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Tuesday, April 16, 2013
Boston Aftermath: Three poems
April 16 (14-15-16)
Sunday I ran out of time and energy. Yesterday left me speechless, processing the events in Boston. It seems like an endless list of violent acts happening throughout our country (and the world, for that matter). Cheerful poetry seems somehow out of place for the moment, although it must remain. Life must continue. I know that the lives of many people were damaged yesterday in ways that will never leave them. for the rest of us, it is vital to note and record what happened and how we feel about what happened. Then move on, live our lives as normally as possible, and not allow cowards and bullies of any kind to defeat our spirit. In that vein, I offer three poems today.
//Thinking About the Unthinkable
/In Boston holiday crowds
/Ran ro honor heroes Greek
/Or watched to honor Concord,
/Tax day, anniversary
/Of 42’s first ML at bat.
/A good day, it should have been,
/Sun shining, people shining
/Like beacons of the possible.
/Shaken. Shattered. Bloodied.
/I think too often about such things,
/Bewildered by cowards with bombs,
/Mystified by anyone so callous
/It could be war or terror,
/The act of one or many.
/I shake my head
/That we still are
/So completely insane.
/I shake my head
/That whoever did this gets
/More story time than the dead and buried
/And the living soon dismissed.
/It is unthinkable, unwelcome,
/And yet is always there,
/More constant than the sun./
/It was like an iron fist
/Thrust against a healing wound.
/It was chaos drenched in blood.
/It was proof once again that man
/Is his own worst enemy.
/And yet, overwhelming the tragedy
/Were first responders
/Rushing toward the blast
/Ready to help their fellows
/As if it were
/The most natural thing
/In the world,
/Angels in America./
/My radiance no longer shines
/For all the world to see.
/I have pulled back a bit,
/Retreated if you will,
/Where far fewer people find me.
/Where once outside my window
/Asphalt rivers tumbled
/Between concrete slab foundations,
/I now see gently swaying trees.
/I miss you all, my friends, my kin,
/I wish you weren’t so far away.
/But I can’t get down off the mountain
/And I don’t want to anyway
/(Unless air travel is involved).
/So come to me, there’s always room,
/The front door’s open wide.
/We’ll hike the lakefront and the trails,
/Then cozy down inside.
I was born in Holland in 1950. My parents immigrated to the US when I was two. I have many close friends and family on both continents. My wife Diane and I have been happily married since 1974. I have four children and one grandchild (two more are on the way). I love writing and sharing what I wrote most of all..