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Land Of Innocence

Nightfall in my childhood,
Memories of my future send
Their scent in my mind...

My life and my feelings now?
A knife through my heart,
Sins that torn apart
The once-innocent mind...

The moon’s glance falls over the
Garden of my childhood,
There, where beauty is still untainted,
When I was as fresh as the morning dew...
I remember those feelings so well,
I keep them hidden in a safe place,
Locked inside my heart!

I believed then in the snowy-egret nymph,
I thought she came to me at night,
And carried me above the water
Through the Danube Delta,
To see the secret lagoons
Covered up by weeping willows,
To see the black swans as they dance,
As they perform a sacred ritual of nature,
To see the pelicans as they sleep.
Gazing at the black egrets,
As the wind smoothes their soft feathers,
To see those black ballerinas
As they all reveal an unknown passion:
The passion for the night!

And my dreams were beautiful then,
My voice was clear and sweet,
My mind was innocent and true,
Not touched by the perverted hand of life...

And it’s true what the nymph said to me,
Looking in my eyes, singing softly to my ear:

“From cradle to coffin,
You shall dream,
You shall wish and hope!
But remember, innocence can never be lost,
You will always have it inside,
Take your memories, put them aside,
And you shall find it
Right there; innocence stays! ”

How can I break away from what I am now,
Who will take those tears away?
Was I punished for naivety? Or for innocence?

Yet the falling into the sinner
That I am today, was so mild...
The falling always comes
With the sweetest sensations!

I crave for another night of my childhood,
I crave for a journey back
In the land of living dreams,
The land of sweet torment,
Land of Innocence!

Memories keep on swinging back,
And they hit me with all of their great power...

The nymph looked upon me, every single night.
She once took my hand and placed it on my heart:

“Here, you shall look inside,
Here are your memories - pieces of life,
Here are your dreams – pieces of immortality,
Here is your energy and frenzy -
Pieces of your untamed soul,
Here is your innocence, and always will be,
You just have to look after it.”

The ballet on water was revealing itself
To my child eyes, to my mind...
A weeping willow was my shelter,
I saw the couples of swans,
As they gently, tenderly danced a waltz,
Gracefully, slowly...

I woke up the next morning, locking the secret inside.
The awakening from that beautiful dream,
Into the nightmare of today
Came with the biggest of pains:
Realizing what I am,
Realizing it will never be the same...
My heaven I feel as if it is lost,
My dreams, I feel I will never accomplish...

The awakening!
The falling!
The curse!

I crave for another night of my childhood,
I crave for a journey back
In the land of living dreams,
The land of sweet torment,
Land of Innocence!

I was dreaming every night,
I only had sincere smiles...
Now I cannot but fake them,
My nights are filled with bad dreams,
I fear someone has stole it away from me...

Can I still dream?
Should I dare to dream?
Should I dare to touch the innocence inside?
What if it’s not there anymore?

Nymph comeback to me again,
Only one more time...

Take me there,
To see the show that never ends,
Take me there,
To hear you sing to me again,
Take me there,
To be myself one more time...

Comeback snowy-egret nymph,
Un-fill my heart of regrets,
And fill it with dreams and child’s passions,
Un-do this course of adulthood,
Teach me how to find myself,
To find my own dreams!
I do not dare to dream anymore...

Silence all those
Hell-voices from my mind! ! !

The awakening!
The falling!
The course!

Dear white, frail nymph
Bring me only Innocence,
It is all: mystery, passion,
Dream, love...
But most importantly,
Innocence is Poetry!

Snowy-egret nymph,
I shall dream about you tonight...

Dawn in my childhood,
Memories of my past send
Their poetry in my mind...

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The physical scent of life has gone…

Where; did all the wood garlic—go?
Sure it must have been dispensed.
By the ice, and snow,2 yrs.’ ago
2010 / 2011 now never; seen again.

I ask myself will it ever recover…
Now; that milder winter weather
Has returned, without shedding,
One, white; single blossom, feather.

How strange the woodlands are now?
How strange these green moist lands,
Without… swans coupling, the snowplow.
That followed both winter and spring.

How strange the disregarded remains
Of a swan’s egg, has on our speculation.
A transient thought, the soul profanes.
The physical scent of life has gone…

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Send Your Mind

Van Morrison
Bang Masters
(guitar intro)
(Send your mind)
(Send your mind)
(Send your mind)
(Send your mind)
Well you're out there, on the highway
While you're drivin', a-roll on by
Goin' south between the bridges
While the river's runnin' dry
And if ya can't come home
Please send your mind
(Send your mind)
(Send your mind)
(Send your mind)
(Send your mind)
Now you're talkin', where ya goin'
On the train that sees the road
'Cross the nation, passing stations
While the night is as black as coal
And if you can't come home
Please send your mind
(Send your mind)
(Send your mind)
(Guitar solo and Instrumental)
(Send your mind)
(Send your mind)
Well, if your handle ain't, on your heartbeat
And your headed between the sheet
And the sign isn't from the lamp post
On the corner of the street
And if ya can't come home
Please send your mind
(Send your mind)
(Send your mind)
(Send your mind)
(Send your mind)
(Send your mind)
A we-we-eee
(Send your mind)
A we-eee
(Send your mind)

Aah, little darlin'
(Send your mind)
Come on home
(Send your mind)
Come on home
(Send your mind)
Aah, send it, send it, send it
Send your mind
(Send your mind)
Ah, try to send it, baby
(Send your mind)
All ya gotta do
(Send your mind)

Shoo-be-do, shoo-be-do, shoo-be-do
(Send your mind)
Aah, send your mind
(Send your mind)
(Send your mind)
Go on send it darlin'
(Send your mind)
Come on home
(Send your mind)

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Carried Water

I have carried water in buckets for many,

a bucket that leaked.

I have caught tears

before they fell to dead ground.

I've held hands,

cut my own hand reaching out;

felled those who would harm

and saved many who knew nothing of me;

helped the foolish,

shielded the innocents

and never gave on that it was me,

or even that I cared.

There are, too,

a few I have buried

in the dark ground

turned away and carried on-

because of the needs of living-

who all looked at me-

soon as the first dirt fell

on the casket lid.

I may never die,

that would be letting too many others down;

and I couldn't do that.

My silent face

does not reveal all this

and this is as it should be

I can't step up to demand credit.

That is not like me.

And now I stand at store counters

count my change and my memories

knowing full well that while some know

most don't and never will

nor could they

understand the silent gnawing sacrifice

that much of life

is for many of us:

wives, husbands, grandfathers and grand mothers

yellow photos on the fireplace mantel

yester years' phantoms

who built the very ground the young ones walk on

and yet they don't know.

And I am not the one to tell

because all my auidences,

the ones who might appreciate,

have all gone.

So lonely is the peaceful silence I allow my self

knowing that gratitude in the later years

means you had to have been there

and most now were not there

so it is unreasonable to expect they'd understand

those long agos

when I was young

and, of course, knew everything.

To them I sit in the rocking chair

a fixture on the porch

symbol of a long ago

still here

but soon to be gone.

But no, that is not the way it really is.

I am their own yesterday

which I spent

making sure

they would have a tomorrow

and a silent witness to their Now

which even if unacknowledged

makes me proud.

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Gentle Child.

Gentle Child of loves sweet passions,
Bring happiness to this loving pair.
Let both have bounding compassion,
Through that childhood that both do share.
Love and laughter be always with you,
Parental strength guide your faltering way.
Happy tears like fresh morning dew,
Will help you on life's path to stay.
A Mother's love a Father's care by day and by night,
Will help you grow into a child to bring joyful delight.
Thrive Gentle child born of loves sweet passion,
Thrive, grow strong, and fulfil your purpose in living.
Remember your childhood's parental compassion,
And live your life in joyful giving.

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Patrick White

In That Slum Of A Neighbourhood


In that slum of a neighbourhood
you were the Butterscotch Man.
Old. East Indian. Sikh. Kind.
Long white beard and hair
pouring out of your turban.
And as I can remember you now
fifty-four years later
you were a cloud circling the peak
of Mt. Sumeru
the world mountain
that walked among children
handing out one hard butterscotch candy to each.

You're always there in my childhood
on the corner of Douglas and Hillside
by the totem-pole telephone booth
everyone jimmied for change,
reaching deep into
your tattered sports coat pocket
with a look of gleeful gratitude on your face
that the light had smiled upon you like a child
asking for a candy.

We were too busy playing for keeps
to know how or when you died.
One day we just knew you did.
And we broke into your small ratty house,
that crutch of a box that could barely stand,
and we saw how poor you were
so much poorer than us
and even though you had an address
here in Canada among us
and stared out through the same windows
at the same demeaning day
at the doors of the desperately poor as we did,
how inestimably far you really were from home
and how alone.

There was so little to steal
who could have robbed you?
But I remember the strange calendars
no one could tell the time by in Sanskrit
shedding the pictures
of the same unnamed goddess
in flaming sunset colours
like the petals of a lotus with its eyes closed.

I can't forget the calendars.
Or how we went on looking
for large hairy black wolf spiders
hiding in the darker corners
of your abandoned rooms
we could dropp hot match-heads on
to watch them run like startled wicks.

Some kids grow up like saplings.
We grew up like sticks.
But that one butterscotch candy
you were always good for
like some unknown kindness
we could infallibly depend on
however the rest of it hurt
has kept on releasing its sweetness in me
over the years
like some philosopher's stone
that rolled down from a very high mountain of a man
that still stands before me in his turban
even at this distance
through the bluing of time.

I can still see you on any clear day
like snow-capped Mt. Baker on the horizon
across the Straits of Georgia
all the way to Washington State
from the southern tip of Vancouver Island.

And if you were alive now
I would thank you better than I ever did then
when we approached you like a bird-feeder
apprehensively as birds.
You were handing out
your wisdom your life your light
the largesse of your spirit
without words.

Now I've come back alone
for all of us who've gone our different ways
like the wind and the waves
and the heavy clouds
of the world we shared back then,
some to prison
some to god knows where
and some to early graves
like the seeds of bad beginnings.

And it's not that I want to set things right
because things are never really wrong
to a strong mountain
that knows how to stand on its own
among humans
without blocking the light
and there never was a time
whenever I saw you as a child
I didn't look upon you with delight.

But now as a man
I see you as a long dark night
streaming with stars down the Himalayas
like the eternal Ganges whose waters
I imagine myself standing by for your sake
to throw my heart in
like that shoot of a rose of blood
you rooted in our ancestral starmud
like a Taj Mahal of light in the slums
of a North American night on earth
where the children who went to bed
in that cast-off neighbourhood
like unanswered prayers
stoically beyond their years
like prodigies of disappointment
brutally acquainted with the dark side of Santa Claus
wondering why they weren't worth much
to the people who were supposed to love them,
remembered you
and how much of the world can be saved forever
like the taste of kindness
in a half-finished butterscoth candy under a pillow
as hard as stone
dreaming of a huge big-hearted mountain
that thawed the milk of human kindness
to run down our lives like the lifelines
of the melting ice-cream cone
you looked like to us in your turban.

May this rose of a poem
find you everywhere
like the children's eyes
you opened like moments of light
to star in a dark world
as if every one of those timeless moments
were the lifespan of one of your many afterlives
handing out candies on the corners
of all the myriad worlds
where the children run to your shining
like children of the morning
with eyes as bright as morning dew
to greet the Butterscotch Man
and pry open his fingers
like the sun on Kashmiri flowers
to see what he's got in his hand
that would taste like love on the native tongue
of any land as wise and old
and as compassionate as his forever is.

Or as ours was then
unfeelingly young by ten.
So thank you.
Thank-you from all the children of when
the world was a shabbier place
than this homelessness of now
but somehow you always managed
to corner a little kind place for each of us
in that spacious heart
that seemed to understand
how to stand forever before us
in a turban of snow
like a sacred mountain
in the body of an ageing holy man
as if the deepest secret of life
were as childishly simple
as a hardrock candy in the open hand
of the Butterscotch Man in a turban.


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Every night I hurry home to see

Every night I hurry home to see
If a letter's there from you to me.
Every night I bow my head and say,
'There's no word at all from him today.'

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Nature's Night

A scented forest in the dark
Beneath the glowing moon
Dampened now by crystal drops
Because the morning's coming soon

The susurrous of sleeping leaves
Like gentle snoring in the night
Where dreams of sweet fertility
Dance beneath the soft moonlight

I wander free upon the breeze
Entranced by everything I see
By sights and sounds and musty scents
And feel the forest deep in me

Caught inside the sultry dreams
I howl with wolves in joyful song
For here beneath the slumbering stars
Lies the place where I belong

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Christina Georgina Rossetti

A Frog's Fate

Contemptuous of his home beyond
The village and the village-pond,
A large-souled Frog who spurned each byway
Hopped along the imperial highway.

Nor grunting pig nor barking dog
Could disconcert so great a Frog.
The morning dew was lingering yet,
His sides to cool, his tongue to wet:
The night-dew, when the night should come,
A travelled Frog would send him home.

Not so, alas! The wayside grass
Sees him no more: not so, alas!
A broad-wheeled waggon unawares
Ran him down, his joys, his cares.
From dying choke one feeble croak
The Frog's perpetual silence broke: -
‘Ye buoyant Frogs, ye great and small,
Even I am mortal after all!
My road to fame turns out a wry way;
I perish on the hideous highway;
Oh for my old familiar byway!’

The choking Frog sobbed and was gone;
The Waggoner strode whistling on.
Unconscious of the carnage done,
Whistling that Waggoner strode on -
Whistling (it may have happened so)
A froggy would a-wooing go.’
A hypothetic frog trolled he,
Obtuse to a reality.

O rich and poor, O great and small,
Such oversights beset us all.
The mangled Frog abides incog,
The uninteresting actual frog:
The hypothetic frog alone
Is the one frog we dwell upon.

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The age of innocence

A high tide of returning faith
For the age of innocence

Le fin de toutes les ciecles
Weltschmertz too shallow for those
Who went abysses too high
Who went insanity too nigh

Go up
Super-modern stuck in
Heideggerian states of minds
Without even knowing that
New health be named after you
Carry the name the peace of glory
You sub-modern undercurrent
Talking to its future

Gather together
Powers of the world
Light up little girls’ golden matches
Re-collect little boys lost in no man’s host
Gather together and strike

Dancing light on fragility
Delicate wire walkers
Scar lit star dust dancers
Spinning ashes spread
Spread beyond the waters
You sub-modern undercurrent
Talking to its future

Memories of Earth risen grown up
In knife edges shortcuts torn apart
Dying a Nietzche strength in
they’ll call me a sickness’ testament
Michael Angelo mocking
Bartholomeus’s skin
The Moses horns bone bricked
Into the creation of Earth

The high tide of returning faith
For the age of innocence

This is an unknown passion
A torment passion tearing to nothing
Torn to nothing brought
Torn out of nothing born
Unmasking darkness and light
A new health may carry its name

To say
To re-collect
Gather together and strike
Light steps of the paths
Stamps in sounds star bathed blessed
Sub-modern last choice manifest

The high tide of returning faith
For the age of innocence.

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Not Obsessed With Making Impressions

Some folks are programmed to believe
They can not live without impressing others.
Until they have become deprogrammed!
And most times that is not a conscious effort.
It has a lot to do with one's circumstances.
A bout with reality!
And reality has a way of prioritizing one's life.
It puts the basicness in it!

Prior to this 'struggle' obsession rules!
One becomes obsessed with things!
And what one thinks 'things' to them bring!
Like an attractiveness.
Have you ever notice...
Someone who is able to afford 'things',
Is also indecisive?
Strip them of the opportunity to possess...
And they become depressed!
An unhappiness succeeds!
And their wholesome faith they once professed,
In God...

One not obsessed with making impressions.
Or connected by a 'programming'...
They are less attractive without needless possessions,
Can survive through a recession...
Or whatever a downsizing of a lifestyle is called,
Is better off!
They can deal with the adjustment of setting priorities.
Maybe lose a few friends in the process!
But you will not find these people upset,
They can not keep up with others...
Who are stressed within concepts,
That they need to feed an ego
No longer keeping up with the times!
And having a peace of mind...
Comes tax free with a lot of common sense,
Some folks discover too late...
How cost effective and healthy,
Nights with restful sleep...
Comes to the one who has put their life,
In perspective!
And becomes free of making useless confessions!

There is nothing like the smell of fresh morning dew.

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Im New

Try to envision you as the oldest living someone
Being every night and day all alone
Going through ages and ages, places and spaces
With never finding that someone to call your own
Like a treasure chest of dreams long forgotten
Hidden for good in a stolen lost and found
But just when fate was calling quits
Love appeared in the midst of despair, came and turned your life around
Im new, new like the first day of spring
New like a nightingale thats just learned to sing
Im new, new like the very start of dawn
Like a child thats first born with your love, Im new
Youre standing amongst a crowd of six billion people
Crying out for help, but no one understands
Cause much to your dismay, youve been taken far away
To a land where joy is pain and sorrows a happy man
Where an aching hearts the sign of the mighty
And a love-filled heart looks down upon with fault and shame
But at the very instant all was through, lady lucks appears, says love can do
And changed you like a christian whos been born again
Im new, new like the fresh morning dew
New like a work of art thats finally through
Im new, new like a first flight of a dove
So safe and secure with your love, Im new
Love took a long time coming to me
But Ive gotta say
I owe my thanks to him for sending you my way, hey
Cause Im new, new like the first winter snow
Like the start of forever, with infinity to go
Im new, new like the birth of the sun
Forever young I will be
Cause with your love, Im new
New like from a restful night of sleep
New like a starving man thats had food to eat
Im new, nothing compares nor can compete
Sharing with you the sweetness of your love, Im new

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I Thought You'd Be Glad to See Me?

I am totally baffled,
By your appearance.
And why you are here.

You were the one who told me,
Many years ago...
The way I lived was unacceptable.

The fact that I live the way I do,
I remember when you said to me...
How much I embarrassed you.

And when you drove me to the suburbs,
You rushed me into your home.
And insisted I speak quietly,
As to not disturb your neighbors...
Entertaining in the backyards,
While talking loudly on their cellphones.

And when I requested to sit in the Sun on your deck...
You rushed me to your garage,
To show me tools and artifacts you collected.

I am totally baffled,
By your appearance.
And why you are here.

You were the one who told me,
Many years ago...
The way I lived was unacceptable.
And you made that quite clear.

Does your appearance have anything to do,
With you losing your job?
Does it have anything to do with your eviction?
And repossessions from those possessions,
From you that have been dissolved.

I remember standing outside,
In the pouring rain...
When you waved to drive away.
And that was just two months ago,
As you shouted out of your car window...
To quickly say,
'I have an important meeting to attend.
I'm in a hurry.
Have a good day.'

And today you claim,
To be passing through my neighborhood.
But you're needing to pay the cabdriver.
And if you can borrow twenty bucks from me...
That should take care of the fare,
And all is good.

No it isn't.
What do you take me for?
That's not a question.

I'm going to give you fourty bucks.
Half to pay for the cab...
And the other half,
To get away from my door!

'Why this attitude?
And I thought you'd be glad to see me! '

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If Ever You Suggested It

You are as if...
Fresh morning dew,
I would come to miss...
If without you,
My eyes, head and arms...
Were unable to reach,
To greet the Sun rays dawning.

You are as if...
My happiness depends,
On your presence...
In my life.
You would be right,
If ever you suggested it.

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Robert Emmet

“Let no man write my epitaph.”
The defiant rebel said.
'Let no woman eulogize me
After I am dead.'

'I give my life for Ireland-
An Ireland strong and free
An Ireland thats united,
One free of tyranny.'

'When my country takes its rightful place
Among nations of the world.
That day I will not live to see
When our banner is unfurled.'

'On that day, and only then
Let my suffering be recalled-
and that I died for Liberty-
The sweetest death of all.'

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Am I wrong to suppose
you’ve yet to experience
the fresh morning dew
between your toes.

The attempt to retain
a handful of sand,
but with no success,
lose every grain.

Recognising a smell
that triggers a memory
to a time in your life
you remember well.

After several years
of not seeing a friend
They enter your thoughts,
then suddenly appear.

Your last breath is near
and you’re about to die.
A twist of fate ensured
you had nothing to fear.

A life changing happening
that unexplainably overwhelms,
you body and soul,
with a euphoric feeling.

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Chrismas Is Here

From infinite darkness we finally see you there

At first we hide your presence because we see you far

Your essence we start to feel from the first

Mas your structure has no room for a quest

Thou you last for twenty four hour

Your impression last till the other

In you some do wed out total isolation

And in you we have one of a kind creation

You are the only one I know the sun do pray for

And the wind and the moon constantly adore

Mas your dark is better than a billion light

And a million days is of no use to your night

People if you cannot see talk or hear

I know you know that chrismas is here

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Tom Zart's 52 Best Of The Rest America At War Poems


The White House
Tom Zart's Poems

March 16,2007
Ms. Lillian Cauldwell
President and Chief Executive Officer
Passionate Internet Voices Radio
Ann Arbor Michigan

Dear Lillian:
Number 41 passed on the CDs from Tom Zart. Thank you for thinking of me. I am thankful for your efforts to honor our brave military personnel and their families. America owes these courageous men and women a debt of gratitude, and I am honored to be the commander in chief of the greatest force for freedom in the history of the world.
Best Wishes.


George W. Bush


Our sons and daughters serve in harm's way
To defend our way of life.
Some are students, some grandparents
Many a husband or wife.

They face great odds without complaint
Gambling life and limb for little pay.
So far away from all they love
Fight our soldiers for whom we pray.

The plotters and planners of America's doom
Pledge to murder and maim all they can.
From early childhood they are taught
To kill is to become a man.

They exploit their young as weapons of choice
Teaching in heaven, virgins will await.
Destroying lives along with their own
To learn of their falsehoods too late.

The fearful cry we must submit
And find a way to soothe them.
Where defenders worry if we stand down
The future for America is grim.

Now's not the time to fight one another
Or kiss our enemy's cheek.
All through history it remains the same
The strong enslave the weak.

May God continue to bless America
Refusing evil, the upper hand.
It's up to us to stay resolute
Defending the liberty of Man.


Our men and women give the ultimate sacrifice
When they pledge to defend our flag.
In hot spots throughout our world
They defeat our enemies who brag.

Most say their prayers to their own private God
To protect and bring them safely home.
It's our job as patriots and Americans
To let them know we love them as our own.

Think of all of history's heroes of freedom
And what they gave up for "Old Glory".
Nothing has changed for over two hundred years
As our soldiers continue the story.

Those rows of white crosses in manicured fields
Tell the story of ultimate sacrifice and love.
Always remember all we treasure and enjoy
Are because of our soldiers and God above.


Weakness invites moral plight, war and aggression
Encouraged by mistrust, misjudgment and delay.
All we love can be destroyed and transformed
By the powers of darkness maneuvering our way.

When something wicked stares us in the face
To corrupt our morals, faith and resolve.
God gives us courage to defend what's right
No matter the sacrifice or danger involved.

Evil seeks to destroy the good in man
And silence the memory of God's law.
It's up to the faithful to stay unyielding
Defending the liberty and justice of all.

Our men and woman who serve in harm's way
Are the armor of what the free world depends on.
Without their sacrifice of body and soul
All that we stand for is gone.


Sometimes it's hard to protect what is right
Sometimes we're scorned as for others we fight.
Some of us are willing regardless of loss
To commit our soul to save the cross.

Evil prospers on greed and human hate
Always eager to destroy and defecate.
God's grace descends on the souls of man
Cleansing the impure wherever He can.

As long as man has struggled on earth
Life has had its troubles from birth.
God's seed of goodness has delayed man's demise
Thank Heaven for his heroes the strong and the wise.

The Lord adores his heroes of yesterday
Just how numerous, only He could say.
God loves his soldiers who line up to serve
By standing against evil His grace they deserve.


America the abundant the place I was born
I'll cherish till the day I die.
Where the bones of past heroes lie buried in the ground
Who loved her the same as I.

Her mountains are so tall they reach for the sky
With prairies where the green grasses grow.
There's billions of trees where wild birds nest
With creatures that flourish below.

That blue gold called water with which we are blessed
As raindrops or crystallized snow;
Changes to rivers and fresh water lakes
While the winds of our seasons blow.

There's the haunt of a whistle from a lonely freight train
Racing on ribbons of steel
With the harvest of farms and from the factories
Balanced in a box on a wheel.

Some cities have buildings a hundred stories tall
Structures of concrete, glass and steel.
A statue in a harbor, a present from France
Describes how, inside, we feel.

That flag on the moon with red and white stripes
Proves America's dreams come true.
A country of heroes who line up to protect
The past, the present and the few.

We'll defeat terrorism as it should be fought
Never letting Satan's horde chase us to our door.
Safeguarding our borders and system of life
As our forefathers sacrificed before.

Never be afraid to be proud of America
And march with the brave, faithful and just.
Refusing to submit to the will of our enemies
Standing firm to preserve what we trust.


All through history man was born to struggle
Surviving nature, disease, greed, and war.
Since his conception he has remained the same
Choosing to serve evil or good as before.

Our boys and girls face the teeth of the dog
In hot spots all over our earth.
They leave their families and all they love
To protect and preserve what liberty is worth.

The foes they face are the mad dogs of man
With a desire to kill, disfigure and enslave.
They sing and dance to the death of others
Teaching principles of hate till the grave.

Support our troops who battle the horde
While we live the good life back home.
When you see a soldier show them your smile
Say "hello we love you and your not alone.


Wherever dwell the mad dogs of man
There is corruption, plunder and hate.
In every city, town, or village
Those who promote distrust deserve their fate.

All are born as an innocent child
Till mislead by others along the way.
God has always loved his children
Though it breaks His heart when they stray.

The mad dogs of man never repent
For they have no sense of shame or sorrow.
Worshiping dominance and the dark side of life
Abusing victims as if there were no tomorrow.

God gives the will to sin no more
And to overcome evil unwilling to cease.
The mad dogs of man must be stopped
Who murder, rape and destroy world peace.

Samson, Solomon, and David
Were chosen by God to stand tall.
They faced great odds and the fear of death
Refusing to ignore their call.

The time has come for the good men of Earth
To band together to restrain the horde.
Standing firm against tyranny where it exists
Putting the mad dogs of man to the sword.


Wars are waged by older men
In battle rooms in countries apart.
Who call for greater firepower
And troops for the combat chart.

While out among the shattered flesh
The dreams of all have turned gray.
So young and determined their faces were
Till on the battlefield they lay.

Unable to overcome their pride
The politicians cast their vote.
For this or that or something else
As the rage of war sounds its note.

Wherever wars are won or lost
The soldiers fall like toys.
Down through history it remains the same
Most who die are hardly more than boys.

Like monkeys in a revolving cage
Man squabbles for the peanuts of power.
When will we rise above our greed
And become as a beautiful flower?

Death to death, dust to dust
The wrath of war is a horrible crime.
It's the beast within that still prevails
As it has through the torments of time.


As war is fought it takes charge
And events spin out of control.
The madness of men can alter the soil
Which nourishes the roots of their soul.

Many things will forever change
Far more then wished to be.
As the wrath of war starts to destroy
Those things we fight to keep free.

War is the greatest plague of man
Religion, state, and sanity.
Any scourge is more preferred
Than the one which disables humanity.

When war breaks out, boundaries change
And all who die are a token
Of the rage that must run it's course
Before words of peace are spoken.

War I hate, though not men, flags nor race
But war itself with its ugly face.
When we lose faith in the brave, which die
Then we're not fit to greet those who cry.

What distinguishes war isn't death
But that man is slain by fellow man.
Crushed by cruelty and injustice
With his enemy's murderous hand.

War tends to punish the punishers
So the losers won't suffer alone.
The essence of war is but violence
Till the survivors come marching home.

Sometimes it's hard to defend what's right
Sometimes we're forced to rise up and fight.
Sometimes we survive, while others must die
Sometimes never knowing the reason why.

The rush of combat is a natural buzz
Caused by fear, leaving nothing as it was.
Hunting one another like wild game
Without a shortage of those to blame.

Sometimes victory comes too slow or quick
Sometimes the cost on both sides is sick.
Sometimes God is asked to intervene
To help stop the savage from being so mean.

War is a hell we visit before death
Fueled by the whisper of the devil's breath.
There must be a reason man destroys man
But why it is so, I can't understand.


After suffering the wrath of a sneak attack
America now mourns to her very core.
Though soon her enemies shall all but flee
From the sound of America waging full war.

Let there be no doubt, no doubt at all
That the devil has decided to give us a call.
We shall defeat hell's soldiers and cast them out
And if we die; that's what freedom is about.

We shall seek them out wherever they may hide
Street by street, house-by-house, cave by cave.
They will be eradicated from the face of the earth
By the righteous, the loyal and the brave.


Overrun with war and uncontrolled leaders
Our world becomes more dangerous each day.
Dishonest politicians, criminals and the media
Survive by their falsehoods at play.

Bible believers preach, that the end is near
Our world as a whole is beyond reform.
God will eradicate all which is wicked
By His fire of eruption and storm.

To evil's victory, I will never concede
May its supporters anguish in hell.
By the grace of God and the power of faith
The goodness of man will prevail.

What we accomplish is heaven's measure
As patriots respond to the threats of man.
Protect and defend what we love till death
As the soldiers of Satan arise from the sand.


So dear to my heart are my loved ones at home
As I toss and I turn in my bunk all alone.
Everyday I see death, hate, and corruption
Combat is God's proof of man's malfunction

For family, comrades, and myself I pray
To my love with this poem I wish to convey.
I knew I loved you though never how much
Till by war, I'm forced beyond your touch.

Where violence thrives, there's the stench of death
With the taste of fear on every breath.
Who shall prevail, who shall die
As the sadistic kill beneath God's sky.

Baghdad has become man's highway to hell
Where the hearts of darkness are alive and well.
I count each day till it's time to come home
And be with my love and never alone.

Love You
Your Marine


In their new uniforms
The young march off
Not knowing who shall return.
With a proud devotion
They brandish their flag
Leaving loved ones to wonder and yearn.

May we all be buried
By all of our children
Is an ancient tribal prayer.
They're so easy to lose
But so hard to forget
Such a burden for a parent to bear.

Oh, the taste of victory
Shall soon be forgotten
But, never that which was lost.
For those rows of white headstones
In peaceful green fields
Make it easy to tally the cost.

America has survived all attempts to destroy
Knowing the cruelty of war
And, we who remain
Must help keep her free
For those who can march no more!


Our flag is fabric wove of thread
Carried by heroes live and dead.
She stands for justice and courage too
With her colors; red, white and blue.

For all who serve her, there'll be cheers
For any who die, there'll be tears
For all who love her, honor will prevail
Any who harm her, shall suffer and fail.

How many moms have cried before
As they sent their children to war.
How many dads have not returned
Because our freedom must be earned.

Wars were waged where brave men died
As patriots fought side by side.
Our flag is still the pearl of Earth
Because of those who prove her worth.


I dedicate this poem from inside my tent
As the desert winds keep it's silhouette bent.
My love of country is at full boil now
I'd like to describe it but it's hard to know how.

Tomorrow I'll hunt those who enjoy our death
Cursed by their hatred and foulness of breath.
I don't care if it's another God they serve
For their crime's retribution is what they deserve.

Their horde survives by a different set of rules,
Though soon they'll learn the fate of murderous fools.
Proudly I serve my homeland and president
Who I've sworn to defend one hundred percent.

While haunted by visions of what I must do
I fight for justice, and the red, white, and blue.


The cost of freedom is sometimes high
Extremely more when our loved one's die.
Men and women pledged to fight and serve
And it's our support that they deserve.

Mankind itself is the one to blame
That all through history, the story's the same.
Peace, like love, can be hard to acquire
Subject always to enemy fire.

Some how the righteous tend to prevail
Over the miss-guided, prone to fail.
No wonder we fear the tongues that lie
As mankind squabbles beneath God's sky.

The danger our solders face is real
So lets let them know just how we feel.
Put forth your flag and show them your heart
As those we love from us depart.


Determined though scared, I walk my beat
On the deadly streets of Baghdad.
Searching for any who plot our harm
Or by our death are joyous and glad.

Standing in shadows caused by the moon
I'm reminded of my nights back home.
I wonder if the woman I love
Is growing tired of sleeping alone?

I feel remorse for all who live here
For this place is a madman's hell.
And those who wish to keep it that way
Must be killed or locked away in jail.

My greatest fear is not my death
But that I'll end up in a wheelchair.
Disabled for the rest of my life,
Depending on others for my care.

My wife, she prays for my safe return
As night and day more GI's are killed.
She knows quite well, whatever it takes
The oath I've given will be fulfilled.


The king of Baghdad has fallen
Never to dictate again.
Man shall sentence him for this crimes
And heaven shun him for his sin.

For his tyranny, he was famous
In every capital on earth.
Till apprehended in his spider hole
Completely stripped of his worth.

He is guilty of rape and genocide
While he ruled without remorse.
His power and prestige were toppled
Once George Bush set his course.

Though it may seem that the wicked triumph
And have conquered by their brutality of hand,
Through the power of faith they are defeated
By the seed of goodness in man.


America is the birthday cake of Earth
As the ants march from every direction.
Thank God for all who have sworn to defend her
Serving with love, honor, pride, and affection.

Since the first day George Washington marched off to war
There have been those who have wished our demise.
Their hatred, fueled by jealousy and greed
Was defeated by our brave and the wise.

Once again, we must face a formidable foe
Who have pledged by their God to destroy us all
Misusing their faith as an excuse to kill
As for a worldwide jihad, their leaders call.

Some say we should try to appease them
For if we resist, they'll hate us even more.
But the David's among us shall cast our stones
Defeating them, as it was done before.


Should tomorrow start without me
Remember I love you.
Looking down from up above
Seeing everything you do.

If I become a casualty
I pray you will love again
Whom ever makes you happy
I'll consider my friend.

Should tomorrow start without me
Remind our boys, God loves all who care.
And when life seems too harsh and cruel
With 'Him' they must share their prayer.

I have proven I'm not a coward
Who breaks and runs to survive.
Always fearing death will kiss me
As the streets of Baghdad I drive.

Should tomorrow start without me
Be proud I choose to serve.
Our faith and our patriotism
Earn the freedom we deserve.

I miss home more than ever
It breaks my heart to stay away
I can't help but want to hold you
And whisper what I say.


It's not a priest that gives us our freedom of religion
And it's not a reporter that gives us our freedom of voice.
It's not any judge, lawyer, politician, or teacher
But the blood of a soldier that has sacrificed by choice.

Our soldiers line up to be remembered
As the best of the best at their job.
They wish to be needed and depended on
To save all we love from the mob.

They risk their life and limb for liberty
Standing firm against evil unwilling to break.
To be part of something greater than themselves
They are willing to sacrifice whatever it will take.


Thank Heaven for the heroes of life
Who lead us to overcome those who are not.
The wise are grateful for all God's blessings
Where fools never realize what they've got.

America is the grain train of Earth
Whose people exercise rule by their vote.
All have a chance to partake and prosper
As they arrive by foot, plane or boat.

Our freedom relies on the law of the land
Our future depends on our grit.
Our past has known both good and bad
And our mistakes we are willing to admit.

The grim of heart hate America
And choose to put her wonders to shame
The devotion of most who love and live here
Rise up to defeat the soldiers of blame.


I know I'm still here so far, far away
As I fight for what I believe is right.
I wonder about you and your mom
Every moment of every day and night.

The loneliness of war can drive you insane
If you don't get letters of concern from home.
Left, right, behind and ahead,
Death awaits leaving love ones alone.

We pray to God that we will be saved
To return home or live the here after.
Bloody, dirt-covered men, we see everyday
As we yearn for those times of laughter.

The far off stare of a fallen comrade
As you stay by his side till his end.
No mother ever carried her infant child
More carefully, than we do a friend.

Many have their own personal diaries
To help keep their faculties together.
Watching hot steel crash into human flesh
Always makes home seem far away and better.

I've become an expert at dodging, weaving and diving
So try not to worry too much about me.
Just help your mom and stand up from the ground
And while I'm gone be all you can be.


The Japanese hadn't lost a war since 1598
Each man carried 400 rounds of ammunition
(twice as many as an American infantryman)
With five days rations and fearless determination.

The men in the badly wrapped brown uniforms
Since their early childhood had been taught
That to die for the emperor and one's country
Was the greatest of all glories to be sought.

Moreover, the hardware backing them was awesome
As sharpshooters they were accurate up to a thousand yards and more.
Their ships were faster, their guns bigger, Their torpedoes better
And their planes matchless in quality, aerobatics and score.

Only by sacrifice, transformation, and unrestricted warfare
Was America able to overcome and prevail.
Again America must stand firm to survive
As we face a new monster from Hell.


I'm just a soldier who stands in the rain
My memories of home are what keep me sane.
Back home is a land of milk and honey
Ruled by lust and love of money.

But, what can I say, when I serve her true
For I volunteered to see this war through.
Now, that I'm here, it's hard to believe
We're just the victims of those who deceive.

As darkness falls on the rice fields of Nam
Scared men with rifles walk the shadows of the calm.
It's thousands of miles to the steps of my church
With its stained glass, steeples and lost souls who search.

Off in the distance I see an arc light
Bombs being dropped on children at night.
I've seen that evil they call the yellow rain
And how life withers when it's sprayed by a plane.

All of my buddies have been taken away
No more touch football will they ever play.
Zipped in their body bags for the long trip home
Are some of the bravest, I've ever known.

War is a hell, devised by man
There's death in the sea, the sky and the land.
Lord, I can't help but wish I were home
Back with my love, whom I hope is alone?


Where would I be without you dad
My hero of night and day
I'm so glad you love my mother
And think of us when you pray

The last time we went to church
You reached for me with your hand.
I looked at you, then made a wish
That I might be just half the man.

I love my father of this earth
And I love my father of heaven.
It's a lot for me to love, you know
For I'm only eleven.

Mom and I sure miss you
Since you left to defend our flag.
When others ask, where is your dad
I can't help but boast and brag.


We awoke to the crack of rifle fire
With mortar rounds hitting the ground near by.
The flying shrapnel was absorbed by sand bags
Which saved lots of us who wished not to die.

The hot spent shell casings fell to the ground
As the VC charged our fortified hill.
We killed so many the stench made us sick
While we fought to live and not for a thrill.

Barbwire, bullets and clay-mores took their toll
As red and green tracers lit up the sky.
Before long I was the last GI left
When napalm caused my enemy to fry.

Fleeing the sound of our choppers gunfire
The enemy retreated to the caves and trees.
Then I cried, 'thank you ' to Heaven above
As I checked out my buddies on my knees.

Somehow I managed to survive the day
Though many I've served with names I have read
Carved in the shinny black stone of The Wall
Are my comrades of war, among the dead.

KOREA 1950

UN soldiers fought and were forced to retreat
Behind sandbags protected by barbwire hoops.
Many GI's died as they held off attacks
By 810,000 Communist troops.

Our guys used phosphorus, flame-throwers and napalm
For without these weapons they could not survive.
The Communist charges led by buglers
Till the UN could start it's offensive drive.

On the battlefield of death Chosin Reservoir
Many froze with their hands still stuck to their guns.
While others hobbled with their boots wrapped in rags
City boys, farmers, students, fathers and sons.

With a million and a half dead or wounded
Both sides singed a truce before generals involved.
July 27th,1953
And though thousands were orphaned, nothing was solved.


As war is fought it takes charge
And events spin out of control.
The madness of men can alter the soil
Which nourishes the roots of their soul.

Many things will forever change
Far more then wished to be.
As the wrath of war starts to destroy
Those things we fight to keep free.

War is the greatest plague of man
Religion, state, and sanity.
Any scourge is more preferred
Than the one which disables humanity.

When war breaks out, boundaries change
And all who die are a token
Of the rage that must run it's course
Before words of peace are spoken.


Our ship had sailed before the dawn
Surrounded by the thickest of fog
Still ignorant of our destination
Or what was written in the captain's log.

It didn't take long for me to see
Our cruise was not for fun
An experience of a lifetime
With nowhere for us to run.

Twenty knots per hour we cruised
As the white caps passed us by
Ten thousand young Americans
Off to Europe to die.

A sailor told us not to worry
Someday we'd get our mail.
Uncle Sam would make sure
No matter how far we sail.

Thirty feet deep I tried to sleep
Beneath our ship's waterline
Just the place for claustrophobia
To enter into my mind.

My favorite vest was my May West
Which I wore all the time
Just in case of German U-boats
Or an underwater mine.

Thirty-three days we were at sea
We crossed the equator twice.
Many years have passed since then
Those years of sacrifice.


Many brave souls lived before now
Unwept and unknown by their face.
Lost somewhere in the distant night
Till a poet chronicles their grace.

True bravery is shown by performing
Without witness, what one might be
Capable of before the world
Without any or all to see.

How great the brave who rest in peace
All blessings from heaven to earth.
They gave our country but their best
Those destined to be brave from birth.


Sunday, December the seventh
In the year of 1941,
While most of Hawaii still slept
Came the planes of the Rising Sun.

Waves of bombers and fighters flew
From the decks of the Japanese ships.
While our planes were still on the ground
'Banzai' was spoken from their lips.

The winds of war had been blowing
Across the oceans of our earth
Though not till Pearl had been bombed
Did we realize what freedom's worth.

Wars are fought and won on two fronts
At home and on the battle line.
Both are equally important
When war consumes our heart and mind.

The attack brought us World War II
With death, pain and separation.
All who had served were well aware
Of their sacrifice for nation.


The harder the conflict we sometimes face
The far more glorious is the victory.
Tyranny like hell is tough to defeat
When it raises its head throughout history.

War never leaves a country as it was
When neutrality is a word disregarded.
As the murderous hands of man himself
Are to blame for all who have departed.


Over two hundred rangers scaled 'The Wall'
A stone cliff over one hundred feet tall.
Some of them made it all the way to the top
While others fell and perished from their drop.

Those who climbed over, had answered God's call
For men to stop evil once and for all.
They fought the Germans and destroyed their guns
To save the lives of our fathers and sons.

So many years have passed since then
When our world's future was saved by brave men.
We cannot forget the hell they went through
Before the skies, again turned blue.


D-Day raised the curtain on the conflict
That fore shadowed the end of Hitler's dream.
The largest joint combat landing ever
Though the blood from both sides flowed like a stream.

When their boats hit the sand, their ramps went down
And all within paid a visit to hell.
They jumped out to do good for their country
And to kill the enemy without fail.

They fought the Germans, tides, winds and the waves
In conditions not easily foreseen.
By night the battle was in our favor
With bravery, valor, death, and men who scream.

The corpses littered the beach for five miles
Though heroism had carried the day.
With literally thousands dead or wounded
Those who were left were determined to stay.

They faced great odds and chose not to protest
And won the war that put evil to shame.
Most came home, married and raised their babies
But those who could not we recall with pain.


It was June the 4th 1942
As I was floating in the ocean alone
The ship I had sailed on, sank to the bottom
And I thought I would never again, see home.

The Japanese fleet had steamed in from the east
With the intentions of capturing Midway.
Though they were stopped by American war ships
Whose guns, bombs and torpedoes planes saved the day.

All night long, I watched the fireworks of war
And on the second day we turned up the heat.
As big bombers from Hawaii dropped their loads
On Japanese ships who soon chose to retreat.

An imperial pilot came floating close by
Who had been chewed on by the beasts of the sea.
I couldn't help but feel passion for this is man
Who had answered his call just like me.

When it was over, I was plucked from the deep
By men in a lifeboat just after the dawn.
For two days I had watched the battle for, Midway
Now it's quiet and the enemy has gone.


I drifted all night and was loosing my hope
Before by the moon's light I saw dry land.
I floated over and through its reefs to the beach
Where I quickly smoothed out my tracks in the sand.

All I had was my dagger and a canteen
And it was May 4th of 43.
Just me alone on an enemy island
Wasn't a safe place for a sailor to be.

I felt I could kill in less than a heartbeat
If that's what it took for me to survive.
I'd already said thanks so many times
For' God' was the reason I was alive.

Off in the dark, I herd two men's voices
Laughing and talking in a language not mine.
Inch by inch I crept to their campsite
Where on what they were eating, I would soon dine.

I stabbed them both and took their fish, rice and wine
Then ran my way back to the raft by the beach.
Soon I was floating in the ocean again
And far enough out where bullets couldn't reach.

The next day I was picked up by a seaplane
Whose crew spotted my sail from the air.
Once inside and safe, I cried like a child
For the dead whom would forever be there.

It was hard to believe heaven let me live
A farm boy from Kansas, in high school last year.
My girlfriend is blond and she hates it I 'm gone
Though I'm a veteran of battle, death, and fear.


Okinawa was to be our last stop
Before we invaded Japan.
The largest landing of the Pacific war
As our soldiers ran across the sand.

At first our marines were scarcely opposed
But on the fifth day hell they found.
A solid wall of human resistance
Firing their weapons from caves in the ground.

Air power and big guns had little affect
On their cliff forts carved deep in the limestone.
It took man against man to root them out
As flying bullets pierced flesh and bone.

Kamikaze pilots crashed their planes
Knocking out transports and war ships.
As the Imperial air force struck our fleet
Cries of fear and hate spewed from lips.

One hundred, ten thousand Japanese
By the end of the battle were killed.
Over twelve thousand Americans died,
Before, just our flag flew over the field.


After the fall of France in 1940
The Germans soon began their own blockade
With most their efforts in the Atlantic
Hoping to cut Britain's flow of war trade.

With fast surface raiders like the Bismarck
Merchant ships caught at sea, had little chance.
The German's small navy sank ship after ship
Till the British Navy destroyed war's romance.

Shipping losses from German U-boats increased
And the battle of the Atlantic seemed lost.
But soon America would enter the war
To defeat freedom's enemies at all cost.

Multitudes would die and their families cry
Before World War II would be fought to its end.
What a waste of mankind, which had lost its mind
Though now, our enemy is our friend.


The truest words, which portray my love
I speak to you from within my heart.
May we always recall how we feel
Though through conflict we're forced to part.

No one can say how long they will last
For life is not everlasting.
Yet most hope to be blessed by love
By he who does our casting.

As the fear of battle bites my flesh
My thoughts of home help keep me sane.
There's no guarantee that I'll survive
But either way, I'll serve without shame.

Should the cold hands of death reach for me
I pray my soul will awake from sleep.
To the voice of God assuring me
That my spirit, He has chosen to keep.

So try to remember while I'm gone
That the person I need most is you.
I'll fight like hell to stay alive
To return home to the love I knew.


When you become a P.O.W.
You find you've lost your liberty and more
The guy with the gun tells you what to do
As you yearn for freedoms you had before.

Your will to survive helps keep you alive
Though sometimes you wish you were dead.
Tortures far beyond any normal mind
And there's no safety, even in your bed.

Bullets, barbwire, searchlights and sharp teeth
Keep you in a place you don't wish to be.
The food is quite awful and sometimes it moves
And you've no choice of what you hear or see.

The lucky are released and return home
Though in their dreams their fate is unsure.
War may be hell, but confinement is worse
Cause afterward you're never as you were.


General quarters, general quarters
All hands man your battle station!
Sunday morning, December the 7th
As war confronted our nation.

We soon found out it wasn't a drill
But instead it was war for real.
As you watch the death of friends and shipmates
It's more anger than fear you feel.

Japanese warplanes came flying in low
As I took aim with my gun sight.
From the deck of a ship anchored at Pearl
Damaged, though crew still eager to fight.

I saw the face of a pilot, who crashed
Surrounded by black smoke and fire.
Some of my bullets must have found their mark.
For his death was but my desire!

Two thousand, three hundred and twenty-three killed
In a battle less than two hours.
With the heart of our Pacific fleet gone
Japan had flexed their naval powers.

The bombing and strafing of ships and troops
Caused our congress to declare full war.
Where many a man laid down his life
Fighting for flag, country and more.


After the attack on Pearl Harbor
He applied for sea duty in the war.
Where Lieutenant John F. Kennedy
Became known for his bravery and more.

In the dark hours before dawn
On August 2, of 43.
Kennedy commanded a torpedo boat
Through the blackness of night at sea.

PT 109, was on Solomon's patrol
With a 12-man crew in a plywood craft.
A Japanese destroyer plowed through the night
Ramming and cutting Kennedy's boat in half.

Two of the crew just disappeared
A third was badly burned.
Kennedy himself was thrown to the deck
Where in pain his leadership he earned.

Some of his men had never learned to swim
As he gathered them on the bobbing bow.
The hours passed tell it seemed it would sink
So they made for an island and here's how.

He ordered those who could to swim
The others were to hang on to a beam.
Kennedy grabbed the injured sailor
And off they tread through the ocean stream.

With his teeth clenched on the burnt man's vest straps
Skipper Kennedy swam 3 miles.
5 hours later they all made it
Despite their hardships, sharks, and trials.

The next problem was how to summon up help
Without arousing the enemy all around.
After several attempts swimming to other islands
Eventually two natives in a canoe were found.

Kennedy scratch a note on a coconut
To be delivered to a base 38 miles away.
The message made it and they were saved
And their courage still lives today.


World War-I gave us the flyboys
Who flew by the seat of their pants.
Many would never return from war
While others survived by chance.

Their planes were mostly canvas and wood
Gasoline, bullets, bombs and poison gas.
Every pilot carried his own pistol
Wearing leathers, scarf and goggles of glass.

Aviators had no Parachutes
To escape their burning plane.
Many were forced to jump to their death
Or self inflect a bullet to the brain.

Blimps where known as battleships of the sky
The roar of their engines gave reason for fear.
They flew so high they were hard to shoot down
Hiding above clouds till their targets drew near.

Tracer bullets for the first time were used
In the guns of airplanes to set blimps afire.
The skies became man's highway of death
With duty and honor their driving desire.

How many flyboys have we lost since then
Those days of the Great War and more?
Where do we get such brave souls of chance
Who rise from the rest in the battles of war?


In 1860 life was good
Till its simple-ness ceased one day.
The North wished to save the Union
While the South chose to break away.

America was torn apart
As six hundred thousand died.
Throughout four years of total war
Women without husbands cried.

The sad fact of the Civil War
Is what was left at its end.
Too many times, men's evil acts
Destroyed both foe and friend.

The problem was, once it began
There was no peace or compromise.
Total victory must be proclaimed
Before rage would leave men's eyes.

Destroy all that helps the enemy
Was the cry of either side.
Anything to obtain victory
As death on horseback did ride.

Black men dressed in old uniforms
Became the Union's reserve.
They fought and died for their freedom
And their rights they earned and deserve.

Lifestyles would forever change
For all who survived the war.
It had ended as it began
With sadness, misery and more.

Both sides prayed to the same God
And spoke words from the Bible.
The prayers of both were not answered
For all involved were liable.


A courier rider hands his papers to me
They are instructions from Robert E. Lee.
I am advised now is the time
To stop the troop movement on the Rock Island line.

I muster my men and they load up the boats
We powder our pistols and darken our coats.
Traveling the currents, the sun slips from sight
As brave men with a purpose have gathered to fight.

We capture a bridge before the moonrise
The Yankees who are here shall soon feed the flies.
The evil of war feeds on my brain
As I light the fuse to destroy a train.

Above us a trestle of timber and tar
As we pull our oars for a willowed sandbar.
From the banks of the river; we watch it approach
There's shadows of soldiers, in the windows of a coach.

With a burst of bright yellow and a roar in my ear
I hear them scream as they 're falling in fear.
The river is boiling in steam, steel and stems
Back home their families shall soon sing funeral hymns.

The one lone survivor was a red stallion stud
I lassoed his neck, and freed him from the mud.
As I ride in his saddle beneath the stars that shine
I pray for forgiveness and some peace of mind.

War is a lesson we re eager to learn
When man has that fever to murder and burn.
Lord, please forgive me for what I have done
For all those I've silenced were some mother's son.


Cannons are bursting hot metal from the ground.
Soldiers are looting and burning our town.
The fever of fear rushes through my veins
As too many Bluecoats jump from troop trains.

Smoke from hot barrels is swirling around
As four thousand muskets volley their sound.
All of my comrades have stopped a lead ball
Most cry out, then stumble and fall.

Even the young lad who carried our flag
Now he lies dead as he clings to that rag.
Wagons with the wounded trail blood on the ground
Death and destruction are easily found.

The Generals are crying 'cause they can't stand defeat
But it's always the soldier who dies on his feet.
Horse hooves are pounding on a bridge made of boards
As the sunlight reflects from the blades of their swords.

Quickly I hide out in the roots of a tree
Where the dirt has eroded and there's just room for me.
After dark I sneak out with the cover of fog
Then float down the river, as I cling to a log.

Songs of their victory, ring out through the night
While from the cold, muddy water, I see their firelight.
It makes me remember my old country church
Where the preacher spoke God's word from his holy perch.

That the seed of all conflict began in a cave
When man, like the wild wolf had to prove he was brave.


Cannons are bellowing from a ridge far away
The battle lines are forming and there's little time to pray.
Musket balls are pelting like hailstones from the sky
I'm so full of fear cause I don 't want to die.

From beyond yonder hill comes a terrifying sound
It's the music of the buglers and there's thunder in the ground.
The fast-riding troopers have all drawn out their swords.
They 're shouting and screaming as they charge up the gorge.

It's hard to believe how many make it through
As they're hacking and shooting at the boys dressed in blue.
Then come the soldier men who run upon their feet
Every time I dropp one, my heart skips a beat.

There's a storm on the ground made of death, dust and smoke
My throat is so dry, I can 't help but choke.
The fury of the battle is bound to settle down
When most of the fighters lie dead on the ground.

After dark, the stretcher-bearers are afraid to search around
The wild hogs eat the wounded and I can 't stand the sound.
Come dawn, we dig ditches for all the brave, lifeless men
Then quote words from our Bible praying heaven lets them in.


When you chain the neck of a slave
The other end fastens to you.
Your heart and soul become corrupt
And all which is evil you'll do.

No government shall exist for long
Who's people are not really free.
Though around the world there are those
Who stay blind to how life should be.

Any who must enslave others
Will dwell in their own living hell
After death, they'll join their master
In that place from heaven he fell.

But till then we'll fight and resist
Making them put their chains away.
And those of us who may die first
From heaven shall watch and pray


In the course of becoming officers
The young men of West Point bonded like brothers.
Till roomers of Civil War transformed friend to foe
As many cadets chose to serve others.

Fifty-five of sixty major battles fought
Were lead by graduates of the long gray line.
Yankees and Rebels ravaged one another
For to kill and plunder were virtues of the time.

Over six hundred thousand soldiers were consumed
Not counting multitudes of population.
Cities, farms and the countryside were laid to waste
Before our Union was restored to a nation.


Nine year old Johnny Clem who stood just four feet tall
Ran away from Ohio to answer his country's call.
He joined up with the Union and became a drummer boy
Soon to prove the gun he wore was far more than a toy.

Armed with a sawed-off musket, cut down to just fit him
He shot a Rebel horseman who tried to do him in.
Awarded his sergeant's stripes and the silver medal
His comrades offered him hot coffee from their kettle.

The newspapers of the North, gladly published his story
Telling of the nine year old who earned his country's glory.


The moon is sky high
And perfectly round
As it highlights the beauty
Of disputed ground.

Life is a journey
Where the passage is free.
After, there's judgment
By the living and Thee.

Tomorrow's carnage
We'll survive if we can.
Death and dismemberment
By the hand of man.

Some will stumble
With absence of breath.
While others charge
Into the face of death.

We'll race toward the battle
And pray for the best
Hoping somehow
We pass God's test.


Their red and blue, ragtag flag stood out
Against their dust covered uniforms of gray.
Savagely we fought to kill our enemy
As the battle raged on in the heat of the day

Volley after volley we put forth our blaze
With thousands of led balls snapping flesh and bone.
Blistering sweat rolled down every face
As the tunes of war by bugles were blown.

There was a clanking sound of ramrods in barrels
As each new lead ball was loaded and fired.
Some shot aimlessly into the smoke
While others took aim at the worn and tired.

Bullets were popping like the fourth of July
Yet our enemy kept surging ahead.
All at once they broke and ran off in groups
Scattering as for the forest they fled.

From behind the protection of a stacked-stone wall
The victorious cheered or just sat starring
At all the bodies of friend and foe
While for the wounded the surgeons were caring.

Soon the war was over and I survived
Despite it's brutality on trampled ground.
From boy to man I was transformed
Though, still in the night I hear its sound.


America's East Coast was settled by the Brits
As the Indians rule began to recede.
After many a battle, they lost their land
Giving into the white man's power and greed.

In years to come like a leaf on the water
The Indians were swept away by the white man.
As trappers and pioneers pushing westward
Brought death and disease to the land.

With the white settlements came the fur traders
Followed by soldiers, forts, whiskey and form tools.
None of which helped the Indians to survive
Who chose to wage war, and break the white man's rules.

Many treaties were made, just to be broken
By those eager for land, timber, furs and gold.
Prospectors arrived to plunder the land
And to be farmers, the Indians were told.

The combat raged on, to the western prairie
Over mountains and down through the desert sand.
Indians proved to be formidable foe
As both sides fought from afar and hand-to-hand.

Lieutenant Colonel Custer, led his cavalry
In search of fame and tribal disgrace.
But instead he and his men were butchered
By hostile Indians with paint on their face.

Around the campfires of Rosebud and Pine Ridge
Singing warriors danced till Sitting Bull's death.
Most were forced to surrender at Wounded Knee
Where many sad Indian would draw their last breath.

With their fighting spirit completely broken
And their ancient tribal ways forever gone.
Proud Indians were moved to reservations
Where their once great history in song lives on.


The hinge of history swings in all directions
As the happenings of the past are written down.
Out of all that has occurred since man's beginnings
Less has been recorded than waits to be found.

Babylonians kept chronicles of history
Hebrews wrote the past as a dramatic story.
Greeks had no faith in the future at all
Believing mans repeated errors doom his glory.

Christians added a new dimension to history
Looking forward to Christ's return to earth.
An on going drama involving man and God
Believing all are created of equal worth.

Some have asked why must we study history
It just encourages us to live in the past.
When we forget history we repeat its mistakes
As the outcome of humanity is cast.


The leaves of the cottonwoods hung motionless
As outside the walls Santa Anna's horde closed in.
A small band of Texans watched and waited
Preoccupied by combat and how life would end.

The battle raged from building to building
Till the old mission's chapel was the last to fall.
Over 180 Texans died fighting to the man
Never to yield, surrender or crawl.

Six weeks later Sam Houston rallied his forces
With 'Remember the Alamo' as their battle cry.
Attacking and defeating Santa Anna's army
To win independence for Texas or die.

The Spanish word for 'cottonwood' is 'Alamo'
The long time popular name for the mission.
Today the stout-walled old chapel still stands
Preserved as a shrine of sacrifice and tradition.


Once in command, he boxed in the British
At Boston where he captured Dorchester Heights
Overlooking the Brits at his mercy
As his men took aim with their cannon sites.

The British commander had but one choice
To sail to New York to renew the fight.
Where the English had much greater forces
Who soon chased Washington's men in full flight.

They continued on to Pennsylvania
After crossing the Hudson in retreat
With the British forces in hot pursuit
It looked as though George was doomed to defeat.

When winter seemed to have stopped the fighting
That's when Washington crossed the Delaware.
On that Christmas night he captured Trenton
Where Hessians were surprised and unaware.

He whipped the British at Princeton
Where in victory his men began to sing.
Washington then wintered at Morristown
Training his troops for the combat of spring.

Washington fought bravely at Brandywine
And again at a place called Germantown
But the British were the victorious ones
As the dead of both sides covered the ground

Americans were blessed early that spring
When the French entered the war on their side.
Though most suffered frostbite at Valley Forge
With the help of the French they marched in stride.

The battles raged on, in the North and South
As the King's soldiers laid waste to the land.
Washington himself was in great despair
Pleading for aid for his weakened command.

His prayers were answered by 5000 troops
And a French fleet who took Chesapeake Bay.
They bottled up Cornwallis at Yorktown
Who surrendered to victory drums at play.

Yorktown was really the end of the war
Though not many quite realized that fact yet.
But the British soon grew tired of the fight
And the terms for its end were signed and set.

Washington yearned to retire at home
But his country chose him first president.
Cheering crowds waved flags of love and support
For they believed that 'he, ' by God, was sent.

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I am leading a quiet life
in Mike’s Place every day
watching the champs
of the Dante Billiard Parlor
and the French pinball addicts.
I am leading a quiet life
on lower East Broadway.
I am an American.
I was an American boy.
I read the American Boy Magazine
and became a boy scout
in the suburbs.
I thought I was Tom Sawyer
catching crayfish in the Bronx River
and imagining the Mississippi.
I had a baseball mit
and an American Flyer bike.
I delivered the Woman’s Home Companion
at five in the afternoon
or the Herald Trib
at five in the morning.
I still can hear the paper thump
on lost porches.
I had an unhappy childhood.
I saw Lindbergh land.
I looked homeward
and saw no angel.
I got caught stealing pencils
from the Five and Ten Cent Store
the same month I made Eagle Scout.
I chopped trees for the CCC
and sat on them.
I landed in Normandy
in a rowboat that turned over.
I have seen the educated armies
on the beach at Dover.
I have seen Egyptian pilots in purple clouds
shopkeepers rolling up their blinds
at midday
potato salad and dandelions
at anarchist picnics.
I am reading ‘Lorna Doone’
and a life of John Most
terror of the industrialist
a bomb on his desk at all times.
I have seen the garbagemen parade
in the Columbus Day Parade
behind the glib
farting trumpeters.
I have not been out to the Cloisters
in a long time
nor to the Tuileries
but I still keep thinking
of going.
I have seen the garbagemen parade
when it was snowing.
I have eaten hotdogs in ballparks.
I have heard the Gettysburg Address
and the Ginsberg Address.
I like it here
and I won’t go back
where I came from.
I too have ridden boxcars boxcars boxcars.
I have travelled among unknown men.
I have been in Asia
with Noah in the Ark.
I was in India
when Rome was built.
I have been in the Manger
with an Ass.
I have seen the Eternal Distributor
from a White Hill
in South San Francisco
and the Laughing Woman at Loona Park
outside the Fun House
in a great rainstorm
still laughing.
I have heard the sound of revelry
by night.
I have wandered lonely
as a crowd.
I am leading a quiet life
outside of Mike’s Place every day
watching the world walk by
in its curious shoes.
I once started out
to walk around the world
but ended up in Brooklyn.
That Bridge was too much for me.
I have engaged in silence
exile and cunning.
I flew too near the sun
and my wax wings fell off.
I am looking for my Old Man
whom I never knew.
I am looking for the Lost Leader
with whom I flew.
Young men should be explorers.
Home is where one starts from.
But Mother never told me
there’d be scenes like this.
I rest
I have travelled.
I have seen goof city.
I have seen the mass mess.
I have heard Kid Ory cry.
I have heard a trombone preach.
I have heard Debussy
strained thru a sheet.
I have slept in a hundred islands
where books were trees.
I have heard the birds
that sound like bells.
I have worn grey flannel trousers
and walked upon the beach of hell.
I have dwelt in a hundred cities
where trees were books.
What subways what taxis what cafes!
What women with blind breasts
limbs lost among skyscrapers!
I have seen the statues of heroes
at carrefours.
Danton weeping at a metro entrance
Columbus in Barcelona
pointing Westward up the Ramblas
toward the American Express
Lincoln in his stony chair
And a great Stone Face
in North Dakota.
I know that Columbus
did not invent America.
I have heard a hundred housebroken Ezra Pounds.
They should all be freed.
It is long since I was a herdsman.
I am leading a quiet life
in Mike’s Place every day
reading the Classified columns.
I have read the Reader’s Digest
from cover to cover
and noted the close identification
of the United States and the Promised Land
where every coin is marked
In God We Trust
but the dollar bills do not have it
being gods unto themselves.
I read the Want Ads daily
looking for a stone a leaf
an unfound door.
I hear America singing
in the Yellow Pages.
One could never tell
the soul has its rages.
I read the papers every day
and hear humanity amiss
in the sad plethora of print.
I see where Walden Pond has been drained
to make an amusement park.
I see they’re making Melville
eat his whale.
I see another war is coming
but I won’t be there to fight it.
I have read the writing
on the outhouse wall.
I helped Kilroy write it.
I marched up Fifth Avenue
blowing on a bugle in a tight platoon
but hurried back to the Casbah
looking for my dog.
I see a similarity
between dogs and me.
Dogs are the true observers
walking up and down the world
thru the Molloy country.
I have walked down alleys
too narrow for Chryslers.
I have seen a hundred horseless milkwagons
in a vacant lot in Astoria.
Ben Shahn never painted them
but they’re there
askew in Astoria.
I have heard the junkman’s obbligato.
I have ridden superhighways
and believed the billboard’s promises
Crossed the Jersey Flats
and seen the Cities of the Plain
And wallowed in the wilds of Westchester
with its roving bands of natives
in stationwagons.
I have seen them.
I am the man.
I was there.
I suffered
I am an American.
I have a passport.
I did not suffer in public.
And I’m too young to die.
I am a selfmade man.
And I have plans for the future.
I am in line
for a top job.
I may be moving on
to Detroit.
I am only temporarily
a tie salesman.
I am a good Joe.
I am an open book
to my boss.
I am a complete mystery
to my closest friends.
I am leading a quiet life
in Mike’s Place every day
contemplating my navel.
I am a part
of the body’s long madness.
I have wandered in various nightwoods.
I have leaned in drunken doorways.
I have written wild stories
without punctuation.
I am the man.
I was there.
I suffered
I have sat in an uneasy chair.
I am a tear of the sun.
I am a hill
where poets run.
I invented the alphabet
after watching the flight of cranes
who made letters with their legs.
I am a lake upon a plain.
I am a word
in a tree.
I am a hill of poetry.
I am a raid
on the inarticulate.
I have dreamt
that all my teeth fell out
but my tongue lived
to tell the tale.
For I am a still
of poetry.
I am a bank of song.
I am a playerpiano
in an abandoned casino
on a seaside esplanade
in a dense fog
still playing.
I see a similarity
between the Laughing Woman
and myself.
I have heard the sound of summer
in the rain.
I have seen girls on boardwalks
have complicated sensations.
I understand their hesitations.
I am a gatherer of fruit.
I have seen how kisses
cause euphoria.
I have risked enchantment.
I have seen the Virgin
in an appletree at Chartres
And Saint Joan burn
at the Bella Union.
I have seen giraffes in junglejims
their necks like love
wound around the iron circumstances
of the world.
I have seen the Venus Aphrodite
armless in her drafty corridor.
I have heard a siren sing
at One Fifth Avenue.
I have seen the White Goddess dancing
in the Rue des Beaux Arts
on the Fourteenth of July
and the Beautiful Dame Without Mercy
picking her nose in Chumley’s.
She did not speak English.
She had yellow hair
and a hoarse voice
I am leading a quiet life
in Mike’s Place every day
watching the pocket pool players
making the minestrone scene
wolfing the macaronis
and I have read somewhere
the Meaning of Existence
yet have forgotten
just exactly where.
But I am the man
And I’ll be there.
And I may cause the lips
of those who are asleep
to speak.
And I may make my notebooks
into sheaves of grass.
And I may write my own
eponymous epitaph
instructing the horsemen
to pass.

“Autobiography” from A Coney Island of the Mind. Copyright © 1958

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Crab Nebula

Crab Nebula*

* Not an Astronomy Reference

(Unlike the dust of Galaxies / these
are the scattered thoughts of an old man)

Wince ___ *

Mother and son sit alone in the cold
A kerosene lamp with dirty glass
Paints the room ochre and dust
Rock Cold

She pushes back against the night
Lighting Lucky Strikes one after one in chains
Talking to demons buried deep within the swirling smoke
Rock Cold

Her son sits unseen under the table
Watching the play unfold
Trying to understand a past before he was born
Before he became
Rock Cold

* (wince! , is the sound a rocking chair makes on the ‘push back
wince! , is also a facial tic caused by the winterness of childhood)

First, the ‘tricity went, then the gas, the cold water pipes froze and as a child, I seldom took a bath after that. Thoughts festered in the gloom, sitting alone in those cold dark rooms. From that time on, I was always out of step. A bit off track. Lost in my self, looking in that dusty mirror at a neglected child.
'Sometimes, life be like that'.

As a wounded naked child in the chill of the long night. I pondered the decisions in my life and could find fault with none other than my' self. It was I, that rejected the wisdom of others experience, going my own way in arrogant delusions defiance. With too much pride and too late in the game to change, I accept my fate of being erased from the ‘Book of Life.

Carried on wisps of whispered kisses, I clutched and grabbed on, to hold my place, rather than drift away from the face that had borne the me I am. Pushed from behind by blinded eyes, (not drawn by a need to fly) I was thrust into the cold air and sea, floating on coarse cloth tearing me, away from all that was maternal. Forever from that moment on, I lived a dream that never happened. Searching highways for familiar paths to take me back to the beginnings and the traumas of being born too soon. 'Not me, not me, (I cried) choose another other than I'. Too soon they had cut the cord and I am now undone. Now I must forever run, hide and seek, until the womb of those dreams becomes the tomb of clay beneath my feet. Till even the dust of me is washed away. I would forever have wished that I had never been born only to die. Except that I, remain in the dream of those who believed my being born was because they were once in Love.

Continually lost, looking for that familiar space in my genetic memory, that far removed place of ancient lives and times of my night wanderings. I am man become as homing pigeon. Caught in the middle of a magnetic ion storm. Having lost direction to where I belong, I wander the forever. looking for that warm sweet breast and the loving sound of the eternal Mother.

A flowering struggle was the birth of a cold day of gray such as this. Reminiscent of my own, and yet I too somehow came to exist. Un-kissed by the warmth of Sun, dwelling in the damp and gloom. Pushed aside as runt, stunted in growth, overshadowed by others that stretched out too soon to reach the light. They quickly burned off and I was left to stay, so that I might show my discontent and say: 'Such is life here, on this side of the shade'.

A cold front moved across the Hudson River, settling into the concrete streets of Hell's Kitchen. A Postal canvas hamper cried in its wheels while being pushed by a scavenger collecting cardboard refuse. Impatient horns made known their intent. A woman missing teeth with an affluent smile, rattled a paper cup asking for change giving God's blessing in return, and I, lost in my own disappointments barely noticed the Opera's drama. Unawares that I had been ‘caste, in the role as an extra.

The Moon was hidden behind skyline spires, as are the passions that were once desired. Though echoes are mere mutters beneath torrential rains awash in gutters. The homeless bodies are wracked in sadness. Their minds mired in madness. They often weep. Then they scribe wishes for love on paper scraps. Sticking them into the buildings cracks. Wrapping hopes in vague traditions under conditions no one else could bear. Such is the life we live seemingly forever. We all fitfully sleep, dream and hope, that sanity still exists somewhere out there.

Jumping the turnstile intending to ride the train for free. What I saw was not as nice as I had hoped and dreamed. The Stations were filled at every stop with tired people and weary cops. Platforms lighted in cold neon temptations, with scent of Carmel Corn and urination's. Then I heard the conductors static cry... 'Utopia Station, is closed for construction,
this train is now running express and will pass it by'.

A lonely rams horn sounds where once fresh fountain waters flowed. Men now slept in hovels of cardboard boxes, mumbling in the winters cold. Shaking Miter heads wail, cry and point to their altars denied. Rubble is all that remains of a world gone terribly wrong. Proud voices quieted of their militant marching song. Crippled hands wave to days of glory passed. Fueled by greed that was never meant to last. Merely a tease and a bribe to follow another war yet to come. After another generation had lost their last remaining son.

'Moon of many names, come out from your hiding', show your true face of blood and shed your pretense of ‘Romance. Falling leaves whispered your true nature and changing seasons have announced that ‘Ten Colds, will thin the herd, before the realization cometh that WE are the Harvest.

There are times as your mind travels on a scattered past, flitting about from first to last, or perhaps all out of sync, trying to find that link to today. A reason to step out of sorrow. Cross that bridge to tomorrow, now hidden by low lying clouds of gray. As newborn birds try to learn to fly, my own wings ragged and dry, wishing I had a reason to soar above the rest and test once again the mourning sky.

Each day I study the script thus far writ, not by the author of us all, rather the chronicler that lives within. The author's abstract and dubious wit, is the final act' and is hidden and unclear. Each must play their part on Faith alone. If not, then randomness and chaos will ensue. It is not for us to discern the time of the curtains fall or what we must endure for remaining true. Daily actions are mere rehearsals for the end. Now as evening draws to a close, not all know the one who will lead the pack. Rather, they believe the one who thinks he knows, ‘the Dreams of Winter Rain.

Wandering nights in my sleep, crossing streets that have no traffic. I am aware that I'm getting closer to home. Exchanging converses with those I meet, there is a familiarity I recognize through eyes that seem to be the same as my own. Upon my waking, I discern there is an understanding I should have known, that we do not arrive there, until our time here on earth has finally and inevitably flown.

Keeping time with the thump of the road. Heel hitting gravel on shoulders unpaved. Adjusting the strap of pack upon my back, I gave it all I had. Now in restless sleep, faithfully I keep the rhythm going on in my head. As I, now much older lay infirm upon my bed. It drives 'the wife, insane. She does not understand why in dreams I go astray. It seems to her, I purpose to ruin her rest. She does not know the lasting lust of youthful legs spent in freedoms search upon the open road.

Words are gathered, arranged, exchanged, articulated and emphasized, thrust before our eyes and into our consciousness. There is no echo. No response. Nothing has changed save the settling of dust and the natural decay of things. Celebrity has not been my goal, nor the acquisition of diamonds or coal. Rather to understand and to know, the why of me.

Fools on the Tarot Card with puppies yapping at their feet. Happy with stick and puffy clouds overhead. Stepping off into the abyss, kissing goodbye their life unnoticed. Interrupting fantasies and dreams. I am thrust into the face of the surreal. Riots in the street for lack of food, or clean water to drink and economic chaos. War planes raining down tears. Waves of sludge, volcanic ash and then comes a brief peace with the end of the Evening News, dancing bears and sour singing divas lull us back into foolishness.

Snow as cold powder measured in more feet than me, drifts up against wood framed houses. icicles dripping off eaves. Bare black branches cracking ‘staccato in the concerto of my childhood dreams, in a world where the clouds are blue and the sky dirty green.
'Life is what it is. Cold and mean'.

As I walk the streets through Subway steam oblivious to the thoughts of others. Their wants and needs, lusts and greed. Unwed Mothers and children crying, hungry, homeless, cold and dying from cheap wine, with nowhere to safely sleep. All that remains is pride. Of what? Embarrassed shame? A strangers name? Nothing remains in who I had hoped to be.

Cold night moon. Winter cold. New Years old cold familiar as broken bones. Too tight shoes, hole in my Soul, where the warm fell away lost, pain too large to lose, carried as a cloak over one shoulder as I leant on a black painted limping stick. I should have embraced the Tao. Where NO thing is worth the seeking and 'the pain of life, just is'.

Plod the men, trying to stride. Their steps half and halt, burdened by the faults of uneven streets, always grading up. Plod another step, another stair tread climbed, beyond where they should have stayed to let the world pass them by. Sometime they rest, to reflect the remains of yesterdays. Only the face of strangers change. What do we hope to find around the corner, down the street? A friendly smile in those we meet? or perhaps proof exists, GOD or some other curiosity.

I made up all those dreams and memories that make me who I am. My life barely made a difference, but then I never gave a damn. Somehow I knew that this could never last. For me there was no future only an uncertain past. Anyway... they were only whispers while standing in the tall weeds of grass.

Others caught words in their understanding. Concepts of math and GOD that I could not. Perhaps I in my rebellion chose instead to catch dreams of what could have been, or better yet, should be. Like all those things that were swirling around inside of me. I found comfort there in the dusty dim. Pictures projected upon my inner mental scrim. Words did not come from my lips. They were all there, locked up tight in my mind. They can keep their happy song as my silence lay at their feet. I kicked and scuffed my shoe, thinking wordlessly, ‘What is wrong with me seeing things differently from the others'?

I did not wish to get old. In a way, I am surprised to see I am still alive. The only benefit I can find, is, I do not have to do as I am told. I do not have to smile or pretend, that I care what others say. I do not expect tomorrow, I only live for today. I want nothing more. If I actually believed wishes really came true, I would wish the same for you.

Having always sought the self, that within which I do not yet know. That evolving creature that is borne of hope, that I might still become more then I am. Foolish as I am I wanted to be who I suspect I was meant to be, before the hammer slings and controlling others began their molding abuses. Before the brain washers wash away my individuality. How audacious I must appear to others. How arrogant I must seem to be, to just want to be me.

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Songs in Absence

Farewell, farewell! Her vans the vessel tries,
His iron might the potent engine plies:
Haste, winged words, and ere ’tis useless, tell,
Farewell, farewell, yet once again, farewell.
The docks, the streets, the houses past us fly,
Without a strain the great ship marches by;
Ye fleeting banks take up the words we tell,
And say for us yet once again, farewell.

The waters widen—on without a strain
The strong ship moves upon the open main;
She knows the seas, she hears the true waves swell,
She seems to say farewell, again farewell.

The billows whiten and the deep seas heave;
Fly once again, sweet words, to her I leave,
With winds that blow return, and seas that swell,
Farewell, farewell, say once again, farewell.

Fresh in my face and rippling to my feet
The winds and waves an answer soft repeat,
In sweet, sweet words far brought they seem to tell,
Farewell, farewell, yet once again, farewell.

Night gathers fast; adieu, thou fading shore!
The land we look for next must lie before;
Hence, foolish tears! weak thoughts, no more rebel,
Farewell, farewell, a last, a last farewell.

Yet not, indeed, ah not till more than sea
And more than space divide my love and me,
Till more than waves and winds between us swell,
Farewell, a last, indeed, a last farewell.

Ye flags of Piccadilly,
Where I posted up and down,
And wished myself so often
Well away from you and town,—
Are the people walking quietly
And steady on their feet,
Cabs and omnibuses plying
Just as usual in the street?

Do the houses look as upright
As of old they used to be,
And does nothing seem affected
By the pitching of the sea?

Through the Green Park iron railings
Do the quick pedestrians pass?
Are the little children playing
Round the plane-tree in the grass?

This squally wild north-wester
With which our vessel fights,
Does it merely serve with you to
Carry up some paper kites?

Ye flags of Piccadilly,
Which I hated so, I vow
I could wish with all my heart
You were underneath me now!

Come home, come home! and where is home for me,
Whose ship is driving o’er the trackless sea?
To the frail bark here plunging on its way,
To the wild waters, shall I turn and say
To the plunging bark, or to the salt sea foam,
You are my home.
Fields once I walked in, faces once I knew,
Familiar things so old my heart believed them true,
These far, far back, behind me lie, before
The dark clouds mutter, and the deep seas roar,
And speak to them that ’neath and o’er them roam
No words of home.

Beyond the clouds, beyond the waves that roar,
There may indeed, or may not be, a shore,
Where fields as green, and hands and hearts as true,
The old forgotten semblance may renew,
And offer exiles driven far o’er the salt sea foam
Another home.

But toil and pain must wear out many a day,
And days bear weeks, and weeks bear months away,
Ere, if at all, the weary traveller hear,
With accents whispered in his wayworn ear,
A voice he dares to listen to, say, Come
To thy true home.

Come home, come home! and where a home hath he
Whose ship is driving o’er the driving sea?
Through clouds that mutter, and o’er waves that roar,
Say, shall we find, or shall we not, a shore
That is, as is not ship or ocean foam,
Indeed our home?

Green fields of England! wheresoe’er
Across this watery waste we fare,
Your image at our hearts we bear
Green fields of England, everywhere.
Sweet eyes in England, I must flee
Past where the waves’ last confines be,
Ere your loved smile I cease to see,
Sweet eyes in England, dear to me.

Dear home in England, safe and fast
If but in thee my lot lie cast,
The past shall seem a nothing past
To thee, dear home, if won at last;
Dear home in England, won at last.

Come back, come back, behold with straining mast
And swelling sail, behold her steaming fast;
With one new sun to see her voyage o’er,
With morning light to touch her native shore.
Come back, come back.
Come back, come back, while westward labouring by,
With sailless yards, a bare black hulk we fly.
See how the gale we fight with sweeps her back,
To our lost home, on our forsaken track.
Come back, come back.

Come back, come back, across the flying foam,
We hear faint far-off voices call us home,
Come back, ye seem to say; ye seek in vain;
We went, we sought, and homeward turned again.
Come back, come back.

Come back, come back; and whither back or why?
To fan quenched hopes, forsaken schemes to try;
Walk the old fields; pace the familiar street;
Dream with the idlers, with the bards compete.
Come back, come back.

Come back, come back; and whither and for what?
To finger idly some old Gordian knot,
Unskilled to sunder, and too weak to cleave,
And with much toil attain to half-believe.
Come back, come back.

Come back, come back; yea back, indeed, do go
Sighs panting thick, and tears that want to flow;
Fond fluttering hopes upraise their useless wings,
And wishes idly struggle in the strings;
Come back, come back.

Come back, come back, more eager than the breeze,
The flying fancies sweep across the seas,
And lighter far than ocean’s flying foam,
The hearts fond message hurries to its home.
Come back, come back

Come back, come back!
Back flies the foam; the hoisted flag streams back;
The long smoke wavers on the homeward track,
Back fly with winds things which the winds obey,
The strong ship follows its appointed way.

Some future day when what is now is not,
When all old faults and follies are forgot,
And thoughts of difference passed like dreams away,
We’ll meet again, upon some future day.
When all that hindered, all that vexed our love,
As tall rank weeds will climb the blade above,
When all but it has yielded to decay,
We’ll meet again upon some future day.

When we have proved, each on his course alone,
The wider world, and learnt whats now unknown,
Have made life clear, and worked out each a way,
We’ll meet again,—we shall have much to say.

With happier mood, and feelings born anew,
Our boyhood’s bygone fancies we’ll review,
Talk o’er old talks, play as we used to play,
And meet again, on many a future day.

Some day, which oft our hearts shall yearn to see,
In some far year, though distant yet to be,
Shall we indeed,—ye winds and waters, say!—
Meet yet again, upon some future day?

Where lies the land to which the ship would go?
Far, far ahead, is all her seamen know.
And where the land she travels from? Away,
Far, far behind, is all that they can say.
On sunny noons upon the deck’s smooth face,
Linked arm in arm, how pleasant here to pace;
Or, o’er the stern reclining, watch below
The foaming wake far widening as we go.

On stormy nights when wild north-westers rave,
How proud a thing to fight with wind and wave!
The dripping sailor on the reeling mast
Exults to bear, and scorns to wish it past.

Where lies the land to which the ship would go?
Far, far ahead, is all her seamen know.
And where the land she travels from? Away,
Far, far behind, is all that they can say.

The mighty ocean rolls and raves,
To part us with its angry waves;
But arch on arch from shore to shore,
In a vast fabric reaching o’er,
With careful labours daily wrought
By steady hope and tender thought,
The wide and weltering waste above
Our hearts have bridged it with their love.

There fond anticipations fly
To rear the growing structure high;
Dear memories upon either side
Combine to make it large and wide.

There, happy fancies day by day,
New courses sedulously lay;
There soft solicitudes, sweet fears,
And doubts accumulate, and tears.

While the pure purpose of the soul,
To form of many parts a whole,
To make them strong and hold them true,
From end to end, is carried through.

Then when the waters war between,
Upon the masonry unseen,
Secure and swift, from shore to shore,
With silent footfall travelling o’er,

Our sundered spirits come and go.
Hither and thither, to and fro,
Pass and repass, now linger near,
Now part, anew to reappear.

With motions of a glad surprise,
We meet each other’s wondering eyes,
At work, at play, when people talk,
And when we sleep, and when we walk.

Each dawning day my eyelids see
You come, methinks, across to me,
And I, at every hour anew
Could dream I travelled o’er to you.

That out of sight is out of mind
Is true of most we leave behind;
It is not sure, nor can be true,
My own and only love, of you.
They were my friends, ’twas sad to part;
Almost a tear began to start;
But yet as things run on they find
That out of sight is out of mind.

For men, that will not idlers be,
Must lend their hearts to things they see;
And friends who leave them far behind,
When out of sight are out of mind.

I blame it not; I think that when
The cold and silent meet again,
Kind hearts will yet as erst be kind,
’Twas ‘out of sight,’ was ‘out of mind.’

I knew it when we parted, well,
I knew it, but was loth to tell;
I felt before, what now I find,
That ‘out of sight’ is ‘out of mind.’

That friends, however friends they were,
Still deal with things as things occur,
And that, excepting for the blind,
Whats out of sight is out of mind.

But love, the poets say, is blind;
So out of sight and out of mind
Need not, nor will, I think, be true,
My own and only love, of you.

Were you with me, or I with you,
Theres nought, methinks, I might not do;
Could venture here, and venture there,
And never fear, nor ever care.
To things before, and things behind,
Could turn my thoughts, and turn my mind,
On this and that, day after day,
Could dare to throw myself away.

Secure, when all was o’er, to find
My proper thought, my perfect mind,
And unimpaired receive anew
My own and better self in you.

Am I with you, or you with me?
Or in some blessed place above,
Where neither lands divide nor sea,
Are we united in our love?
Oft while in longing here I lie,
That wasting ever still endures;
My soul out from me seems to fly,
And half-way, somewhere, meet with yours.

Somewhere—but where I cannot guess—
Beyond, may be, the bound of space,
The liberated spirits press
And meet, bless heaven, and embrace.

It seems not either here nor there,
Somewhere between us up above,
A region of a clearer air,
The dwelling of a purer love.

Were I with you, or you with me,
My love, how happy should we be;
Day after day it is sad cheer
To have you there, while I am here.
My darling’s face I cannot see,
My darling’s voice is mute for me,
My fingers vainly seek the hair
Of her that is not here, but there.

In a strange land, to her unknown,
I sit and think of her alone;
And in that happy chamber where
We sat, she sits, nor has me there.

Yet still the happy thought recurs
That she is mine, as I am hers,
That she is there, as I am here,
And loves me, whether far or near.

The mere assurance that she lives
And loves me, full contentment gives;
I need not doubt, despond, or fear,
For, she is there, and I am here.

Were you with me, or I with you,
Theres nought methinks I could not do;
And nothing that, for your dear sake,
I might not dare to undertake.
With thousands standing by as fit,
More keen, perhaps more needing it,
To be the first some job to spy,
And jump and call out, Here am I!

O for ones miserable self
To ask a pittance of the pelf,
To claim, however small, a share,
Which other men might think so fair:

It was not worth it! a first time
A thought upon it seemed a crime;
To stoop and pick the dirty pence,
A taint upon ones innocence.

My own! with nothing sordid, base,
Or mean, we would our love disgrace;
Yet something I methinks could do,
Were you with me, or I with you:

Some misconstruction would sustain;
Count some humiliation gain;
Make unabashed a righteous claim,
And profess merit without shame:

Apply for service; day by day
Seek honest work for honest pay,
Without a fear by any toil
The over-cleanly hand to soil:

Secure in safety to return,
And every pettiness unlearn;
And unimpaired still find anew
My own and better self in you.

O ship, ship, ship,
That travellest over the sea,
What are the tidings, I pray thee,
Thou bearest hither to me?
Are they tidings of comfort and joy,
That shall make me seem to see
The sweet lips softly moving
And whispering love to me?

Or are they of trouble and grief,
Estrangement, sorrow, and doubt,
To turn into torture my hopes,
And drive me from Paradise out?

O ship, ship, ship,
That comest over the sea,
Whatever it be thou bringest,
Come quickly with it to me.

poem by from Mari Magno or Tales on Board (1853)Report problemRelated quotes
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