands squeezed the polished silver,
as they pounded the cross into the unforgiving earth.
I pondered my existence, while questioning my replanted tangibility,
trying to comprehend the equity of life through a spectral identity,
and wondering where my place might be, if my sister had prevailed and flourished.
One day, I returned to place a wooden crucible where the silver once glimmered in the sun.
I marked her name in burnt lettering.
Again, the effort was pilfered by the same callous world
Maria’s tiny fingers refused to touch.
There was never coherence, but, eventually I understood.
I am here, because, there was a promise for two
and for a small coffin,
that was lowered into the cold ground of North Arlington.
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 8:35 PM UTC
In search of the yet unknown they roam,
Young faces carrying old burdens
They have seen too much.
Man the trenches, takes up arms, pick the nation
Up
Onto your shoulders, for that is what
Soldiers do.
They have seen too much, far beyond tears
His eyes blank, her hands trembling with repressed
Memories of somewhere far away.
He didn't mean to **** though he meant
To do his duty.
She didn't mean to see the bodies, though she meant
To help her brothers.
No man left behind.
The blood felt sticky as it seeped through his uniform,
Carrying a fallen comrade,
Trying not to think of anything but the steps back to
Safety.
When I played Taps it was cold. November 1, because
The veterans all had work on Tuesday the 11th.
My heart and my salute to America's servicemen and women
Poured through my trumpet with as much
Solemnity and remembrance and love as I could muster.
24 notes that reminded me of my great-grandfather's flag,
The picture of my father in his dress whites,
Rows and rows and rows of white crosses at Arlington.
I cried, and I wasn't even ashamed of it.
To all who have served our country
To all who have sacrificed of their minds and bodies
To all who have lost lives and limbs and peace of mind to
Protect us
I salute you.
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 11:00 AM UTC
All is forgiven
When one side gives in
You know that it's over
And will happen again
Two sides, one victor
But who does decide
If a man died a hero
Regardless of side
A President taken down too soon
In a Dallas motorcade
A hero now has fallen
And to rest a hero's laid
Two more shot dead
No war involved
both supporters of a cause
The questions answer never solved
It makes us think, take time to pause
Another hero laid to rest
Now his time is done
Some are resting where they fell
And some in Arlington
It doesn't matter much to me
They fought for their beliefs
Now they lay where heroes lay
May their soul now find relief
A simple man with nothing
Just a family by his side
Gunned down by errant gun shots
He still deserves a hero's ride
What makes someone a hero
Not war, not even peace
The fact they are remembered
And the battle does not cease
Two men of music passed our way
Both died within a year
They were both considered heroes
Though one, you rarely hear
Man, woman or child
A hero has no age
No colour, race or interest
Will mark a hero's page
Another hero laid to rest
Now his time is done
Some are resting where they fell
And some in Arlington
It doesn't matter much to me
They fought for their beliefs
Now they lay where heroes lay
May their soul now find relief
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 11:52 PM UTC
Dekalb,
Where the soil demanded a sacrifice
Of the girl with the sunflower tattoo
Dekalb,
Where I left a lot of blood
Defending your honor
Rockford,
In ICU where I woke up with
Angels at the end of my hospital bed
Rockford,
Where I woke up
on the phone
with my best-friend's ex
Arlington Heights
Where we attempted
to find our lost minds together
Arlington Heights,
...it was kind of a funny story
Illinois,
I've given you all
and I'm still here mother ******
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 11:17 PM UTC
When we all go to Memphis, we spread Ludington sand in Matt’s flower beds, like somebody died, and a silence falls as we let the sand sift through our fingers like ashes. It smells like Michigan, like seashells and ***** lake water, and it drowns out the construction workers making new-money houses.
Instead of funeral hymns, we’re blanketed by sawdust and cigarette smoke. We sip and savor Evan Williams and for once, none of us speaks.
Our veins light on fire from the whiskey, and our souls share a collective ache, like our bodies are made from some sort of symbiotic cell.
After The Spreading Of The Sand, we go to a haunted bar where entry is a password, where there’s a frown of a front door, and the exposed brick walls reek of the dead girls upstairs. I think, This is Memphis, a very loud city with louder secrets – the overpowering shadow spreading its fingers in all her corners, silent until she swallows you whole.
Memphis realigns your center –
a snap of the blues, a crack of whiskey and, all of a sudden, things run much more smoothly.
Memphis, she’s known as the City on the Bluff, a place where summer storms split at the river, don’t reconvene ‘til east of Arlington.
Her protection, it’s always there.
Like DNA shared among siblings, blood is always thicker here in her quarters.
Memphis, she tells me I should’ve kicked Worry to the curb all along.
Memphis, she keeps her people safe.
Feb 23, 2019
Feb 23, 2019 at 7:34 PM UTC
There is no place like home
Where our roots have grown
Where speaking is only limited
By the words that you can make
Where you can go where you want
Because someone is buried in Arlington
Where life is precious
And victory is sweet
Where God smiled and thought,
"Oh my that sure is pretty"
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 7:44 PM UTC
"Dude!
Did you hear about
That girl at the party
Last night?
She got so wasted!
Jumped up on the bar
And danced and danced and danced!
Dude!
You shoulda seen her!
Them moves of her hips!
Sweet ******* lips!
Mmm! Mmm! Mmm!
Dude.
I'd'a taken her home
And shown
Her a **** good time.
Mmm mmm mmm!
Dude...
Where were you last night?
How come you weren't there?
You missed a helluva time!
Yeah...buddy...a helluva time..."
He taps his fingers
Three times on the marble
Then he looks up
Sighs
Walks away
"A helluva time."
Ross Andrew
McGinnis
Medal of Honor
Jun 14, 1987
Dec 4, 2006
Bronze Star
Purple Heart
Operation
Iraqi Freedom
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 6:57 PM UTC