WAR DRUMS: THE U.S.S. COLE!

Because I’m not yet adept at this, and don’t know how to put the music in the background, please minimize this.

Then, pull it up again in another browser – this, so you can hear the added clip of drums at the same time as you read it.

Please, before you read this:

Click on this:  War drums  Minimize it, then with the other browser, read the poem below!

 

• War drums are pounding
• can you hear ‘em?
• War drums are poundin
• can you feel ‘em?

 

• The President’s just delayed justice
• left the parents at the gate wonderin’
• “What about us?”
• What about our sons?
• Who died on the Cole?
• You stopped the prosecution?
• Where’s your mind?   Where’s your soul?

• They’re not gonna take it!
• Neither are we!
• Our sons will not serve the likes of you if you do this
• Not in foreign lands!
• Nor on the seas!

Fun Poems below

An Alien’s View, Questions For The Rooster.

Also, America: At War W/Its’ Own Reflection, Aliyah, Beautiful Linda, and Melancholy Calls

Questions for the Rooster

 

You certainly don’t have much fear, telling everyone you’re here

And consistently, …… just exactly where.

 

You don’t seem to care, you anger those asleep.

Or worry about lack of light, in which fox, and cougar creep.

 

It’s as if you’ve a duty ….. assigned by God Himself.

To render all clocks useless, to sit on closet shelf.

 

You go about announcing, breaking of the day,

answering every distant crow - is that all you have to say?

 

Just what is it you know, ….. something we do not?

That time’s an illusion, . . . on this blue spinning dot.

 

And what is it, this strange drive of yours?

Puffed up full of pride?  

….. or is it just pure ego, somehow gone awry?

 

You remind me of someone I know

…… just can’t remember who

when sound asleep upon on your perch,

a trumpet I would blow; 

 

feathers all unraveled, 

. . . my goodness . . . . . It be you!

                                                   josiah

Latter Day Dirge

We played the flute for you

   you did not dance.

We sang a dirge for you

   you did not morn *

 

And now . . .

 as you stand at the edge of time,

  the rains come;

   the streams rise;

    the winds blow;

     the storms rage;

      and the earth trembles beneath your feet;

 

Oh foolish one,

 where have you built

  your heart?

 

                josiah

 

 

* Matthew 11:17

ALIYAH

 NEXT YEAR – JERUSALEM

    When light is long and time is short, should we stumble onto that door, hidden in the cleft of the rock, with fear and trepidation, will we enter in?   Or will we pass it by, once again?   Deep within, we seek to re-live those rare moments strewn throughout life, when we’ve touched the soul of another, but it takes reckless abandon, …. rejection can be harsh.

    Because of a fleeting memory, we long to re-experience intimacy.   Our time here, so far from home, is as a stranger in a strange land and lends a sense of urgency.

    Periodically, we’ve joined ourselves to whom we judge to be safe and loving, but most alliances are precipitous, ringing shallow, bereft of lasting intimacy.   But, when we actually enter in, succeeding in touching the soul of another, and find true love, as we move through life, no matter how far apart we end up, we’re bound for all time.    Help us remember those encounters and take the chance again, to know one another, more deeply.

    An unseen evil, walks among us here, it has a goal …. the least of which is to damage and intimidate us, to keep us isolated.   The ultimate goal is, to put an end to love.  Vulnerable, they would, with the precision of a surgeon’s scalpel, separate us, … body from soul.   For those who know Him, that goal is unreachable because of unseen guardians, purposefully encamped around us.   His protection’s allowed our limited successes, challenged us, . . . . and changed our world forever.

    So, the only question is: “Why is He not enough?”   He should be …. why do we so need others?   That’s where pain, lies in wait.

    As for me, …. I live within an obscure, surreal, opaque vision …… which comes and goes, invading my consciousness at the most inopportune times.   

    Often on moonless nights, when I walk the docks alone, and only by intuition, recognize, another is there, beyond sight, beyond touch, in the fog.   Without seeing, …. without speaking, we sense near contact, and buoy one another with the hope to go on,….. to become another year older and say once more:  

    Next Year! Jerusalem!  

    Why Lord . . . . is that whisper I seem to hear, from across the Marina, . . . . an echo?   Will we know one another when we meet?   Could be . . . . if not for the fact that it’s that same lady’s voice I’ve heard before.   The one who enters my dreams.

    Who is she?   And what does she want from me?

                                                                                                                     josiah 

(all rights reserved // josiah July 2^nd, 2008)

Melancholy Calls

Spirit’s called to help me write,

but nothing comes

….. other than crying out to You,

I sit alone in my room,

not knowing what I want to say,

keyboard untouched,

I grieve and wonder why.

Memories flood in

of loves gone by.

They drift away, only to return again, 

until, the telephone rings.

On my 3^rd “hello?”, the response,

is an almost inaudible, melancholy ”click”……

not as if, it was a wrong number, 

but rather as an …. “I’m not sure I wanted to talk to you now,” call,

as if she were waitin to hear if I called her by name.

I think back of ladies who tell me they hurt, 

…. and I’m the reason why.

They don’t understand 

from my perspective,

I’m the one, who was used and thrown away,

if they wanted me,

they shouldn’t have said they didn’t.

Forgive me Lord ……. but why is it

You gave me so much love

if I was never suppose to show it?

So here I sit, 29 years later,

alone again, and I still grieve

as I remember those late night phone calls

but this time the memories

are all her again 

. . . . when they should be over my ex-wife.

With the 27 years of pure hell

my spouce put me through,

can you tell me why I still love her?

At least I’m where I should be . . . .

. . . . talking daily with You!

                                       josiah 

(Copyright – all rights reserved – josiah // 1979 // revised 2008)

Beautiful Linda

I should have known, immediately,

    that she was not

        . . . who she, 

            pretended to be

When she wrote on that Polly’s Pie shop’s napkin …..

    in her beautiful,

        imaginative, calligraphy,

lies laid down in script. . . .

    reveal for me now, 

        what then, I did not see.

 

“If the plural of mouse,

    is mice,

Then the plural of spouse . . . .

    Must be …. Spice.” 

 

How was it Lord, I was so blind?  

  Nothing unusual, I guess . . . . .

    not at least, for me . . . . .

 

Re-reading this, I wonder, ’is my memory failing?

Was this Linda, or was it my fience?’

And if it was my wife . . . , I was more than . . . just blind!

27 years, gone, . . . . disappeared!

Gullible, n’ stupid fit as well . . . .

Might be easier to continue to tell myself

‘it was Linda . . . . had to have been!’ 

I loved her too but,

there’s less prayer over resentment, that way.

                                                    josiah

An Alien’s View

//   \   //   \   //   \   //   \   //   \   //   \

                       An Alien’s View

 

Looking in, at this terrestrial ball called earth

Though strange to ponder,

what is its’ diagnosis?

Looking at it

most objectively, ….

must be, 

some sort of mass psychosis!

And what of its’ inhabitants,  

just what,

 . . . . is their prognosis?

Leave them alone 

sooner or later,

out of spite, …..

they’ll cut off their noses!

 

                          josiah