Where have the brave ones gone
Who dared defend the weak and helpless
Huddled in fear shaped lumps of clay,
Waiting to be slaughtered one by one?
Do we die defending the faith,
Or stand by meekly, awaiting the lash?
Do you stand by as murdered dissidents
Defend liberty as a most precious jewel?
If you would be wholly free of fear,
You must risk life itself forever.
I can still hear the call of the loon
That most uncommon loon of the north.
When the moon rides high in the sky
And clouds go racing ahead of the wind,
A sound comes across those autumn lakes
That only the common loon can make.
It is as if nature is calling to its mate;
Or a lonely trapper is dreaming of love.
The haunting tremolo of sound strikes
The quiver of the heartstrings of men.
Sometimes in my lair above the city streets,
I seem to hear those loons flying south.
A picture forms of a special lake
Where the loon calls with hoots,
Tremolos and wails
As the fish leap and splash in the water.
Trees glow with the fluorescence of the moon,
While the Northern Lights flash across the sky.
I fall into a sweet-dream sleep
That ends too soon in the flush of dawn’s light.
Reluctantly, I rise to face reality.
Across a stream as wide as a boy’s arm,
Four young boys had piled rocks and stones;
Then added twigs, grass, mud and sand
To form a small dam nearly three feet high.
The muddied waters didn’t clear till dark,
But the boys were back right after dawn
Eager to test the water’s chill bite
As this April day was not yet Spring.
They were ready to jump in
When they saw that a band of watersnakes
Had staked their claim to this pool.
But the oldest boy knew that watersnakes
Were harmless, so they all jumped in
And splashed about so loud and hard
That those watersnakes just gave up
And moved on to find a quieter place.
Through all the aches and agonies,
I can still hear the calls—
The cheerfulness of fifes,
Drumbeats of the heart—
All calling the mind to mend.
There is a life ahead to live.
Somewhere someone waits patiently.
Seek, if you would, the trail.
The fog slowly settled, concealing the road.
Its ghostly white obliterating all about,
Holding in its soft, moist embrace
Sight of Earth’s most lovely vistas here.
A cluster of lights, shrouded by the fog
Slowly revealed in the faintest outline
A large white and gray modern structure.
The glowing, reddish sign high above,
Boldly declared this as the site of Crown Point.
Stopping to walk about, we went inside
Where we found ourselves in a quaint attractive dining room.
Ordering a slice of pie and coffee, which after
We carried outside to the veranda.
We sat there and cleaned our plates
Of every single scrap of that apple pie.
A lightness appeared in the heavy fog.
Now we could see the land drop off,
Exactly where that lightness first appeared.
The fog, lifting, like a giant curtain
Seemed to promise a precious gift of nature.
We walked to the edge of land, going slowly.
There before us, the fog opened
Like before a stage play revealing
A deep cliff.
Now unseen hands raised this curtain
Even higher.
Allowing us to see an awe inspiring sight.
The world about us seemed to pause
As if to emphasize what nature now presented.
Far, far below, a river broad and clear,
Opposite a cliff as the fog curtain climbed higher
Until the far cliff was as high as our own.
Quickly Mother Nature cleared away all the fog.
There before us, the gorgeous gorge
As green as green trees could make it.
The river far below, so clear and now lit up
As a shift of sunlight blazed across
As if heralding the opening act
Of Mother’s Nature’s play—
The beautiful vista of
The Columbia River Gorge.
Today I am no fit companion to anyone.
A cloud of pain and sorrow covers the sun
That lights up my life as I go slowly,
Across these lovely hills and valleys
To where we walked, these many years past.
Her her face and voice will be with me.
Perhaps my soul will find a bit of comfort
As it remembers moments to cherish.
Today, my sister left on a long, long journey
To a far place of no return, and
Never again shall I see her dear face.
Perhaps, someday, in some distant clime,
We may meet again as a family renewed.
Now the cloud of sorrow deepens as I
Grope for some small solace for my soul
To heal the wound that seared my heart
When Sis left for that far distant land.
#sisters
I walk across the land
Greeting one and all as we meet
As cousins, nephews or siblings,
Not by blood but by mutual choice:
Sharing dreams and common goals
With someone of a mutual love.
Sometimes, they have faces—
Pink, brown, sunburned, pallid, smooth.
Body shapes come thin, thick, tall, short,
Also in some strange combinations.
Oh, Cousins, Nephews, Brothers, Sisters,
May I never lose my humility in you.
#uninternationaldayoffriendship
As the firelight burns low, I hear them—
Their harmonicas humming, soft voices
Singing of long lost loves,
Or newfound in a flame red glow.
As I walk by the old stone church,
Their hymns of praise roll out
Like thunder on the hills at night.
Far distant, a sound like jewels sparkling:
Voices that grow slowly higher as I walk.
Glorious tenors, baritones caress
As sopranos and mezzos strike the harp
At the concert hall. I cry out loud—
Oh, America! Your hosts awake the Earth
When you sing of your past, your future,
But most of all when you sing
Out of sheer pleasure in the music.
Cries of hatred rend the air to shreds
As foolish young ones destroy their peers—
Gangs claiming a right to own this street,
Misunderstanding the lightning bolts of death.
Whose life will end before morning comes?
What dreams will disappear before night ends?
Is your child on the hit list this time?
Which family will be moaning low tomorrow,
While children hide away in sheer fright
And sirens wail and red lights flash this night?
Our streets will be awash in blood
And your city will never be quite the same.
#worlddayforinternationaljustice
It is morning.
I’m still alive.
One more chance
To escape this.
I remember, vaguely,
Being accepted
By society—now,
Doors are closed.
Everyone turns away.
Whatever I do,
It’s rejected.
My skin reeks of fear,
I am wet
With the perspiration
Of despair.
Tell, if you know,
Am I already
Condemned?
I’m still me,
Here, inside—
Can’t you see?
Unless you help,
I shall remain
Without a home.
#cheerupthelonelyday