Ask Any Soldier

Ask Any Soldier

 

“When your friend

Gets killed, part of you

Gets killed”

 

A testimony and

Remembrance for

USA Memorial Day

 

Which I can only

Guess is right since

I have friends gone

In other ways, and

They and those parts

Of me yet feel lost

 

To lose through war

When targets seem

A random strategy:

 

Colors, shapes, tribes

On a map or guessed

At over a hill

 

Loss of life or partial

Life must feel

 

The height of

Unselected cruelty

On a pillar of

Senselessness

 

If a citizen salute

Might count, then

Listen to one

 

Expressing in

Tribute to

Patriot sacrifice

And personal

Complexity in

Service

 

Thanks is not enough,

So memory is offered

 

And legacy of

Better nations

 

C L Couch

 

(quotation from the AHC channel)

Neighbor House Afire

Neighbor House Afire

 

I saw the newspaper article:

It looked like someone else’s

News

 

But it happened to them

 

Before newspaper-reading,

I received the message;

Something caught fire in

Their garage then, needing

Room, the fire flexed

 

Garage gone now—the car,

Too, the house and who

Knows what else damaged

 

Fire out, three days now

 

Insurance is good, my friends

Tell me

 

All are well; the cats were

Rescued first by the one

Human who was home

 

Now in alternative shelter,

Plans by all in unison are

Made (except the cats who

Make their own), even while

Breathing takes over again

 

Pray for my friends—they’re

Raw in crisis

 

And I won’t presume to know

All that they need

Psalm 45, singing this song for you

Psalm 45

singing this song for you

 

I don’t mean to sing about the

Other, compelling as that value is

 

I don’t mean a covered-over me,

Secret subject I would rather

Talk about

 

I mean you, first—my friend,

Lover, maker, and my better

 

Half (so to say) except that you

Are all

 

Now, secondly, to you, who you

Are extended from the words

 

Were it not for you, there would

Be none of this

 

For all you are and what you are

Not

 

The rest is not silence (should

Shakespeare wonder), not if

There’s Interacting

 

We are at this moment closer to

The one who, all-relating, started

 

The first process, requiring more

Than one

Red Sky at Morning

Red Sky at Morning

 

The Coast Guard claims

dangerous waters off the

coastlands of Northern

California

 

The Guard is right, of

course—and will that alter

our decisions for safety

sake

 

Well, I can hope so

 

But it seems to me that

warnings of danger mean

a challenge, a contest

to some,

 

even an extraordinary

holiday from which some

shall not return after

 

A last holiday—for some,

not me, too appealing

Fatima, Medjugorje

Fatima, Medjugorje

 

When Mary appears,

The sky dances

 

Circles of light and faith

Are made

 

First for children

 

There are those who

Doubt, which doesn’t

Matter (though the

Doubters matter)

 

God loves them, and

Maybe God’s mother will

Visit them sometime

 

And if you don’t believe

I love you, still

 

Maybe we’ll all gather

At Guadalupe where

Grown-ups can see

Her, if innocent enough

 

Though I’m never sure

If that means me

 

Better Kilig

Better Kilig

for Rosema

 

my friends in Tagalog

tell me that kilig means

tingling anticipation

right before sensation

 

and then the sensation,

too

 

a good word revealing

prospects of all kinds

of pleasure

 

God invented this, you

know—and if thinking

about God and pleasure

seems out of sorts to

you,

 

then let’s re-think

pleasure

 

 

Rosema is A Reading Writer,

https://areadingwritr.wordpress.com/

Art in Anxious Time

Art in Anxious Time

 

I’m anxious and it’s

hard to write

 

art expressed in pain:

I don’t know how

those artists do it

 

maybe it’s big fear

and nihilistic agony

that keeps them

going, that prompts

expression that might

change the world

and everything

beyond

 

the gardeners at

Hiroshima and

Nagasaki must

accomplish this

 

I have small pains

and many things that

trouble me—yes,

sometimes they are

bad as in raw—

unformed, unfixed,

 

though I think the

only one that might

be changed through

treating these in art

is me

 

still, through all

the small-town

clay-house conflicts

I might strive to

express something

new

 

something that might

relate to you

 

 

 

(the teacher and good

sport in me should tell

you that clay house

is a Puritan metaphor)

Psalm 44, a sleep-song

Psalm 44

a sleep-song

 

I nap and still am tired

Good, maybe I’ll sleep

Through the night

Napping was necessary

I was too sore and too

Worn-through

I could have stayed awake,

I guess,

Except I couldn’t

 

Will you still love me when

I’m gone away?

I mean, eventually I’ll

Be closer to you than

I was ever before,

Than I am now:

 

I like you and respect you

I seek to be near you

Is this ever enough to

Bring a dream of you

Or, dreamless, a

Long time of sleep

Because I’m loved

 

Throughout this night

That you have made?

 

I can hope so

Not because I’m smart

But because I’m yours

Psalm 43, miracle-song

Psalm 43

miracle-song

 

a miracle of unexpected grace

 

I paraphrase while reading a

line of text, which in fact ends

differently

 

but maybe that is what miracle

is, unexpected science and

grace, an unplanned gift from

divinity,

 

which we need so badly (or so

well)

 

no judgment in receiving, who

is worthy (who is not), no more

than in evaluating the giver

 

something is saved, and that’s

what matters:

 

material of miracles making up

the rest