Marching,
Foots strangling every strand of grass,
Arms breaking through the wind,
Hands changed into fists,
Eye sockets only fixed on a skull,
A barricade of unseen lines demarcates each group,
Sweat creates a path on their mundane skins
And their ‘Kaki’ sucks it up and having no hope
Of getting back to their wardrobe,
For it is heading to the battle ground
With its owner,
To live,
To die
With him,
Whether he conquers,
Whether he suffers defeat,
Whether the innocent blood

in a pew
singing hymns
beautiful
the oil paint
and green lawn
wood warmth
the crowded din
Everything then
was a Sin
no boys kissing
boys...nor girls
loving girls
God had a plan
for them!!
war was bad
but David slew
the man of a
woman he wanted
God's favorite King
turbulent town
the sinning went
on
no lightening bolt
from Heaven
we would have
lost half the citizens

A Soldier’s legacy

The silence of the enemy
who made my blood run cold
is aging me quite rapidly
yes, I am growing old

Electric blues and jungle shoes
have preyed upon my youth
and stranded me in fantasy
unrecognized by truth

The ignited candle
burns straight
till butterflies try
to it, penetrate

let the brightness of light
flame within the
candle
and
the world be
the harbinger of
calmness and
solitude...

the flickering fire glows
as ever, within
the wavering candle,
seemingly everlasting
is now no more

I know you are not here.
I can not see you
or hear you
or talk to you.

I live my life
same old ways.
It still runs on those tracks you laid down
so quietly.

I laugh, smile,
sigh and frown,
getting on with the everyday.
Then, from nowhere
it comes,
that crushing blow
leaving me numb
with grief.

I can not move or speak.
Mind locks on the
small, frail man
in the hospital bed.
That room,
those last minutes.
We were all there
time suspended.

I forgive my father
for not knowing my name nor face,
or that I soiled my diapers.
I forgive him
for the fat lip he never saw
from when I tripped over the sidewalk
on Madison in Lakewood.

And I forgive my sister,
(the youngest older one)
for keeping me out of tenth grade
half a year
with threats of foster care and Metzenbaum.

O! poet you
are you the Mississippi
the Nile
the Amazon
the Ganges
Thames may be
or
the entire Thesaurus
flows from thee

your poetry is
marvelly
sweet as jelly
and
like a pineapple
it is so metaphorical
like my friend
says

vanilla

he loves
it
for its vast
exhibitionisctic delivery

pulp and juices
an auusie he!
What kind of a guy
he
juss guess
will ye!

Waiting
out the windows
seagulls land
the pool of stone
islands on a flat top roof

everyone shuffling their
hands talking on the
cells
new arrivals
new leaving
the happy receptionist
taking incoming

I stare at the pamphlets
read the magazine
titles

trying too remember
when I first noticed
the first signs
when it became
obvious
shouted of its
arrival

The way home
Is not always found
On the road
Or just traveling around

The way home
Is a mental state
Created by longing
Hope and a little fate

A smell from a kitchen
The sounds of children
Playing in a yard
Seem familiar and common

The lake, park
Or a diner
On Sunday morning
With my father

A picture in the mind
Of somewhere safe
With happy people
Who were so kind

There are times
That we don’t see
Where home is at
For lack of a key

if
within this fleeting breath
of falling dreams
I could reverse
the arrow of time

I would watch the wind
build a sandcastle

while waiting for you
.