Patriot Guard funeral Escort
Loch David Crane
Today is sunny: with three dozen bikes,
some decorated cars, a pair of trikes,
two dozen Marines: all of the family
and toddlers to set their Daddy free
into the Great Beyond beyond the sky
where loved ones send their veterans who die.
Below our feet the stones give way to grass
where they are neatly trimmed; and as we pass
the names of strangers stare into the air
and we look back, wondering who lies there.
I won't step on a grave--I'll walk around
so not to insult those within the ground.
We ride at funerals honoring those vets,
brave men and women we have never met.
He stood bravely before me
with a medal of honor in his right hand
and a bandage of agony around his left knee
It seemed like he had struggled to stand,
his crutches lay useless on the ground
I found it hard to understand why,
a soldier in pain didn't even frown
With a voice firm but dry
his words shook me like thunder
"You're now the man of this house"
he uttered like a worn-out hunter
quivering up my legs like a terrified mouse
Drowning my mind through cold ears
he passed his sincere respect and sunken tears
Seeing through the wav’ring flame of light
your porc’lain skin your brazen eyes so fair,
the songs which stir the depth of frosty night
do not waylay the course of love’s despair.
For love of King, not I, thine heart’s declared.
Oh, I am damned by wanton deed bespoke
on Furies wings my cursed heart’s ensnared
and in the fire we shall rise on smoke.
My love I’ll not rescind, nor Him provoke.
Beside your sleeping form our bed a pyre,
the curtain's caught in candle flame once stoked,
we’ll go to Holy Hell within the fire,
a martyred Queen, an errant Knight so blind
for Kings and common men are seldom kind.
Seven men, three shots each, firing off into a grey sky.
her heart sank so low, as she gripped her daughter,
And then she fought back a bittersweet cry.
She felt her husband had been sent to slaughter.
That soilders song brought her down, yet she felt so very proud.
He knew the risk when he signed on, still he was willing to do his best.
The memories of his bootcamp departure, made her thoughts ring loud,
No more emails, no more SKYPE, just her man laid her to rest.
She thinks back to the earliest days, how hard they were to bare.
A soilders wife was a lonely life, and time with him she'd sacrifice.
Counting up all the lost nights from her man, she feels it was still unfair.
She'd gotten used to the field and, the cold nights, but feared the highest price.
She holds her baby's hand seated right next to his grave.
A soilder salutes and presents a folded flag, A token to remember her love.
We buried her in that grave in the ground;
it was her final, resting place--poor Mom!
Shaken, I wept but my siblings were calm;
only I appeared distraught and unsound,
overwhelmed at the sudden loss I found
too great to bear; it was like a huge bomb
had exploded in our lives,--like napalm!
There I sat...my grieving tears were profound;
it had been an upsetting funeral:
we buried her on a cold, wintry morn...
all there knew their places on arrival;
among them I wept, so tearful and torn
during the service and the burial.
In the end, I felt so dead and stillborn...
Show me a clear midsummer’s day, and I
Shall reveal the coldness lurking beneath
For which the mortals heave a knowing sigh
In kind, the winter bares her savage teeth
Yet we, who know better than to implore
Play games with Time that are cruelly coy
Always to have less than ever before
And thus is the fickle manner of joy
To depart tenfold as quick as it came
Seeking first the ones who try to hold fast
For all who dare speak that elusive name
Breathe tender eulogies of summers past
Fear not, for the blush of this earth entombed
Shall run our blood until we are exhumed
Therein amongst the subtle fall of rain
That drips rhythmically upon leafy green
I hath now a dead love, woefully lain
Like deadened steps on the grave stones serene.
Though mold casts shadows, haunting and subdued—
As rain's sleek menace cracked youth's lofty tomb—
Black boughs laden with black apathy, nude,
Line this grave yard as would a mother's womb.
These roses are not perfumed in anguish,
Yet, in hesitation, with them I lie
A solitude prepared for relinquish
That with salted derision, hopes to die.
And the meek mourn with ugly, failing grace
As the rain gradually quickens its pace.
Millenniums have I traversed through mists and thunder
Hovering above volcanoes, stretching through sea-caves
My passionate trips surfaced along the meander
Of mountain ridges, swaying like a marooned slave
My autumnal greenness suffered a parch
In the days of searing summer pretty much
During winter the swirling wind laid me astray
Summer again to turn me green from grey
Suffering from others’ pains I writhed
The days of intense agony were built
The confounding rays of sun made me swoon
Was I born again? Was it nature’s boon?
Today I look up at the distant Sun
Covertly content; I have made my run
The Burial, Translation of Paul Verlaine’s sonnet : L’Enterrement
I know nothing as gay as a burial !
The grave-digger who sings with his pickaxe in bright thrill
The church bells from afar reverberating with their svelte trille
The priest in a white surplice whose joyous prayers hardly in denial
The chorus boy with his voice fresh as a girl’s,
And when at the bottom of the hole, all warm and snug,
The coffin nestles in with the tumbling in soft tug
Of earth making the corpse’s eiderdown, the lucky devil’s
All this looks to me quite charming forsooth !
And then, all those, stuffed plump in tail coats’ sheath,
Mourners whose noses redden while receiving tips
And then, the proper concise speeches stuffed with advice rare
And then, with bulging hearts and glorious foreheads glistening
Hail ! The sparkling heirs !
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
Basking in the first rays of the childhood sun
Chasing the fleeting trail of the grasshopper
The ancient trunk of life, in its penultimate run
Embraces the horizon, steps towards the bar
So many memories twinkle across the sky
Childhood fancies, youth gilded of love and passion
The strength of togetherness, days passing by
Loneliness creeps in, a grey morn lamenting the Sun
Heart craves for a return, yet the call of the sea
What pain cripples him when all bonds are severed
A distant lull encompasses the forlorn lea
Wonder peace ever found in the journey entire
Were souls paired with soul, relationships made real
The world slowly fades out, a voice heard loud and clear
Contest Name: The Poet-III by Gautami Phookan
I've known the end is here for sometime now
but your sweet talking ways led my heart on
to think we'd overcome it all somehow
avoiding what is plain though love is gone.
But now the truth and all reality
comes to my mind, as sure as do your lies
and I must put aside what you tell me
but not the truth that's in your lying eyes.
How you could beg my love then go your way
into anothers' arms, I shouldn't know,
and time is gone when I'd have more to say
and so I'll simply bid you now to go.
And if your fits of rage fall on my head--
just one more time--you may wish you were dead.
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more stormy and less temperate.
Rough winds do shake our fragile bonds of May,
And summer's temper hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot your sweat does shine,
And often is your beauty dimmed;
And every handsome man you do decline,
by chance, they leave chest hair untrimmed.
Part 2 Variation
Shall I compare thee to a winter’s day?
Thou art as stormy and as cold
And do leave me longing for May
And winter’s temper too long showed
Sometime too cold yours eyes shine GREY
Bike to Work day: escorting the funeral of Marine Albrak Omar
Loch David Crane
Patriot Guard Riders
No more classes now that I've been fired!
Patriotism is my job: I’m retired.
The Patriot Guard rides almost every day
to bring a flapping flag line on display.
We ride to work with combustion and chrome
to bring the bodies of our brave troops home.
In a strange twist for love of our country
This Arab Albrak was a volunteer
who gave America his youthful years
to make Iraqui people finally free.
He gave his life: I give my afternoon
remembering our heroes at high noon.
Packed in ice, he came home to his Mom;
his body was prepared by an Imam.
Our death of soul steals slowly through the years
the fog of mind that's never known to be;
brought on by laughter, love, and hate and tears
the fate of all no one can ever see.
It brings the withering of life, and all its leaves,
once green and shining in the morning sun,
now setting on it all, in evening grieves
for lack of interest in what life has done.
Compassion leaves the mind, once fired and prime
and old and tired now beats the heart we knew
life now mundaned by passing of all time,
there's little left the heart would like to do.
Old one, you're numbered to your final breath.
Your rest is not until it's done in death.
Spine protruding from withered figure,
His face a creeping shadow,
Scattering, revealing pale ghost beneath,
Breathing eerier croaks from dark fathoms within,
A bumpy mess of scales,
His eyes dug deep within the shrivels of his face,
Reflecting with joy his distant youth,
Quivering lost paper in wind,
As those lips part one final time,
No one listens to his great last words,
Expecting him to quietly slip away with grace,
Death his friend he must embrace.
Never knew love the way I know it now
Never will I know even when I ask how
She left and that was all
I'm trying desperately to climb outside this wall
I grip the roses stem and blood drips down my wrist
I drop to the floor, put my hands on my forehead while in a fist
We shared an oath from our lips to Gods ears
I placed myself in front of her knife to the heart to quench her fears
It killed me to love and lose
I'm losing sleep so I smash my clock back to snooze
I can't believe I thought she was the one to save me
It turns out she was the one to enslave me
My trust ran deep like blood coursing through her vein
I need to numb the bitter taste so I use novacaine
The thought of her is making my heart race
My walls are gone and now I have too much space
I think my loss is starting to hit me
I can't breathe at the thought that she will forget me
I fall from my knees with my face sideways on the floor
I grip the rose tighter & tell myself I don't want to love evermore
I'm fighting the truth and reality at this time
I'm in too deep, I'm too weak to climb
I feel a cold running through my veins followed by a last chill
My eyes are awake yet my body lie still
The lights are dimming and my life is flashing in spurts
I guess this is what it means when they say love hurts...
he lived within the village I know
and yet I never knew him though
we didn't actually live far apart
his passing leaves me not unhurt
for in the knowing of his existence
and his reputation for excellence
I now feel the void of his passing
today our humanity's under staffing
the expressions of so many now
laughing past their grief some how
to their history when he was here
their times spent together do endear
each to the other - from past to now
I'm touched by this stranger anyhow
© Goode Guy 2012-05-18