Today I found an
Old Photograph.
Brushing the dust off, I slowly sipped a draught of Memory of Youth.
Who knew that an image could stab so piercingly, so coldly,
With such a mélange of sehnsucht, nostalgia, and regret?
Reeling, I opened my eyes
To find myself in a dark wood,
Far from the straight path.
Sunday, October 28, 2018
Saturday, October 1, 2016
August
August is a shameless flirt
With coy blue skies that tease of coming Fall.
Her hot breezes hint of cooler purpose,
Shyly rustling autumnal bells of melancholy.
Oh cruel, cruel lady! Forbear!
Our hearts cry out for deliverance
From the pangs and sorrows of summer’s blasting Sun,
Cry out for the sweet embrace of Fall.
Thursday, October 2, 2014
Business Conference
Throngs of worshippers surge through the doors,
Their steps silently ringing on padded floors –
Priests and high priests of Mammon
And all their train of deacons,
Performing their dark rites –
Hands shaking hands, hands greedy for money, for power,
While acolytes ply their instruments,
Chattering on cellphones and flashing eager smiles.
What profit to gain the whole world?
Their steps silently ringing on padded floors –
Priests and high priests of Mammon
And all their train of deacons,
Performing their dark rites –
Hands shaking hands, hands greedy for money, for power,
While acolytes ply their instruments,
Chattering on cellphones and flashing eager smiles.
What profit to gain the whole world?
Wednesday, October 1, 2014
No Legacy So Rich
A change of format from the norm – here's a short story I wrote called No Legacy So Rich.
Like many veterans, Frank was proud of his service. He was more than proud — he was obsessed. When I first came to work for him, I couldn’t help but notice the Army paraphernalia scattered around the house. I asked him if he had served.
“Korea. Hill Eerie. 45th Infantry.” he said, shifting slightly in his chair to readjust his oxygen tube.
“I saw things there I don’t want to remember; I don’t like to talk about it.”
Looking around the room, I doubted this. From the regimental flag on the wall to the Korean War veterans hat on his head, his entire living room was a shrine to the Korean War. He had old medals, prints of famous war photographs, even an old bayonet sitting on a shelf next to numerous volumes of books about the war. Unsurprisingly, Frank often watched war documentaries, especially about Korea. But he never told me any more about the Battle of Hill Eerie.
Frank lived alone. His siblings and parents had died long before and he had never married, but he had a host of loving nieces and nephews. He was especially fond of his nephew Paul, who was so inspired by his uncle that he had joined the Army. Now, he was a sergeant and had been to Iraq twice.
Frank was neat, always had been. Of course, now he couldn’t clean like he used to, but that was my job. I had to take special care to make sure he had room for his motorized scooter. Frank was fiercely independent and insisted on dressing himself, despite the difficulty he now had. Although he was easy to get along with, he was often nervous and could be demanding in occasional spurts of irritability.
One day while doing the daily vacuuming, I saw Frank holding a letter and sobbing uncontrollably. I asked him if he had received some bad news.
“I’m a monster!” he shouted back. “A monster and a fraud!”
“Surely it’s not as bad as that.” I tried my most soothing voice.
“What would you say if I told you that I never served in the Army? Would you hate me?”
I was shocked. “No” I hesitated. “No, but. . . .”
“It’s true. I’ve never even been to Korea. I was so scared! You have to understand! I’d seen Dad and my uncles come back from Europe. I knew what war was like. I was terrified out of my mind when that draft order came. So I joined the Quakers, but I didn’t tell any of my family. I just objected and went away when my draft came up and stayed away until the war was over. I was scared, but too proud to admit it. So I lied.”
He started weeping again. I didn’t know what to say, so I awkwardly stared at him and waited.
“Sometimes when you lie, the lie gets bigger and bigger. It sort of took on a life of its own. I, I was scared that someone would find out, you know. So I hunted around and found this guy in Seattle. He made me fake exit papers – honorable discharge and all that. I just sort of lived the lie ever since.”
He had stopped crying, but just stared at the letter like a broken man. “I don’t know what to say. . . .” I stammered unhelpfully.
He shoved the letter across the table towards me. “See for yourself.” It was a letter from the Army granting him conscientious objector status. I looked it over and took a deep breath.
“You know, I’ve always heard that honesty is the best policy. I know, cliché. But you should tell Paul. Who knows? Maybe you’ll feel better.”
Frank was unusually quiet for the rest of the day. That evening as I was leaving, Frank called me. “I’m going to do it. Paul’s coming home this weekend and I’m going to tell him. This has been on my chest for more than 60 years. It will be nice to be free.”
When I came back the next morning, I passed an ambulance pulling out of the driveway. Frank’s nephew Paul was standing on the porch — he had been crying. “He passed in his sleep.” He said quietly. “He looked . . . peaceful. Relaxed. Like I haven’t ever seen him look before.”
I went to the funeral. These days, there’s no need to describe the guns, the sharp military commands of the pallbearers, the flag-draped coffin. These images have entered the American psyche. I must have looked puzzled, because afterwards Paul walked up to me and put his hand on my shoulder.
“I know. I saw the letter a long time ago.”
“How did he get all this?” I asked.
“You mean the military funeral? All you have to do is give the VA the discharge papers. Turns out, the VA was terrible at record keeping from Korea. I don’t know, maybe I shouldn’t have done it. But that was his life, that was who he was. It wasn’t for me to decide, to out him to his friends and family. Besides, I’ve seen war – I can’t blame anyone for not wanting to go. He may not have fought, but he was a good man who loved his country. He was a good man.”
Like many veterans, Frank was proud of his service. He was more than proud — he was obsessed. When I first came to work for him, I couldn’t help but notice the Army paraphernalia scattered around the house. I asked him if he had served.
“Korea. Hill Eerie. 45th Infantry.” he said, shifting slightly in his chair to readjust his oxygen tube.
“I saw things there I don’t want to remember; I don’t like to talk about it.”
Looking around the room, I doubted this. From the regimental flag on the wall to the Korean War veterans hat on his head, his entire living room was a shrine to the Korean War. He had old medals, prints of famous war photographs, even an old bayonet sitting on a shelf next to numerous volumes of books about the war. Unsurprisingly, Frank often watched war documentaries, especially about Korea. But he never told me any more about the Battle of Hill Eerie.
Frank lived alone. His siblings and parents had died long before and he had never married, but he had a host of loving nieces and nephews. He was especially fond of his nephew Paul, who was so inspired by his uncle that he had joined the Army. Now, he was a sergeant and had been to Iraq twice.
Frank was neat, always had been. Of course, now he couldn’t clean like he used to, but that was my job. I had to take special care to make sure he had room for his motorized scooter. Frank was fiercely independent and insisted on dressing himself, despite the difficulty he now had. Although he was easy to get along with, he was often nervous and could be demanding in occasional spurts of irritability.
One day while doing the daily vacuuming, I saw Frank holding a letter and sobbing uncontrollably. I asked him if he had received some bad news.
“I’m a monster!” he shouted back. “A monster and a fraud!”
“Surely it’s not as bad as that.” I tried my most soothing voice.
“What would you say if I told you that I never served in the Army? Would you hate me?”
I was shocked. “No” I hesitated. “No, but. . . .”
“It’s true. I’ve never even been to Korea. I was so scared! You have to understand! I’d seen Dad and my uncles come back from Europe. I knew what war was like. I was terrified out of my mind when that draft order came. So I joined the Quakers, but I didn’t tell any of my family. I just objected and went away when my draft came up and stayed away until the war was over. I was scared, but too proud to admit it. So I lied.”
He started weeping again. I didn’t know what to say, so I awkwardly stared at him and waited.
“Sometimes when you lie, the lie gets bigger and bigger. It sort of took on a life of its own. I, I was scared that someone would find out, you know. So I hunted around and found this guy in Seattle. He made me fake exit papers – honorable discharge and all that. I just sort of lived the lie ever since.”
He had stopped crying, but just stared at the letter like a broken man. “I don’t know what to say. . . .” I stammered unhelpfully.
He shoved the letter across the table towards me. “See for yourself.” It was a letter from the Army granting him conscientious objector status. I looked it over and took a deep breath.
“You know, I’ve always heard that honesty is the best policy. I know, cliché. But you should tell Paul. Who knows? Maybe you’ll feel better.”
Frank was unusually quiet for the rest of the day. That evening as I was leaving, Frank called me. “I’m going to do it. Paul’s coming home this weekend and I’m going to tell him. This has been on my chest for more than 60 years. It will be nice to be free.”
When I came back the next morning, I passed an ambulance pulling out of the driveway. Frank’s nephew Paul was standing on the porch — he had been crying. “He passed in his sleep.” He said quietly. “He looked . . . peaceful. Relaxed. Like I haven’t ever seen him look before.”
I went to the funeral. These days, there’s no need to describe the guns, the sharp military commands of the pallbearers, the flag-draped coffin. These images have entered the American psyche. I must have looked puzzled, because afterwards Paul walked up to me and put his hand on my shoulder.
“I know. I saw the letter a long time ago.”
“How did he get all this?” I asked.
“You mean the military funeral? All you have to do is give the VA the discharge papers. Turns out, the VA was terrible at record keeping from Korea. I don’t know, maybe I shouldn’t have done it. But that was his life, that was who he was. It wasn’t for me to decide, to out him to his friends and family. Besides, I’ve seen war – I can’t blame anyone for not wanting to go. He may not have fought, but he was a good man who loved his country. He was a good man.”
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
Illinois Night
I have to travel outside the city
I have to get away from
People and the fake little lights of people,
Erected against Nature to hold at bay the
Purity of stars.
Lurid lights, shining on weary people,
Casting a grim spell of weariness and emptiness –
Oh, wake up! Nature's Night is calling you!
But people would rather hide behind imposter suns,
Vainly grasping at a dream of permanent day,
Spreading their neon blight across the globe.
Who can blame them? They are afraid
That night will overtake them,
That the fierce chastity of the stars will undo them.
The stars keep silent vigil, looking for the ones
Brave enough to seek them, and silent enough to join cricket choirs
As they worship in lonely cathedrals.
But beware – the stars will engrave their beauty into
The deepest parts of your soul.
I have to get away from
People and the fake little lights of people,
Erected against Nature to hold at bay the
Purity of stars.
Lurid lights, shining on weary people,
Casting a grim spell of weariness and emptiness –
Oh, wake up! Nature's Night is calling you!
But people would rather hide behind imposter suns,
Vainly grasping at a dream of permanent day,
Spreading their neon blight across the globe.
Who can blame them? They are afraid
That night will overtake them,
That the fierce chastity of the stars will undo them.
The stars keep silent vigil, looking for the ones
Brave enough to seek them, and silent enough to join cricket choirs
As they worship in lonely cathedrals.
But beware – the stars will engrave their beauty into
The deepest parts of your soul.
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
Crucifixus
A tired figure
Struggling against the Judean heat
And the cruel splinters of a cross
Scraping into his flayed back.
Trying to climb the hill,
Ears full of jeering, eyes full of blood,
Heart full of love.
"I thirst!" The soldiers looked up from their
Bickering and bartering.
"Hey, see if you can get him to drink from a sponge!
Wouldn't that be a great prank?
Here's some old vinegar – he's in for a surprise!"
He choked on the vinegar, but was not surprised.
Darkness, complete darkness
Even the soldiers were frightened.
"It is finished!"
Earth shaking, rocks exploding,
Priests covering their eyes in horror
At the exposure of the Holiest Place.
The world ended that day.
What was it like to live on after the end of the world?
Apostles crept around in fear
(Only natural – Eternal God had just been killed!)
Until the dawn broke on a group of women.
"He is risen!"
Not the end of the world; the beginning of the world.
Struggling against the Judean heat
And the cruel splinters of a cross
Scraping into his flayed back.
Trying to climb the hill,
Ears full of jeering, eyes full of blood,
Heart full of love.
"I thirst!" The soldiers looked up from their
Bickering and bartering.
"Hey, see if you can get him to drink from a sponge!
Wouldn't that be a great prank?
Here's some old vinegar – he's in for a surprise!"
He choked on the vinegar, but was not surprised.
Darkness, complete darkness
Even the soldiers were frightened.
"It is finished!"
Earth shaking, rocks exploding,
Priests covering their eyes in horror
At the exposure of the Holiest Place.
The world ended that day.
What was it like to live on after the end of the world?
Apostles crept around in fear
(Only natural – Eternal God had just been killed!)
Until the dawn broke on a group of women.
"He is risen!"
Not the end of the world; the beginning of the world.
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
Untitled (February 2013)
Would that I could purge
Love's perverse hold on me!
I'd laugh and bid Love leave
And walk away
Whistling.
Pure fantasy – Love is nobody's slave,
To be dismissed or summoned on command.
Rather, Love is master,
And I the slave.
If only I had the strength
To break his bonds asunder!
But how can I resist, struggle,
Even breathe,
With only half a heart?
Love's perverse hold on me!
I'd laugh and bid Love leave
And walk away
Whistling.
Pure fantasy – Love is nobody's slave,
To be dismissed or summoned on command.
Rather, Love is master,
And I the slave.
If only I had the strength
To break his bonds asunder!
But how can I resist, struggle,
Even breathe,
With only half a heart?
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