Poetry Series
Hm. Nes
- poems -
2
Hm. Nes (April 11,1960)
One wife.
Five kids.
Two dogs.
One cat.
Two birch trees.
Three favorites: coffee, chocolate, chess.
3
A Boy Needs His Mommy
Today I really needed my mommy,
But she was nowhere to be found.
I cried for her, but she still didn’t come,
So, I tried not making a sound.
Being quiet didn’t work, so I screamed,
Screamed louder than ever before,
Then I screamed one more time just to be sure
And sprawled myself out on the floor.
She still didn’t come, but in the mean time
A friend happened by and inquired:
“What makes today such an awful, bad day? ”
I told him, although I felt tired:
“My best friend moved out of town yesterday.
“I woke up again feeling sick.
“I have to wash the car and mow the lawn;
“Even though, as I said, I’m sick.”
My friend agreed that this is a bad day,
A day that a boy needs his mom.
“Although, ” he said, “you are fifty years old, ”
And said it with certain aplomb.
Hm. Nes
4
A Father's Love
It's a father's loyal love,
Or could it be the lack thereof
That drives his kid to school,
Drives him hard as would a mule,
Beats him up with many a rule,
Treats him like a brainless fool?
It's a father's loyal love,
Or could it be the lack thereof?
Hm. Nes
5
A Little Boy
A little boy with eager eyes
And eager hands to try his aim,
His strength as well with brand-new sling-
The boy was me.
A mockingbird fell dead that day,
Not to the ground, but limply hung
From a limb in the neighbor’s tree.
The little boy cried as he climbed
Up to the silent mockingbird.
The boy was me.
A grave he dug under the shrub.
A prayer he prayed with solemn vows,
Through tears, to never kill again.
The prayer was mine, the promise mine.
The boy was me.
A Daisy BB gun replaced
The slingshot, then a 20-gauge.
Sparrows, dove, pheasant lay in piles,
Rabbits, squirrel, deer, but no tears.
No more promises, no more prayers.
The boy had grown to be a man.
The man is me.
Hm. Nes
6
A Pebble Rolled
A pebble rolled,
Rolled along the path,
Inadvertently kicked from its rest
By my shuffling by.
My steps I slowed,
Slowed to watch the stone,
Familiar to me now in its search
For a new place to lie.
I left the road,
The road of design,
Intentionally to kick the rock
Once more and watch it fly.
Hm. Nes
7
A Wise Father
A wise father will know the names of stars,
Should his daughter dare to ask that of him,
As hand in hand they walk beside the sea.
And he will possess the skill to show her
How to skip flat rocks across the water.
A wise father will know these things.
A wise father will do them.
But more so, he will be the kind of man
Who gently holds his daughter's hand in his,
And as they walk along the rocky shore
He will tell her that she and she alone
Is worthy of this moment.
Hm. Nes
8
All I Want Is Left Alone
The mountains will not come to me
Nor dare intrude my privacy
Unlike some nosy neighbors that I know,
Who care not that the day was long
And all I want is left alone
To gaze up to the mountains hushed with snow.
Hm. Nes
9
All-sufficient At Last
If provisions were always and plentiful
And never a trouble overcame,
If honor and peace came ever unto me
And rarely disgrace to my name,
Then likely Your name would grow faint on my lips,
And hope would be a thing of the past.
My prayers would all to obscurity fall, for
I'd be all-sufficient at last.
Hm. Nes
10
Always
Always
in the back of my mind
the same song is playing:
'Will She Reach For Me? '
or just glide past
as I deserve,
as I myself have so
often done
to her.
that's the song,
a sad song for sure,
but it's the song
that is Always
playing in my head,
in my mind,
in the back somewhere;
and so
it's no surprise that
I feel
this,
tenseness
when she's around-
Always.
I hope the song
will change
eventually,
like most songs do,
as one song leads to another
and then another
and another
and so on,
often days going by
before
the same song plays
again.
but this song- It
Never
Ends!
it just keeps on
and keeps
on
playing.
she and her song
are all I hear
all I
ever
11
hear
or know
or have
Always.
all ways.
please,
can't we make it
stop?
Hm. Nes
12
Basket Ball
They say the 'Y' in Springfield
Needs 'athletic distraction'
For a rowdy bunch of boys
Pinned inside by the weather.
The teacher hails from Canada,
And they've given him two weeks
To create an inside game
'Fair for all and not too rough.'
He's chosen a soccer ball,
Big and soft, so none get hurt.
Only passing is allowed:
No dribbling, no batting nor
Running the ball, to be safe.
The goals cannot be guarded-
Peach baskets high overhead,
Reducing all rough contact
In John Naismith's 'basket ball.'
Hm. Nes
13
Because It Is There
Climbing high above the world
Into air too thin to breathe-
For what reason?
Just to be there
High above the world.
Sailing far across the ocean,
Far from land or safe reprieve-
And the purpose?
Simply being
Far across the sea.
Writing words of shapeless reason,
Navigating soul's dark deep-
'Why? ' you ask me.
Because it is
There, so let it be.
Hm. Nes
14
Board Game Banter
Shoulda seen that comin'.
Shoulda thought that through.
Coulda gained a point.
Coulda beaten you
Had I put that there,
Had I picked another;
If you'd rolled a seven,
If I'd played the other.
Woulda made a difference.
Woulda had a chance.
Wanna play again?
Almost wet my pants
When you rolled that nine,
When you moved the robber.
Next time I'll be ready.
Next time I'll clobber
You and your momma.
You and what army?
Save it for the book.
Save feathers, and tar me!
This time I'll try.
This time you'll wish
We had stuck to cards-
Played 'Spades' or 'Go Fish.'
Hm. Nes
15
Brrr Months of Fall
In facing the brrr months of fall
Do remember
That Indian Summer days will
Grace Septembrrr,
Octobrrr,
Novembrrr,
And bits of Decembrrr;
But then, all must brace for
The long winter slumber.
Hm. Nes
16
Cast Away You Devil Ship
Cast away you devil ship
And leave me safe on harbored shore
With Captain keep in peace.
Molesting crew of cannibals,
Set out to ravage naivete,
Your swords will never slay my heart
Nor save me thus to avenge for not
Of joining in your mutiny.
And standing by our brutalized captain,
Though he no brute, yet mercy made,
In coming wrath to wield his sword
And make of merry mates that hailed
His disgrace, not walk the plank, but
All-consumed to fall, until he
Alone, with me on willing knee,
Stands victorious above all,
His truth at last and free.
Hm. Nes
17
Cats and Scars, the Moon and Stars
My cat leaves home
Most nights to roam,
Compelled by the moon and stars.
For go he must,
And I daren't trust
He'll come back home without scars.
He sleeps all day,
Too tired to play-
Only dreams of moon and stars;
Then, up to howl
And off to prowl,
With some pause to lick his scars.
The kitten's ways
I miss some days-
Never mind the moon and stars
That beckon: 'Come!
And have some fun.'
With ever the risk of scars.
But that was then,
Before his zen
Discovered the moon and stars-
The life at night,
The hunt, the fight.
Now he'll likely die from his scars.
Hm. Nes
18
Coffee Beans
Not every man can travel to
A land with fancy elephants
That dance and sing and take him for a ride.
Nor can each man acquire a tan
By cruising 'long exotic sands
Of beaches rich with shells from every tide.
But rich or poor the whole world o'er,
With all the dancing beasts of lore,
Each man can still enjoy exotic pride;
For coffee beans will come to him,
Be crushed by him and drunk by him
From every paradise the whole world wide.
Hm. Nes
19
Crazy 'Do' World
It's a crazy 'do' world with so much to do,
So get yourself busy and do it!
I ask who you are by: 'What is it you do? '
And what you do after you do it.
For it's do it we will and do it we must.
All others are busy doing it.
And doers don't tolerate a do-less gait,
So get yourself busy; just do it!
Hm. Nes
20
Creaking Rocking Chair
My heart first learned its rhythm
From your creaking, Rocking Chair.
Remind me where.
Please take me there again.
Soft cradled in a bosomed nest
Sweet, simple, happy tunes
Accompanied your creaking, Rocking Chair.
Remind me where.
Please take me there again,
Before the beating starts.
My heart first learned its rhythm
From your creaking, Rocking Chair.
The all familiar cadence almost
All forgotten now.
Sing once again to me your simple tunes,
Sweet Mother dear,
From the creaking rocking chair.
Remind me where the love began.
Please take me there again,
Before the beating starts,
And love gives way to despair.
Hm. Nes
21
Dancing Into the Rain
A chill breeze
Wafting through the window
Rouses me from sleep.
Late again!
Frantically,
Searching for a sweater-
(Curses for the cold)
Thunder peals!
The hunt grows-
Adding an umbrella
And some rubber Crocs.
Who needs school?
Peacefully,
Falling back into bed,
Dreams begin to form-
But no, wait!
Yesterday,
Was there some announcement?
“DON'T DANCE IN THE RAIN! ”
I must go
Naked and
Dancing into the rain.
Hm. Nes
22
Dear Captain Grace
Dear Captain Grace,
I once sailed with you upon your ship,
Not as one of your crew but as part of your cargo.
'Twas an amazing voyage truly!
And I remember it well, though I never saw the light of day,
For thirty miserable days- chained, starved, diseased and tortured.
You'll be pleased to know that I fetched a good price,
As did my son whom I've not seen since the day he was sold.
My wife and daughters died at sea, mercifully, aboard your ship.
You buried them unceremoniously in shark-infested waters,
Not far from America- the land of the free and the home of the slave.
I'm told you've sold your ships and taken your vows.
I hope it helps.
As for me, I still miss my family and my home.
Hm. Nes
23
Dearest Darkness
Dearest darkness, flayed, in scarlet-
Broken dreams, treacherous ghosts, fears
Never cease molesting your beauty dear.
Only you, only you dare not fail
To declare the coming light.
None but you, none but you compel,
Propel me into flight.
All others bid me stay, bid me sway,
Bid me to postpone the coming day.
You alone declare His coming;
You alone prepare the way,
Peaceful darkness, dearest night.
Hm. Nes
24
Disappointed
Odin’s saint in ides past tide,
Tans did don and tines atop,
Sped to sea- Iona’s sand,
‘Tis a Dane’s appointed spot.
Spied stone nest- Iona’s point,
Apt a Paddies’ papist den.
Antes paid and patens stand,
Pope’s deposit add, distend.
Danes adept to posit pain-
Pats inside, no spine to tap.
One dead saint. One tepid Dane
Dips in spade to depot sap.
Sodden sot, a stein at tap,
On to nap; a despot paid.
Nastied diet o’ pints and pain,
Ope disdain on Paddies staid.
Paddies’ ain son tied to dais,
Ode indites and so to tone,
Pine, despond: “Inept to aid,
O One, Iona’s Odin? ”
Ode inapposite to tone,
As painted ponies on a spin,
Pine, despond: “Inept to aid,
O One, Iona’s Odin? ”
Paddies’ disappointed son,
‘Spite disdain did Dane adopt.
Neat and poised in din o’ snide,
Pat’s son sat aside oats pot
Opined:
“Iona’s Odin sent a son-
“Odd idea, O Odin One.
“Paid deposit. Sin atoned.
“Stopped sedition. Said, ‘It’s done! ’”
Dis-appointed Paddies’ son-
Iona’s Odin opted:
Sion stained Iona’s sand,
And Dane instead appointed.
[All 183 words above are derived from (and limited to) the 12 letters of the word
‘disappointed.’ Only the repeated letters in ‘disappointed’- ‘d’ ‘i’ and ‘p’, are ever
repeated in a single word of the poem.]
Hm. Nes
25
Do What Sound
A little jingle on the radio
Caught my attention last Tuesday.
The voice sang: 'Do what sound...'
'Do what, do what, do what
'Sound good to me.'
Correct grammar would have put
An 's' on the end of sound.
It should have been: 'Do what
'Sounds good to me.'
But had it sounded right, the
Jingle would not have caught my attention,
Nor would it have stuck in my head,
Nor would I have remembered the website:
www.soundgood2me.com,
Nor would I have made a purchase
From said website as a result of
A grammatical mistake.
Sound funny, no?
Hm. Nes
26
Every Boy Dreams
Every boy dreams of being brave
And one day rescuing girl in need;
While manhood dreams oft cast him knave,
With choices ruled by his lust and greed.
And weakened thus by evil foes,
Accused and stumbling on he goes,
Bowing his head, resisting dreams-
'Tis easier far to kill the spark.
And though she longs for him to lead,
He forfeits bravery for a lark,
A selfish quest- alas, short-lived,
Refusing his life for hers to give.
Hm. Nes
27
Fair Weather Friends
Fair weather friends
I like the most
Because I like fair weather.
Besides,
Friends who gather
When it storms
Neglect me when life's better.
Hm. Nes
28
Fans In the Stands
There are fans in the stands,
Cheering indistinctly.
It's mostly noise,
But occasionally a clear voice is heard;
And inspiration comes from a simple cry of, 'Yes! '
Or, 'Go! ' Maybe, 'That's the way! '
So we go, in the way, with a 'yes, '
The fans in the stands helping us.
The fans in the clouds,
The ones who have passed before,
They too give us courage
To endure and not lose hope,
To cross the finish line.
But the fans in the stands,
They race alongside us,
Though not competing against us.
They understand, their lives so similar,
And their words, their touch, so real.
Hm. Nes
29
First Applause
The stage is set,
No longer thus imagined.
The audience awaits,
To approve or castigating judge.
The time is come,
And fingers full familiar, eager to perform,
Escape to a place of peace-
Quiet rooms of lonely repetition,
Padded walls, closed doors;
But then the music stops.
What once was ripe- to feel the quiet calm-
Is deafening now with audience embalmed.
They are not pleased!
But how much so?
Will they up and leave,
Grumbling as they go?
Then ears used to hearing only the piano's pause,
Explode with the triumph of applause-
Unending applause.
They liked it!
But it really doesn't matter;
Like Beethoven, you play to hear, not to be heard.
Hm. Nes
30
For A. Lincoln
You knew to laugh
when trouble strangled joy
You knew to forgive
when enemies threatened arrest
You knew the power of words
when silence was preferred
You pursued people
when you were by every right superior
You chose humility
when it proved fodder for enemy canon
You pressed on
when there was nothing ahead but struggle
You endured
with no one prodding you from behind
You stood alone
You clung to God
Men hated you and mocked you
yet they came to you for favors or entertainment, and
You granted both
You were faithful
despite betrayal
You said what you knew to be true
regardless the consequences,
always soberly considering the potential wisdom of counselors
no matter how inferior they proved to be
and then,
You died
so that one nation could live on.
Hm. Nes
31
For An Unfaithful Bride
Rejoice, my love, and rise to see
Your captain come to take you home.
I know. I see, (It's no surprise.)
You share your bed with another.
I'll slay him now- he should have known-
And spare you whole, for you belong,
And always have, to me alone, your lover.
Speak no more of it, I understand;
Though tempted still to take his hand
And run away. Receive my love now fully.
For I have always loved you thus,
And pledged forever simple trust,
Unshakeable and without compromise-
A promise of my life, my love,
And all I have as yours to hold
Forever and with me in paradise.
Weep not! He dies, unworthy fool,
Unworthy of one fragment small
From your embattled heart that pines for me-
A heart that now unfettered, free,
Can love as I have loved but thee,
Completely and for all eternity.
Hm. Nes
32
For Edgar Allan
No not alone I dare suggest,
Though all alone you felt; the rest
Forsaking you upon the stage
Midst blinding lights and audience rage.
A mother dead, a father gone,
Adopted, yet, no name to don.
With demons haunting every wall
And floor, their brew of bitter gall
Assailing purest love; your jewel
Is snatched away. And left a fool,
The heart must turn to what it can-
Inherited from a father's hand.
Alone to hear the raven cry,
Alone to hear the tell-tale lie,
Alone with only God to hear
If only God would dare draw near;
Replace the draught with tender love,
Replace the naught as from above
With truth that tells a shepherd's care:
No not alone for he was there
In the torrent and the fountain,
On the red cliff of the mountain,
At the moment mother died,
Each occasion father lied,
Midst the loathsome raven's cry,
And the haunting tell-tale lie,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heav'n was blue)
Of a demon's hold on you.
Hm. Nes
33
For Sid
I raise the chalice to parched lips
Begging not to drink it
The draught a bitter poison
I know that full well
But your command, repeated thrice
Unwavering, demands I drink it dry
And die- slowly, painfully
'Please, please, please! ' I plead
But your firm response
Each time, 'No'
Resounds in my ears
Thus I willingly spill it
Not the wretched cup
But my own precious blood
For your glory and pleasure
Hm. Nes
34
For the Love of Chess
What darkest knight, what coward lord
Dare send his queen into the fight
Whilst he in castle's keep?
His noble queen expends her life
Midst valiant steeds and bishops wise;
Baring courage, pawning gain,
She battles forth to save her king.
Pray tell, good master 'cross the board,
What king can thus his queen afford
To parry with, nor raise his sword;
And sacrificing noble queen
He hopes to gain another?
Do skewer this king!
Do pin him in!
Do check his every move!
Do not, I say, do not let him win-
This king who knows not love.
Hm. Nes
35
For Tiger Woods
It was not that we asked too much of you;
For you did casual ask of us believe
That you were more than skilled to do,
But also skilled to be as we believe
Ourselves to someday be: good.
Hm. Nes
36
From an Irish Slave Boy
The rooster is crowing. The water is boiling
For tea and the waking of all that I love;
While far in the distance from waters that bless us
Come rumblings as thunderous wrath from above.
Strange men weighed with weapons, invading our Irelands
With cold rage that threatens to kill all that's good.
They're murdering Father, enslaving my mother,
And chasing the rooster as sport for their food.
O God that is righteous, will you not defend us
From Vikings victorious who'll thank pagan Thor?
Comes peace all transcending from Heaven's halls blending
The wisdom of God midst this tumult of war.
Like Esther and Shadrack, Abednego, Meshack,
My slavery will bring back the Vikings to truth-
Of our Savior Jesus, the one who will free us.
I'll boldly proclaim this, though I'm but a youth.
Hm. Nes
37
Gentle Birch, Assailing Wind
The wind assails the gentle birch-
She clings to dirt
And deeply sends foundation roots
Like straws to tap earth's bosom.
She climbs as well with outstretched arms
Toward the sun.
Grasping only air, she reaches
For life, high into the sky,
With myriad leaves on nimble limbs,
Singing silent songs to the
Assailing wind.
Hm. Nes
38
Gentle Fall
Gentle fall,
If only you would linger longer,
Hold your place more firmly
In the face of winter's threats.
Summer's heat yields happily to your gentle ways:
Fresh spring-like growth,
Fullness of flower and fruit,
Brilliantly colored leaves
Gliding softly to a carpeted floor.
You would easily be my favorite season
Were you willing to hold your place
And battle winter until spring;
But you are a transient season.
Too quickly you relinquish your position
To winter's winds and lengthening darkness.
Please stay with us! Win my love!
Hold your ground and I will be your most devoted fan.
I will raise my voice and declare:
'Autumn, autumn is the season to adore! '
But alas, because you will not tarry,
I cannot help but love spring more.
Hm. Nes
39
Glottenham Castle
Your castle is deserted, Sir.
Where go your servants?
Where goes your wife?
You live a lonely life here, Sir.
Have you no friends?
For two long days I've watched you, Sir.
The windows darken.
The dogs run wild.
Forsooth, why do you stay here, Sir?
Do hear a child.
I left my home when Mamma died.
She buried Papa
With all the kids,
Save but for me who somehow lives.
She felt so cold.
With her last breath she whispered: 'Glot! '
'Glottenham Castle.
'Go there! Go there! '
But all I find are fresh-dug graves
And you alone.
For two long days I've watched you, Sir.
I'm all but starving.
The fever grows.
I pray you'll find me in your haymow
All alone.
Your castle is deserted, Sir.
Do welcome a child.
(Of Glottenham Castle, Essex. Black Plague [1300-1350] killed all but one inhabitant.)
Hm. Nes
40
Good Lord
My lands.
My lambs.
My limbs.
My Lord.
Nay, not my lands,
Not my lambs,
Not my limbs-
Naught but my Lord's.
Only He is mine.
All else is His-
My lands, my lambs, my limbs-
All His.
Only He is truly mine-
My Lord, and such a fine,
Good Lord He is.
Hm. Nes
41
Hair
The newborn baby's mother pleads with God for hair to grow
Atop her newborn baby's christened brow.
She wrings her hands and worries that her child will never know
Hair; and so to heaven she makes her vow:
'Dear Lord, I give my son to learn the wisdom of your ways,
'To follow and obey your every word;
'But could you make him handsome, please, to serve you all his days,
'With lots of hair, so he won't look absurd? '
Then adolescence comes, (and vows forgotten) a mother's cry
Regards a father's hate of the blessed hair.
If heaven does not intervene her sweet boy soon will die.
'He's better bald! ' she wails midst deep despair.
Over the years the locks do cease to fall across his face;
Instead the eyebrows grow into his eyes.
And lonesome hairs on top the head stay in their proper place
Above the ears, where now the ear hair thrives.
It seems the boy was almost right regarding wisdom and hair,
His mane inspiring endless gasps and sighs.
He merely failed to realize the timing and the where,
That wisdom's hair grows FROM the ears and eyes.
Hm. Nes
42
hand in hand
two strolled
quietly
hand in hand
beside the gentle brook
thoughts intersecting
they stopped
expectantly
and gathered themselves
into full embrace
bodies intersecting
then walked on
content
entwined as one
flowing as the gentle brook
no longer intersecting
Hm. Nes
43
Her Scent
I feared her scent
That it was more than I could bear
In this present condition
In this tenuous state of mind
Not in this life-
This shallow, hollow existence-
Not today of all days
Still she came into the room
Uninvited
Uninvited
Largely unwanted
And at the same time wanted
More than reason will allow.
The words fell limply from my quavering lips,
“Go.
“Go away.
“No, don’t go. Stay. Stay.”
She stayed.
And my fear turned to calm
And then to dread
She may never go.
What will I feed her?
Hm. Nes
44
Hitting the Snooze
The waking bell sounded
As morning upended
And drove away fleeting
Remainders of night;
While deep under covers
A feeble appendage
Found semblance of life and
Crawled into the light,
Arresting the pow'r of
Alarming attackers
That wielded said terror
Against peaceful dreams,
Retreating again to
A warm nest of limbs wrapped
In feathers and visions
Of happier themes.
Hm. Nes
45
I Walked Alone
I walked alone
Along the rocky shore
And marveled at the turbulence-
The twisting of the clouds,
The surging of the sea;
Beauty lost in the awesomeness of it all.
It was not until my steps arrived at last
To a peaceful meadow
With a tender sun,
Wild flowers filling my eyes- pleasant thoughts,
That I remembered to thank You;
And then I recalled that You had guided me
Along that lonely precipice
Near the threatening water's edge,
And I thought better of it.
Hm. Nes
46
I Wish I'd Held The Moment
I wish I'd held the moment,
Wish I'd understood the meaning,
Wish I'd called the very minute fever broke.
I wish I'd moved to Memphis
While the children didn't matter,
But I found myself in Phoenix in the rain.
I never thought to hide that
I was searching for an answer
To the age-old feeble question about life:
The 'Why? ' of one's existence
That remains a shrouded secret
Only some can almost understand through pain.
I wish, I wish, I wish, but
That was then and this is now; and
Now is all that we can have, the wishes gone.
Return, if you can stand it,
Sail the vessel of forgiveness
Through the storm that may not ever find refrain.
Hm. Nes
47
It's A School Day
Welcome home, kids!
How was school?
Now get to work.
You know the rule:
No games, no shows
Till the homework's done.
First do your chores,
Then have some fun.
O my, it's late!
No time to play.
Be off to bed, 'cause
It's a school day.
Hm. Nes
48
Louisiana Sale
I hail from Butte, Montana;
Although Bob, Louisiana
Is the place I go when winter catches cold.
As Faribault, Minnesota,
And Fort Pierre, South Dakota,
Suit me better when the walleyes hit and hold.
'Buy land! ' Sam Clem advised me,
''Cause they've stopped the making of it.'
So I'm carting bags of dixies off to France,
To buy Mexico, the new;
Because the old, Spain beat me to-
Grabbed it all before the Frenchies had a chance.
Or maybe Bonaparte can
Take a slice of Arkansas and
Let me have it for real cheap, or less; let's hope.
I'd settle for Alberta-
Canada is not a bad place-
Or Saskatchewan's resplendent glacier slope.
Monroe bought Oklahoma-
He and Jefferson- Missouri,
Colorado, bits of Texas, Kansas too,
Napolean's North Dakota;
Des Moines, Iowa; Lyons, Nebraska-
Only three cents per acre! Merci beaucoup!
Bordeaux, Fontenelle, Dubois,
Dunoir, La Barge, La Grange, Lamont-
All Wyoming sold but not New Orleans' port.
So maybe I'll just buy that-
Fishing's good enough I reckon,
In a port, if you know what you're looking for.
Hm. Nes
49
Merciful Maker of Waters and Whiles
Merciful Maker of waters and whiles,
Spare please my son from the fierce crocodiles,
Then he too will know you.
I'll rear him to fear you.
He cannot survive in the waters of the Nile.
This trial is too great! The boy is my child!
O Merciful Maker of waters and whiles,
Spare please my son from the fierce crocodiles.
Pharoah's command is most certainly vile:
'Kill each boy child born in all of Israel! '
I hear mothers weeping.
The monsters are feasting.
A child's meat is sweet to those beasts in the Nile.
Revile this intrusion lest I fall beguiled,
O Merciful Maker of waters and whiles.
Spare please my son from the fierce crocodiles!
Alas, and I fear never more will I smile.
They've taken my baby boy down to the Nile.
My son is not screaming.
It sounds like he's singing;
Though soon he will bathe as among pedophiles.
Denial will not spare him nor savoring bile.
O Merciful Maker of waters and whiles,
Spare please my son from the fierce crocodiles.
Merciful Maker of waters and whiles,
Who spared not my son from the fierce crocodiles,
But spared instead Moses,
And he will deliver
All children of Israel from out of the Nile.
In this trial I'll praise you and smile in this while,
O Merciful Maker of waters and whiles,
Who spared not my son from the fierce crocodiles.
Deliverer Moses resembles your child,
O Merciful Maker of waters and whiles;
Though Moses was rescued
But your son not spared-
Devoured his flesh as with beasts of the Nile.
You meanwhile were pleased as you stood by and smiled,
O Merciful Maker of waters and whiles,
Who spared not your own son to make me your child.
Hm. Nes
50
Moments
Moments spread upon the table,
Select as many as you'd like:
Sacred moments,
Pleasant moments,
Moments that make memories,
Magic moments,
Scary moments,
Moments that linger.
The choice is yours-
As many as you'd like,
But only enough for a lifetime.
Will you choose a moment of surprise,
Though it slices into other moments?
Will you choose pain?
Or only laughter?
Will you choose one moment again and again?
Will you share your moments with others
Or keep them all to yourself?
Moments spread upon the table,
Choose as many as you'd like,
Until the last moment is all that remains.
Hm. Nes
51
Monsters Everywhere
Alternating legends
Twixt the forest and the sea-
'The monster, ' some say, 'keeps to the water! '
While others claim, 'The trees! '
But I have seen him quit the seashore, and
I have watched his forest leave.
No doubt he haunts whichever suits him-
One day woodlands, the next mid-sea.
So you who fear sea-monsters most
Beware his path along the coast.
And ne'er forget his forest lair,
You who fear him mostly there.
Hm. Nes
52
Morning Mercy
Each morning mercy, come what may,
A blustery cold or sunny day-
Each morning mercy finds his way to me.
And though I scarce would turn him out,
For rare the morning finds no need,
Much less to doubt his work to do.
Bereft of him, ne'er make it through
A day without his mercy speed.
I love the morning mercy new.
Hm. Nes
53
Mr. Eiffel and Mr. Ferris
Mr. Eiffel's awful tower,
'A truly tragic streetlamp, '
Paris fells you in the hour!
Purge the eyesore like a scamp!
'Wait! Atop her stands the wire-
'Saved us in the Battle Marne.
'Leave the tow'r despite such ire.
'Paris won't regret her scorn.'
All the world dreams now to see
Mr. Eiffel's lovely tower,
Standing proud, forgetting we
Had planned her demolition hour.
Mr. Ferris built a wheel
To rival Mr. Eiffel's tower.
Most dared not believe it real-
So high? So wide? Such power? !
What? Chicago tore it down,
Purged the eyesore from her view,
Shipped the wheel to Louis' town.
There fared the same. Chagrin beaucoup.
Dynamite brought down the wheel-
All the world denied a ride.
Ferris' wheel- a scrapped pile of steel.
Eiffel's tower- all France's pride.
Hm. Nes
54
My Daffodils
Who is this fool who rages
In the night amidst my daffodils
As if he had the right to roam within?
Does he not care for breath so sweet,
His own I mean, that he would tread
Upon my green and tamper with
My daffodils?
Say, Fool, that lingers long where
I, no fool, would have you never come
But take your leave and see you ne'er return,
Where gardens filled with daffodils,
And lacing every windowsill,
Will never want your presence haunting near.
Hm. Nes
55
My Emiline
I touched her hand and she was gone.
The moment left as fast it came,
And I am certain I shall never love again.
She called herself my Emiline.
O, how I hoped she could be mine,
But all is lost and I shall ever lose, nor win-
No hand to hold, no love to share,
My perfect Emilne not there-
Farewell sad world. Farewell, and do not bid me stay.
Breathe this, the last of decent air.
Breathe all for me, if breath you dare,
Where joy is borrowed, without leave, on sun-filled day.
She held my heart, as would a dove,
Held gentle fingers round my love,
But only memories still hold the fading joy.
Where whispers soft and whispers deep
Brought tenderest longings full and sweet,
And yet, fulfillment never will endure death’s coy.
Damn setting suns! Damn rising moons!
Damn each bright star that made her swoon!
Damn all, but know that useless damning holds no sway
Upon the fickled, fainting heart,
Unbent to keep lovers apart,
While all the world sings lullabies too sad for song.
From then to now and back to then
The heart will love another when,
And while, the crazy world screams: “My, oh my, so wrong! ”
Though they not hear, these ears of mine,
Hear not their screams, my Emiline,
Nor will my heart know more of this wan, loveless day.
Hm. Nes
56
No More Gay
I don't need words as much as words need me,
For I may live in silence; not so words,
Which cannot survive in obscurity.
And oft words lose their true identity
From ill-use of vulgar mouths; blessed words-
Destroyed, defaced, banished to infamy.
O that good men could once again be gay,
Without all the confusion; splendid word
That now must die of neglect- no more gay.
Hm. Nes
57
Noble Blood
The time has come, and so remains,
To draw in blood from shallow veins
The lives of men who scarcely know,
Nor care for troubles brewed in gold,
Of nobles nobled by their blood
Ne'er spilt, yet drowning in said flood,
Designed of wealth that bade them bathe
In precious blood of those who crave
For gold? No! But of want to live
In peace, with love to families give.
While noblemen, their gold to hold,
Ignoble spill rich blood that bold
Declares to those who listen well
A story true, and to retell
For children's children's future child
Who stands at last, no longer mild.
Then times will come, and thus remain-
The blood that flowed in common veins
Will noble be, and noble names
Will common bleed for others' gains.
Hm. Nes
58
O Stubborn Leaf
Alone, suspended high above the ground,
On barren limb, defying season’s change-
O stubborn leaf! Was I to winter bound,
Was I a hapless slave to winter’s rage,
I’d set aside this ghastly rake,
Climb your bough and give it a shake,
Bring you down to where broken leaves are found.
But in my heart I share your stubborn hold,
Resisting winter’s scourge upon the trees.
I cherish fall, the brilliant days of gold
And red, such colors dancing in the leaves,
Not fading brown from winter's freeze,
Falling, rotting, filling the eaves,
Till every trace is buried in the cold.
Hm. Nes
59
One Troubled Night
One troubled night in June of '82
I thought I wanted you.
The place was not of mercy made,
And yet, his hand of mercy stayed
To rescue me from long embattled soul.
So oft would I have stumbled there,
With little care, and foolish, blind,
Pursued disastrous course,
But rescue came, and then-
And then I called his name.
Hm. Nes
60
Orange, Gorringe, Blorenge, Wales
Poets care not much for orange, as so little rhymes with orange,
Not much, save the mountain, Blorenge, outside Abergavenny, Wales.
Not a soul lives up on Blorenge- more a hill with little orange;
Though one champion horse in Blorenge lies entombed among her dales.
No, the medal was not orange! Gold, Foxhunter won for Wales,
Thus, he's honored midst her dales.
Too, one noted General Gorringe, known by some as ‘Bloody Orange, ’
Knighted, Sir George Frederick Gorringe, lies in Shoreham, not in Wales.
First class cricketer, H. Gorringe, also rhymes his name with orange,
Dons as well the color orange, swinging midst Australia’s gales.
Dead the soldier, ‘Bloody Orange.’ Lives the cricketer, and hails:
“Bats, not swords, for New South Wales! ”
Here I’ll mention one last Gorringe- Henry Honeychurch, yes, Gorringe,
Crossing seas to reach New Orange, out of Egypt, not of Wales,
Cleopatra’s needle Gorringe gifted to the town, New Orange.
(New York was once called New Orange.) Apples now fill orange pales.
Such a gift! And from a Gorringe! This poet stands and proudly hails:
Orange, Gorringe, Blorenge, Wales!
Hm. Nes
61
Pile of Puppies
What man can resist yon pile of pups
In the frisk and frolic of play?
Who'll not insist, 'Let's take home just one
'To enjoy all the livelong day.'
Do note the man with wan, troubled face
No puppy can cause to smile,
His memories fresh, all wonder erased
By a pup from another pile
Who howled every night and chewed up the couch,
Who soiled every rug on the floor,
Who grew to a dog and then to a slouch
That ate every morsel and more.
That man will resist yon pile of pups
No matter how frisky at play;
He too will insist, 'Let's not take one home!
'Let's not spoil this fine, peaceful day.'
Hm. Nes
62
Praise
lavished praise
that oft repeats
is not so dear
as rarest praiseso
pure,
so sweet,
(that comes, but seldom)
and unexpected
to the ear
Hm. Nes
63
Pretzel Seller
How happened you along these sands
And smelled the fragrant pretzels baking-
In this fair land the pretzels are
A symbol for the cause of man,
Too long oppressed by those who hoped
His course to straighten
With fetters and with chains.
A special price for you, no less.
For you are not a common man
That happens by upon these sands
And smells the fragrant pretzels baking.
The sand remembers men like you
Who came before with fetters, chains,
Intended thus to break and straighten
What remained of pretzels baking,
Fragrant pretzels baking along these sands.
Hm. Nes
64
Quiet Waters
Take me back to quiet waters
Though the brook's polluted now
And all muddied by the cow
Still I'll go to find what matters
Search the attic of the house
Chase away the little mouse
Mom and Dad will fix me coffee
Open up the album book
Show old pictures of the brook
Before the factory dumped in poison
Took away our peaceful stream
Stole for good our lovely scene
Thankfully we do have pictures
If not ruined over time
By neglect or turpentine
Dad was steady, Mom a tower
Though they seldom stopped to write
Never stooped to pick a fight
Till the factory tore the house down
Buried cow and mouse in brook
Left for me this troubled look
Pictures faded and the memories
Poison fills my heart with pain
Fear I'll never be the same
Mom and Dad are passed forever
Coffee's cold but my heart's hot
Unforgiveness, bitter rot
Take me please to quiet waters
Stable rest for troubled soul
Peace at last I long to know
I must go to find what matters
At the cross where Jesus died
For my grief was crucified
He will trade my pain for joy there
At the cross my Jesus cares
Happy day! My sins He bears
Hm. Nes
65
Reciprocity
An old friend telephoned today
Proposing that we meet:
'It's been too long since last we joined;
'A meeting would be sweet.'
And so I entered into his joy:
'By all means, let's get together! '
But then his scheme took on new light.
'Your place? ' he said. 'It's better.'
And then: 'Your wife prepare the meal?
'What time is best to come?
'I'll not stay late, give you time to clean.
'My, won't this be fun? '
'I'm glad I had this great idea, '
He said. 'We're quite the team.
'But next time maybe you'll do more;
'I thought of everything.'
Hm. Nes
66
Road Jerks
It's funny
how those
whose lives are going
nowhere
are in such a whopping, big hurry
to get
there.
Hm. Nes
67
Roger Renfroe-Jones Kincaid
The meanest boy in the fourth grade
Is Roger Renfroe-Jones Kincaid.
He's meaner than a junkyard dog.
He's meaner than my sister's frog.
My sister's frog ate my friend, Brown,
And all Brown did was fly around,
Then land on top the frog's dumb head.
Brown licked his wings and 'THWACK! ' was dead.
My sister's frog is called Boo Bear;
Though he's a frog and not a bear.
But bears get mean when they're afraid,
Like Roger Renfroe-Jones Kincaid.
Hm. Nes
68
Same Ol'
I eat the same ol' cereal for breakfast every day.
I drive the same ol' car to work and go the same ol' way.
I tell the same ol' jokes to all my same ol' - same ol' friends.
I watch the same ol' T.V. shows with new but same ol' spins.
I walk the same ol' dog, and he marks all the same ol' trees.
I wear the same ol' t-shirt, same ol' cap and same ol' jeans.
I give the same ol' answer to the same ol', 'How are you? 's.'
It's: 'Same ol' - same ol'; ' 'cause I like the same ol's that I choose.
Hm. Nes
69
Shadows of Trees Dancing
Shadows of trees dancing
Always dancing
All along the path
Constantly moving
But never traveling
Down the path or up it.
Shadows are bound to the shapes that make them
Like the trees that cast them.
Shadows of trees dancing
Always dancing
But never moving along the path
Like the path itself
Though it winds so far
From village to village
And back again.
The path only dances
Always dances
But never moves along.
Only the man
Moving in and out of the dancing shadows
Moving up and down the dancing path
Only the man
Moving along
Always moving along
Only the man often forgets to dance.
Hm. Nes
70
Shifting Sands
When God abandons us
to the shifting sands
below
our blistered feet,
sands that threaten
to swallow us
whole
at first
we cry out
to God
God!
are you there?
will you help us?
when? how long?
it is not possible
for us
to hold on
any longer
but hold on
we must
and trust God
what else is there to do?
the sands are hungry
and must be
satisfied:
the sands will feast
on our ravaged bodies
alone
with only God
and the shifting sands,
sands of time,
offered
in a mirky glass
for us to drink
and we are
so
very
thirsty
parched,
on the brink of death
with only sand,
shifting sands,
to satisfy our thirst;
and so,
71
we drink
what else is there to do?
but drink
and sink
down
into
the sand.
Hm. Nes
72
Sir William Shakespeare and King James
Were you there, Sir William dear,
With King James in holy writ?
Did you sign by 'shake' and 'spear'-
Place your name in sacred script?
Some say, 'Mere coincidence!
'He was not there, you can bet.
'Nor did Shakespeare ever pen
'Romeo and Juliet.'
Scoffers scoff, but I believe
You were there with good King James;
And in a way not to deceive,
Found a means to sign your name.
No surprise you chose the Psalms
And the number of your years-
Forty-six. Oh man of poems,
Hidden in this song of fears
Crafting music with your pen,
English words for Hebrew song,
Working magic yet again
So that all could sing along:
'God delivers from the flood.
'He will make all wars to cease.
'Be still! Know that He is God.
'Rivers flow from Him in peace.'
First you signed but half your name,
Forty-sixth word from the start:
Though the earth 'shake' God's the same;
He will never, never part.
Then you signed the other half,
Forty-six words from the end:
Break the 'spear' unleash your wrath,
God, rememb'ring me, your friend.
Scoffers, go on, have your say.
Grab the world and give a shake.
Take from Shakespeare every play.
Say that you think he's a fake.
I will thus take up my spear,
Dipped in ink, and here proclaim:
William Shakespeare wrote Shakespeare
And the Bible of King James.
Hm. Nes
73
Sisters and Brothers
Sisters do what sisters do,
But often two together;
As brothers do what brothers do,
Though one oft does it better.
But the sister thing and the brother thing
Are different things altogether;
So sisters do!
And brothers do!
Do your things, but
Don't dis one another.
Hm. Nes
74
small, jittery, sparrowlike bird
small, jittery, sparrowlike bird-
(i've no idea what to call it, save small and jittery and sparrowlike.)
perched for one moment,
ever so briefly,
atop the sill of my open window.
he seemed curious as to what I might be writing.
he caught my attention,
and then my eye,
and he was gone.
i wander what assessment he made regarding my words?
i'm writing about him now;
maybe he'll come back and see for himself.
Hm. Nes
75
Snow On the Pines
Reclining slowly,
Softly to the ground,
Pressed without a sound
By the gentle mounting
Of new fallen snow.
Lush boughs descending,
Bending, though no fear
Molests her beauty dear;
For melting snow will extend
Her life once again.
Hm. Nes
76
So Many Saves
We celebrate
the whippoorwill
we saved in the garden
from the cat.
The cat we saved
from the tractor engine.
The tractor we saved
from a fire in the barn
the day we saved the cow
from the flu
brought in by a whippoorwill.
So many saves!
Save leads to save.
Life is salvation
following salvation.
Hm. Nes
77
Sweet Daffodil
Breaks the ground
Sweet daffodil,
As thunder shakes
The gentle hill-
Resounding beauty,
Restive thrill,
While tethered cattle
Eat their fill.
Hm. Nes
78
Synesthetic Delight
I see the sleigh bells dancing
Raspberry-colored on the snow;
While others only sense their jingled voice,
And marvel at the magic:
How my ears can hear them so,
As well my eyes perceive the bells rejoice.
The cello's somber song in
Hues of yellow gold I see
Like honey dripping thick from honey comb.
As sky blue clouds waft heav'nward,
Blending each piano key
In colors rich but hid as by a gnome.
Not only do I hear each
Do-re-mi-fa-so-la-ti,
I also see them dance in streams of light:
The colors of the rainbow
Joined in one great symphony
Of synesthetic wonder and delight.
Hm. Nes
79
The Best Part Of My Day and All My Night
Morning light arouses eager longings each day new.
I rise; yet your arms grasp and hold me tight,
Lingering in the stillness of our happy rendezvous-
The best part of my day and all my night.
Parting isn't easy, but I manage to endure
With thoughts of you: the memories ignite
Desires that keep on growing ever stronger because you're
The best part of my day and all my night.
Hm. Nes
80
The Children Play In The Streets
The children play in the streets; they say
The children play in the streets.
While the ships dock fast in Dublin Bay,
The children play in the streets.
Och aye! The blarney blunderbuss!
He's corked! And who's to blame?
'Tain't that his wee son with a pint,
Too soon to walk the same?
Across Ha'penny Bridge his Molly
Bends to scratch for coal,
And one last fire to celebrate:
Today she quits the dole.
But what of Barry? What of Shane?
Who'll give the tykes their bread,
With Pap in one dyke stone-cold drunk,
In the other Mam stone-cold dead?
The children play in the streets; they say
The children play in the streets.
While the ships dock fast in Dublin Bay,
The children play in the streets.
Hm. Nes
81
The Light of Day Revives the Soul
The light of day revives the soul
From slumber's stranglehold,
At last to venture from the well
Where darkness, thick and cold,
Determined naught would be the tale
Of nothing never told,
Until the veil of darkness fell
And life rejoined the soul.
Hm. Nes
82
The Mountains Rise Up
The mountains rise up to protect us
From our enemies all around.
They gather snow from passing clouds,
Turn it to water and send it down.
They birth the deer, the fox, the bear
For us to hunt and then to wear.
The mountains are our friends, my son.
A mighty God has placed them there.
Hm. Nes
83
The Place I Best Remember
When I come
to the place I
best remember,
I remember the
shadows cast on
barren walls,
venetian blinds
hanging gotch-eyed.
I can still hear the
muffled moans and
floorboards creaking
as I shift my weight
from one foot
to the other. And
I remember
the fear of being
heard; so I stand
statuesque and
let the shadows pass
across my pallid face
until darkness
consumes
the whole world.
Hm. Nes
84
The Poetry of Basketball
All alone in the gym tonight-
Too early I guess for a game.
But the smells are here,
And in the silence I can even hear the sounds-
The shouts, the squeak of shoes on the floor.
Then the guys start to come-
One, two, three at a time.
One, three, six, seven, ten-
We've got ten; let's shoot for teams.
I'll guard the guy with the 'Bulls' shirt;
Who does he think he is, Michael Jordan?
I'm Michael Jordan.
And so we begin:
The dribble, the steal, the pass, the shot,
The rebound, the put back, the foul.
And over and over and over again-
Every time different, but each time the same.
I love the poetry of the game.
Hm. Nes
85
The Problem With Soccer (World Cup 2010)
The problem with soccer is there are no time outs.
When my two-year-old pitches a fit,
throwing himself on the ground,
screaming and flailing all around,
He gets a time out.
When he tattles on his sister for doing something He did,
He gets a time out.
When he kicks his sister because: “She kicked me first! ”
and then refuses to shake and make up,
He gets a time out.
When he cheats,
He gets a time out.
When he pouts,
He gets a time out.
When he won’t do his chores because he’s upset,
He gets a time out.
And sometimes, when he’s really bad, he gets spanked;
But getting spanked doesn't always seem to help.
(Ask the French.)
Hm. Nes
86
The Real McCoy
The real McCoy some say was Bill, a shipbuilder by trade,
Who joined the ranks of rum runners that prohibition made.
'Real rum' he boasted, not like them who watered down their booze.
So drink to Captain Bill, the real McCoy, and all his crews.
It's cheers to Captain Bill, the 'Real McCoy' is his good booze.
But Texans claim the real McCoy went by the name of Joe
And drove his longhorn cattle all the way to Chicago
From Abilene in Texas where they brand a 'true cowboy'
Who pokes two million head of cows, like Joe the real McCoy.
He poked two million head of cows, 'Ol Joe the real McCoy.
And there's a boxer, 'Kid' McCoy, whose momma named him Norm.
His corkscrew punch was legend and his fists flew like a storm.
The wannabes would use his name and steal his classic moves;
So Kid was billed 'The Real McCoy' in all the ticket booths.
The real McCoy is Kid McCoy, so say the billing booths.
Elijah was a real McCoy, the son of runaways
Who fled as slaves to Canada with genius child to raise.
In Edinburgh Elijah learned his engineering skill,
Inventing useful systems that lube locomotives still.
Elijah is the real McCoy whose genius lingers still.
Most ancient of the real McCoys is Scotland's Reay MacKay.
'A drappie o' the real MacKay' is bona fide they say.
When every article is drawn, the one that's genuine
Is whiskey Reay MacKay does raise and proudly boast, ''Tis mine.'
The 'Real McCoy' is Reay MacKay's; yes, it's the genuine.
Hm. Nes
87
The Road to Chancellorsville
The road that leads to Chancellorsville
Is a winding road.
I took it once.
My horse and I were merely going for a ride,
Wherever the road would lead us.
That's when I saw the wounded soldier
Lying beside the road,
Almost dead,
All alone.
I nudged him, but he didn't move.
I spoke to him, but he didn't reply.
He simply opened his eyes
For one brief moment
And looked at me;
Then he closed his eyes again
And died.
It was as if he was waiting for someone to come,
As if he didn't want to die alone.
I was in no hurry, with no place to go,
So I buried him there
Beside the road,
The winding road that leads to Chancellorsville;
But I didn't go.
I didn't go to Chancellorsville.
Instead, I turned my horse back toward home.
Hm. Nes
88
The Summit of Earth's Highest Peak
Sir Edmund Hillary first achieved
(For centuries unattained)
The summit of earth's highest peak,
And what did he there gain?
So many corpses linger there,
Of those arrived or no,
To strike a pose atop the world,
Then turn and back down go.
All climbers lose, if not their lives-
Their minds at least are numbed.
Most simply fail to reach the top,
By tragedies overcome.
Yet on and on the climbers come;
The challenge must be taken.
For God has placed Mount Everest there-
So low, so far below His throne
That never will be shaken.
Hm. Nes
89
The Tale of William Tell
The arrow flew, but none could tell
If apple pierced or humble son,
Until one or the other fell-
Determined contest lost or won.
The dart flew like a bat from hell
Toward Walter, son of William Tell.
Sir William Tell refused to bow
Before the lords who ruled the land.
And hated they his stubborn prow,
But feared the crossbow in his hand.
'He must be forced to bend somehow! '
So swore they all with solemn vow.
And then: 'A contest we shall call!
'Let William shoot his famous bow
'At distance great and target small,
'And so by doing he can show
'He need not bow nor ever fall
'Upon his face before us all.'
At last a target did unveil:
An apple at one hundred yards.
But William's face grew ghastly pale.
He ne'er suspected such dark cards:
The apple sat on Walter Tell,
The humble son of William Tell.
And fixed the arrow for its flight-
'No need to shoot; just simply bow, '
Said lords who thought they'd won the fight
Against Sir William Tell who now
Should slay his only son; but right
Prevails against the darkest night.
The arrow flew, but none could tell
If apple pierced or humble son
Until one or the other fell-
Determined contest lost or won.
The dart flew like a bat from hell
Toward Walter, son of William Tell.
The apple split with such a force-
No trace of apple could be found.
But all the country changed its course-
No longer serfs to lords were bound.
And freedom rose upon the shores
Because Sir William refused the lords.
Hm. Nes
90
This Languid Heart
This languid heart that feared to face the day
Is sobered by the swiftness of your love-
Such brisk, delightful movements on display
For all the world to see; but only I
Can draw you close to feel the pulsing flow
Of sweet determination for the tasks
That gave me pause, but now hold little threat
With you beside me marching to the fray.
Each day awakens to the truth that I
Am not alone in this celestial brawl
That threatens all of life- the fore and aft
Of our existence- things that are and known.
And yet there’s more, but who can hope to find
With borrowed compass- broken, unreturned.
One truth I cling to, and will not let go-
My languid heart knows nothing more than this:
If you should stop the movements of your love,
The brisk display of pleasure in my being,
This languid heart would know not else to do
But stop as well and beat no more for you.
Hm. Nes
91
Time
The mornings dawn,
The seasons change,
And years pass by
One after one
As lives dissolve into the span of time.
The old man knows
To count each day
And ne'er neglect
One setting sun
Lest he should disappear and miss the last;
Unlike the child
Who seldom notes
The changing moons
And passing time-
The days that he will never see again.
Teach me to count,
To cherish time,
Before I'm old
And days are lost
To rocking chairs that rick-rock with the clock.
Hm. Nes
92
Too Late the Cello Sang
'Too late, ' the cello sang.
In misty stillness mourned the twilight-
Thomas Caster Abernathy took his life.
For weeks he wandered, truly wondering
How to find himself in Carnforth
After Bessie stole his heart and won the grave.
No children shared their journey;
Not a friend had gathered to him.
She the only one to ever sing his name,
And played the cello as she sang it.
Waltzed his heart, though legs stayed sober-
Thomas Caster Abernathy loved her true.
The city sank into a slumber,
None to hear his labored sobbing-
Longing, praying, begging God to hear his voice.
Then the bridge, so high above-
The river churning far below-
And once again for Bessie, Thomas prayed.
Too late the cello sang
In misty stillness of the twilight-
Thomas Caster Abernathy joined his wife.
Hm. Nes
93
Too Many Miles to Cross
A calloused heart does hurt much less,
And lonely days are few
For a heart that beats but never breaks
From an absence it never knew.
'Tis easier sure to feel no pain
Nor tears from the growing loss
Of words not heard nor kisses felt-
Too many miles to cross.
Yet come the tears and aches that burn
From a distance forced upon;
While closeness grows in tender hearts
Kept apart for oh so long.
Hm. Nes
94
Twenty-nine Thousand Four Hundred Seven Sunsets
Twenty-nine thousand four hundred seven sunsets
With one same sun on the one same sea.
In the early days by my mother’s side,
Though she’d often tell me of the sun and of the sea,
I seldom watched, and never for long,
The slow dissolve,
The melt and plunge,
Now you see it, now you don’t-
So many sunsets lost.
Twenty-nine thousand four hundred seven sunsets
With one same sun on the one same sea.
The years of my youth were marked by friends and sport,
Often whole days on the beach-
Raging winds and mammoth waves
Or a still, glass sea, not a cloud in the sky,
And every shade in between.
I rarely fathomed the myriad shapes and colors,
An ever-changing landscape-
So very many sunsets lost.
Twenty-nine thousand four hundred seven sunsets
With one same sun on the one same sea.
The middle-aged years pinned me to my work;
Yet through a window from time to time,
Or on holiday, if I risked the break,
I’d notice how lovely a sunset could be-
So very many sunsets lost forever.
Twenty-nine thousand four hundred seven sunsets
With one same sun on the one same sea.
At last, in these final days, each sunset is anticipated, craved.
Regardless the mood of the sea, it will receive the sun.
No matter the face of the sky, it will let go the same.
The sun itself, always churning, always burning,
Swells with new brilliance, new radiance and splendor
Each time it approaches the sea,
Then morphs into a molten pool on the sea’s surface
Before plunging from view-
Never more a sunset lost.
Twenty-nine thousand four hundred seven sunsets
With one same sun on the one same sea.
Then one glorious day,
The day of my twenty-nine thousand four hundred and sixth sunset,
And I at my usual place along the shore,
Saw the sun rise out of the sea from where it had just set!
95
The sun rose back up into the sky, and
In the very next moment on the very same day, it set again.
I experienced my twenty-nine thousand four hundred and seventh sunset,
The second in one day!
Oh glorious day!
A sunset gained.
Twenty-nine thousand four hundred seven sunsets
With one same sun on the one same sea.
(In 2 Kings 20: 9-11 the Lord made the shadow go back 10 steps. Certainly, at that
exact moment, somewhere in the world, someone saw the sun dissolve on the horizon
and then rise again.)
Hm. Nes
96
Two Soldiers, Two Sisters Each
So proud we stood,
My sister, Marge, and me-
Our brother, Bruce,
As he was meant to be-
And who'd of thought?
Our country 'tis of thee,
Sweet land of liberty,
Of thee we sing, and send
Our brother, Bruce.
While over there,
Somewhere across the sea,
Two other fools,
With brother proud to be-
And he so brave,
To save his family
And keep his country free-
His death for liberty-
Wears soldier clothes.
Our brother, Bruce,
Will meet his destiny.
Their brother too,
As he was meant to be,
Will take a life,
Protecting liberty-
That Bruce again won't see
His sisters proud that he
Wore soldier clothes.
Hm. Nes
97
Unrequited, More or Less
When she found me, I was not as I would have liked to be found,
Nor where,
Not wearing my best
As I would have liked;
And yet, she seemed to be less than put out with me,
Possibly even pleased.
It was an unexpected and easy way to deal with what could have otherwise been
A mess.
I relaxed.
She made me feel comfortable and not as awkward as the word sounds,
(Awkward is an odd word and I don’t like to feel it.)
Especially around her,
But she displaced my oddities and awkwardness
With stuff of herself- like fragrance,
And lace,
And humming.
She liked to hum, and noticed me while she did it.
I wanted to hum along with her, but I feared that it would make her stop.
Instead, I closed my eyes and started to sway
With the music,
Until the swaying took me away,
Far away,
To another world where she refused to go,
But I didn’t want to go away,
Not without her.
I tried to stop myself from swaying,
To open my eyes,
But I couldn’t.
Now I fear that I will never hear her humming again,
And I feel awkward.
Hm. Nes
98
Virgil Lied
Virgil swore he'd never open
Marge's chest where letters kept-
Secrets stored from all her years of life.
But Virgil lied, now Marge was dead-
Virgil opened, broke the lock and opened, Marge's chest
And found there one short note which read:
Dearest Virgil,
This is all I ever wrote.
Yours always,
Marge
Hm. Nes
99
War
cold and huddled,
lacking courage,
hungry- most of all just hungry,
fearing fever,
thinking of mother, that
likely she filled a pot with stew.
why the fighting?
why the danger?
why the death? such brutal war!
digging trenches,
thinking of mother, that
likely she filled a pot with stew.
Hm. Nes
100
What Will Become Of Her Now?
What will become of her now,
Now that her lover has gone,
Gone to the land of the brave and the free-
Free, but from who and from what?
What does he think he will find?
Find all that is and is not-
Not worth his leaving the things once held dear-
Dear more than life, Sir, that's what.
What will she say when he comes,
Comes back before he has gone,
Gone to the land of the free and the brave-
Brave, but for who knows what?
Hm. Nes
101
When the Kings Went to War
When the kings went to war
Went to war
Went to war
When the kings went to war
I stayed home.
Now the kings have returned
Some have died
Most alive
Now the kings have returned
And I'm alone.
Who to tell
How to say
All that happened in the days
When the kings went to war
While I stayed home.
Oh the battles
Oh the hell
Not of war but worse
The well-kept secrets crying
To be known.
Knocks the door
Comes before
Nathan knows and he will tell
How the king failed to war
When he stayed home.
When the kings went to war
Went to war
Went to war
When the kings went to war
I stayed home.
Hm. Nes
102
Who Wants To Be Burned?
My father warned me.
Mother warned me.
My neighbor, Gilbert Jeffrey Swain, often warned me.
(Gilbert is fourteen and knows these things.)
'The brazier is hot, too hot to touch!
'Don't touch the brazier if'n you don't want to be burned! '
And who wants to be burned?
My father was burned.
Mother was burned.
Gilbert Jeffrey Swain was burned six times.
(Gilbert has experience with these things.)
The brazier was hot, too hot to touch,
But I touched it anyway.
I touched it twice, and then a third time.
My father was right.
Mother was right.
Gilbert Jeffrey Swain was definitely right.
(Gilbert shared more details than did my father or mother.)
The brazier is hot, really, really hot. I'm telling you myself.
You shouldn't touch it if'n you don't want to be burned!
And who wants to be burned?
Hm. Nes
103
Winter Surprise
The earth gave quite a surprise this morning
In a fresh new dress of snow she'd donned.
Not quite the warm garb I would choose
For this chilly winter's day,
Though ideal for children's play.
But me? I'll roll and hit the snooze.
The weekend plans to clean up the lawn
Can wait until the warmer days of spring.
Hm. Nes
104
Words by Cassie Burnall and Paul
We don’t preach ourselves, for we are his ambassadors.
The power’s not from us; it comes from him.
We are not at home in this body, in this world,
And we will make our goal to please him.
Now I have given up on everything else.
I have found the only way
Is to know Christ and experience
The power that raised him from the grave.
I want to know the power that brought Christ back to life.
I want to suffer with him, and to die.
I want to live in fresh newness of life,
Of those alive from the dead.
Hm. Nes
105
you and I, and the cat
we shared a cup of coffee- you and I,
as the cat looked on.
you had two lumps of sugar, a shot of cream.
mine was black.
I thought to offer cream to the cat; he’d like that.
and then you smiled.
you peered across the rim of your upraised cup, taking a sip,
scrunching your face and smiling through the steam as it
rose from your milky, sweet coffee,
and I forgot about the cat.
he purred.
quickly, I put him outside,
knowing his familiar purr, a purr that soon
would escalate into a full-blown howl
that demanded my attention and some cream.
I wanted only to savor the contented sweetness of your face,
perfectly formed for my delight, but
you felt sorry for the cat.
I had been abrupt, insensitive.
“Why can’t the cat be allowed to purr, even to howl
“if he wants? ' you said.
“Why must the cat be refused a simple request for attention
“and a sip of milk? ”
alright then, I’ll let the cat back inside,
and give him some milk.
are you happy now?
no answer.
the coffee has grown tepid,
along with your smile.
I loathe that cat.
Hm. Nes
106
You Can't Trust A Nigger With A Gun
The graves we dug in the pourin' rain
With enemy fire still a comin' down.
The mud so deep, feared I might be drowned
And laid 'side them who was done with pain.
And the thunder rolled,
And a baby cried,
And a soldier cried,
But I's feelin' bold.
Said: 'Yanks I'll shoot jus' cause they's down here.'
'Cept muskets waren't meant for colored men
Who's fit to dig but not to dig in-
To save our homes, all that we hold dear.
And the thunder rolled,
And a baby cried,
And a soldier cried,
But I's feelin' bold.
A gun I grabs from the Union dead;
'Twas loaded and cocked and good to fire.
I's aimed and fixin' to vent my ire
When a bullet exploded in my head.
And the voice of a Reb who knew me said:
'You can't trust a nigger with a gun;
'For sure, he'll shoot his Massah and run.'
And the thunder rolled,
And a baby cried,
And a soldier cried,
And so's I died.
Hm. Nes
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