VIEW FROM TOMORROW

02/05/2012 Posted by mindsinger

 

 

 

 

 

Life was not always like this for me, you know.

There was a time – oh there was a time!

I marched with the best of them!

 

I flew those silver birds through hell

and brought them back every time.

Life was not always like this.

 

Sometimes I remember things.

Like the time I found those pups

only a couple weeks old

suckling their dead mother

at the bottom of a foxhole.

 

I cried as I drowned those pups.

I wanted to be back on thatIndianafarm

where I cold raise those warm, wiggly buggers

and make sheep dogs of them!

God, how I wanted that!

 

I remember shooting the enemy

and seeing around his neck

a gold locket.

Then having to get up and fire again

to keep that piece of real estate

on our side of the front.

 

I remember the men, good, bad, brave, weak,

who shared that life and made it special.

Ah, we had us some times!

 

What’s that, you say?

What am I doing here?

I don’t’ know.

Sometimes, I think I’m trying to forget.

But mostly, I guess, I’m trying to remember

that time when life itself was a battle.

 

I wait for those spaces when the whiskey fog lifts

and the reality of a civilized world closes in.

Those minutes when I seem once again

to be them aster of my fate.

When the lives of my men and the fate of a world

rested on the tip of a carbine.

Or when these red eyes saw the world

from the blue skies.

when life meant something.

No, life was not always like this.

                          ~*~

c.2000 Donna Swanson

ONE MORNING

01/26/2012 Posted by mindsinger

The sun rose quietly over the tiny town while bells chimed softly the morning call to prayer.
Some grumbled at being wakened. Some had been long stirring.

And some had not slept at all.

A small group of men could be seen leaving the cluster of houses;
a sheep or two and a lamb following close.
they spoke quietly among themselves.

“What did it mean?”
“Could it really be Him?”
“I’ll never forget the music!”
“Why would angels speak to shepherds?”

~*~

In the town a tender young maiden looked with wonder upon the face of her newborn child.
“Who are you, my sweet son? What glories dwell within those wide and wondering eyes?
Oh, Miracle, born within the miracle of birth?
I will not think of the future! Today is ours.”

~*~

Far away to the East, the discussion continues.
“There can be no doubt.”
“This is a new and wondrous light!”
“And it seems to be moving!”
“What can it mean?”
“We must study this strange body in the heavens.”
“Does anyone know a prophecy concerning such an occurrence?”
“There is a Word spoken in the holy writings of an obscure people.
once powerful, they are now subject to Rome.
Israel, I think they were called….”

~*~

A young man pauses in his preparations for the day
to study his rough and work-hardened hands.
Could these hands have held that tiny form?
Would he ever understand the wonder of that birth so strangely foretold?
“A fine strong son! I will teach him the wonder of wood;
how to lay a firm foundation for a strong house.
How to select the finest timbers. A carpenter!…
Oh, God, I listened to those scriptures with Mary!
Surely the people will accept him.
When they know he is your son!”

c.2000/ Donna Swanson

 

UNCONQUERABLE

01/16/2012 Posted by mindsinger

 

The unconquerable,

inconceivable love of God.

Is it too good to be true?

We must think so.

For we constantly write songs and poems about it,

hurling superlatives

into the storms of our doubt.

And if, as writers,

we are honest with ourselves,

we must confess the times

when words collapse of their own weight.

Then, in the stillness,

in the echoing stillness of our divided hearts,

the music begins.

Softly the Father woos us,

beckoning us to him.

Perhaps in a fiery sunset,

perhaps in the perfection of a rose,

he whispers his glory.

And the words come back.

He Walks in Majesty!

 

c.2000, Donna Swansion