You smiled.
Across the room,
across the miles,
across the years,
across the veil
between the worlds,
you smiled.
At me
you smiled.
You smiled.
It was, it is,
enough.
Shire on the Hudson
29 January 2013
Category Archives: Poem
Enough
Knight of the 21st century
Battered, but unbroken,
he rises.
Beaten, but undefeated,
he rises.
Bruised, but undaunted,
he rises.
The shine long gone,
dents make his armor
appear infected
with a rusty pox.
Still he rises.
Creaks and squeaks,
from metal joints –
or human joints –
fill the air.
Yet still he rises.
There be no dragons,
no endless tasks,
no giants,
but simply living –
decent, loving,
just living,
day by day by
endless day.
And to that quest,
the highest quest,
again he rises,
still he rises.
always he rises.
He rises.
He rises.
He rises.
25 January 2013
Shire on the Hudson
Filed under Poem
Courage
In the morning,
when we gathered,
the early morning,
the cool, quiet morning,
we were not afraid.
And we sang and prayed;
we laughed and smiled;
we marched.
When we saw the hate,
fear spattered us.
When we saw the police,
fear arrested us.
When we saw the batons,
fear battered us.
When we saw the gas,
fear engulfed us.
When we saw the hoses,
fear washed over us.
When we saw the dogs,
fear snarled at us.
When we saw the guns,
fear tore at us.
In the morning,
when we gathered,
the early morning,
the cool, quiet morning,
we were afraid –
sore afraid –
sore, sore afraid.
But we sang and prayed;
we laughed and smiled;
and we marched.
Inspired, on the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.‘s birthday, by the Palestinians, Israelis and internationals who worked nonviolently to protect the village and olive trees of Budrus, and by all who use nonviolence to witness for justice, wholeness and peace.
15 January 2013
Shire on the Hudson
Filed under Current Events, Poem
Drones
Unmanned they prowl
across the sky.
While leaders pose
to justify.
Bombs may be smart,
yet children die.
Let’s also Remember the 176 children Killed by US Drones by Juan Cole
Shire on the Hudson
12 January 2012
Filed under Current Events, New York, Poem
Stones River, 150th
It seems a week for anniversaries. I suppose every week brings them and what really happens is that I notice some of them some of the time. The 150th anniversary of the Battle of Stones River this week caught my attention.
As 2012 draws to a close, I find myself reading a biography of George Thomas. Born in Virginia, educated at West Point, Thomas chose to stay with the Union as Civil War convulsed the United States. He served in the Western Theater of the war where he earned the nickname, “The Rock of Chickamauga” for a defensive stand his troops made during that battle.
Earlier, the men under his command fought at Stones River, Tennessee. From December 31, 1862 through January 2, 1863, forces under the command of Gen. Bragg (CSA) and Gen. Rosecrans (USA) clashed along Stones River. Men in blue and men in gray fought and died in cotton fields and among cedar timbers and in places now remembered as The Slaughter Pen and Hell’s Half Acre. 3,000 men died; the number of men killed, wounded, and missing totaled over 23,000.
In January of 2010, I visited Stones River National Battlefield and Stones River National Cemetery. I experienced mixed emotions: horror, sorrow, pain, pride and more intermingled. The place seems hallowed in ways I can never describe. Walking alone on the boundary trail, every rustling leaf and every squirrel moving on the ground made me feel surrounded by ghosts.
In the end, the cemetery made the greatest impression on me. I thought of those who died in that battle – and in all battles – in all wars. And I ask myself – Why? And I ask myself – How long? And I ask myself – Can the human race not do better?
Row upon row they stand,
across Stones River,
resting under the trees’ shade
in perfect formation:
silent, eternal reminders
of who was lost
and who paid the cost;
of what once was
of what might have been.
Shire on the Hudson
29 July 2011
See you along the Trail.
Filed under National Park, Photo, Poem
In Ramah
I am weeping.
With Rachel, I am weeping.
I am weeping.
Again, I am weeping.
I am weeping.
Inside, I am weeping.
I am weeping.
In all the Ramahs of our world, I am weeping.
I am weeping
and I refuse –
and I will not be –
and I hope to Christ I never will be –
comforted.
Children –
our children all –
are killed
wounded
violated
abandoned
exploited
neglected
misused.
I am weeping.
I will not be comforted.
Outside, I appear calm.
I go about my work.
But within the calm
and amidst the weeping,
I dream of a different world
and I ponder what I may do
to help create that world
For our children – all our children.
I dream and I ponder
and I know I will find answers.
I am weeping.
Inside, I am weeping.
I will not be comforted.
But I will find ways to act.
14 December 2012
New York
Filed under Current Events, Poem
Again
Again
in the night, the fire went out.
Devoid of pity, winter
invaded the room,
assaulted my body –
my thin blanket offered little resistance.
Cold chews my knuckles,
gnaws my knees.
The weak sun forces
pale shafts of light,
but no warmth,
through the dirty window.
I faintly see my breath
as I turn my head
to gaze on gray-black ash
within the fireplace.
For a moment, I ponder:
stay put, let go, give up
Then their faces rise before me
laughing, loving faces,
gone forever yet
somehow with me always.
And for their sake,
and perhaps for my own,
I stretch my painful limbs
and force myself from the bed
to shuffle stiffly across the floor,
light the fire,
begin another day,
again.
3 December 2012
SW 208
MDW – SDF
Filed under Poem
More
We hear more keenly
the words that cut us
than ever our words that wound.
We see more clearly
the faults of others
than ever we see our own.
We feel more deeply
the hurts we suffer
than ever those we inflict.
We speak more clearly
to hurt, to torment
than ever in odes of praise.
We taste more fully
our petty triumphs
than ever another’s pain.
3 December 2012
SW 2162
LGA – MDW
Filed under Poem
remnants
hard-sought,
rest remains
elusive
hard-fought,
sleep remains
unbeaten
elusive,
unbeaten,
exhaustion
remains
17 November 2012
Shire on the Hudson
Heart sore
Heart sore
I sit and watch
I listen and pray
I write and call
as once more
rockets fly
jets roar
dealing
death
pain
grief
destruction.
Heart sore
I sit and watch
I listen and pray
I write and call
as people kill
as people die.
Heart sore
I sit and watch
I listen and pray
I write and call
impotent,
incompetent
in safety
in privilege.
Heart sore.
15 November 2012
Shire on the Hudson
Filed under Current Events, Poem
Along the Graybeard Trail 