DEVOTION POEM 5, “Unspoken” ***** (for Jim Eslinger)
Young and new to each other,
There was always too much to say.
Glancing around in restaurants, we’d notice
What so many friends remarked on when seeing
Those older couples staring at their water goblets
Or their fingers and never conversing —
Not a breath spent one to the other...
Thus, we swore, we’d never ever be like that.
Until now, we are as the telepathy of time
Often does story — full with unspoken exchanges
And kindnesses, like when I want more coffee
And Jim has signaled a waiter before I signaled him,
Or there are things regarding our surroundings:
The commotion and din; notes about raindrops;
And the phases of the moon; points of quality;
Jabs of conflict; moments of pain; and expressions
Of known love. Thus so, our lives joined are
Evermore outside of dictionaries and essays,
Even overtopping poems.
We speak in being:
Together.
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(c) sally Young Eslinger 8/2020
Thanks be to God
As I strolled through my hometown
I saw the people who possessed me,
who beat me down and held me up,
who tickled me and trounced me,
formed and shaped this neophyte.
Full aware of their manipulations,
stations of the Cross, or as temptations
for transgression, they were my lifelines,
baiting me, or bonding me to morals,
some would stick, and some would splinter.
Too soon my father passed away.
Oft I'd meet him as I wandered,
a more than welcome wraith,
we smoked cigarettes and chatted,
solid body, apparition.
Significant exchanges, the channels
of his wisdom broadened those
of this young child, and I expanded
'til perspective took its hold. There will
be more, 'til I am singular and bold!
It took time for the soldier to realize,
that no one was truly self-sufficient,
after the raids and the bombings, hunger materialized,
and life seemed insufficient,
the villagers took refuge in a form of weakness,
as they watched their government fail,
and their lives sail,
unable to ask for any kind of help or guidance,
because of their own blood trail,
left by strangers in their land,
as most of these bystanders
become prisoners to a foreign command,
these thoughts flashed through the soldiers head,
as he walked around the countless dead,
he fought so many wars and won,
and he knew when another war starts,
they’ll take his son,
he gazed at the sleeping form of an old woman,
wrapped in a filthy sheet,
as she rocked nervously on the side of the street,
and small children huddled together,
and it appeared they haven’t had a bite to eat,
they simply watched and waited,
and for the most part,
that’s what the soldier hated,
these sights tugged at his heart,
but he was just following the chains of command,
there were whispered exchanges,
but he knew God would somehow understand.