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Bradley Howey Poem
(for Bryan)
Still now, she lies there gently,
as the dawn begins to rise;
and dares to men forsake her,
for some surer, safer climb.
She whispers, in the evening,
when the quiet holds the night;
and beckons to them gently,
in the wake of hellish fight:
"Oh, turn your gaze to land then--oh,
give up your precious dreams,
and "...remember when..." the days"...back then..."
you tried to tame the seas.
But oh, if courage bind you,
and an endless treasure seek,
then press your will 'gainst wind and tide,
and spend a while with me!
You'll stand against the raging storm,
you'll master every sea,
and when, come time,
to land again: “A Captain you shall be!"
Copyright © Bradley Howey | Year Posted 2022
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Bradley Howey Poem
Every day I go to school
to read and write and follow rules;
I try to do the best there that I can.
Each teacher tries to shape and clip—
to grow me here but there to nip;
I try to do the best there that I can.
Some classes let me think and write
of things that bring me back to life;
I try to do the best there that I can.
But then in others I can’t see
that there is any place for me;
I try to do the best there that I can.
~
But those things aren’t the why I go—
the deep down thing that makes me show;
the reason why I want to go at all.
'Cause there’s this class that’s after school—
that’s not so much about the rules,
but something deeper down, inside of me.
It starts when drummer plays the time,
repeating—like a simple rhyme,
that pulls me out of all the where I’ve been.
And then when bass and piano play
the groove begins to heal the day,
and all of us just look around and smile.
‘Cause in this place of subtle time—
of melody, and swing sublime,
we’ve found a where that we know we can be...
...the who we are deep down inside—
where heart, and soul, and swing reside;
We’ve found a place where we can all be:
Free.
Copyright © Bradley Howey | Year Posted 2022
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Bradley Howey Poem
Shadow, but absence of light-time.
Darkness, a stage for the dawn.
Freedom, but call to men’s heart-strings.
Liberty, easily gone.
When every mountain a teacher,
then every moment, a school.
When every wise man a pauper,
then every student, a fool.
When freedom’s cast, but a shadow,
then freedom’s ring, is but mute.
When freedom lasts not the hour,
then freedom’s champ’ion, a brute.
Here is my mountain, my teacher!
Here is my moment, my school!
Here, find the student, oh wisemen!
Here, find the pauper, oh fools.
Cast away e-very shadow!
Ring, ‘till the stone hears my cry!
Then freedom last through the ev’ning!
Then freedom’s champ’ion, am I!
Shadow, but absence of light-time.
Darkness, a stage for the dawn.
Freedom—the call makes my heart sing!
Liberty, once again: Won.
Copyright © Bradley Howey | Year Posted 2022
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Bradley Howey Poem
(for our daughter, on the event of her departure)
Once upon a time, a great blue heron stopped to rest from her travels, in a field.
She closed her great and powerful wings, folded her long, long legs, shut her beautiful eyes, and went to sleep.
When she awoke she found that she was not alone, for there, standing beside her in the field was a crow, and a sparrow, and a robin.
The crow spoke first with his raspy voice. He said:
“I am a handsome black crow. I clean the world of dead things, and old—and make it such a pleasant place to be. Your legs are much too long I see, but you should want to be like me.”
The sparrow spoke next with a gentle chirp. She said:
“I am a little sparrow, who flits from here to there. I grace the sky with beauty when my cousins and I roam, and fill the trees with music when we rest and call them home. Your wings are much too large I see, but you will want to be like me.”
Last of all the robin spoke, with head held high and red breast filled with pride. She said:
“I am a worker –you’ve seen me, I know. I usher in the spring each year and stay at work, through cold and snow. The others can’t compare to me (a fact that you can plainly see with vision much too sharp it seems). Of course, you’ll want to be like me.”
After listening patiently, the Great Blue Heron sat thoughtfully for a moment—
and then she said:
“Thank you, Mr. Crow, and thank you, little sparrow, and thank you, Mrs. Robin— but I am a Great Blue Heron. My legs are long so that I might walk where others cannot walk, my wings are large so that I might fly where others cannot fly, and my eye is sharp, so that I might see what others do not see. This is who I am—a me I do so want to be.”
And with those words she looked up into the sky, stood tall upon her long, long legs, stretched her great and powerful wings, and flew away.
Copyright © Bradley Howey | Year Posted 2021
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Bradley Howey Poem
Once upon a time
a monster came to my house!
He climbed up my stairs, and
opened my door!
He sat down in one of my chairs,
and ate one of my oranges!
He crawled around my table while I ate breakfast, and
even made my little brother smile!
I captured him with my rope,
and pulled it tighter, and
tighter, and
tighter!
Then, I gave him a great big
Hug!
Because he wasn’t really a monster,
He was my Grandpa,
and I love him very, very,
much!
Copyright © Bradley Howey | Year Posted 2021
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Bradley Howey Poem
When breaks this siege so fierce and strong
that knows not length of day, now long;
a constant press this tyrant be,
when comes the blessed new?
An endless bearing on and on—
no hiding place, no hopeful song
or rest, it seems but then instead:
the storm, unceasing, roars again.
The moments drag as fury blooms—
each one a vast and troubled room,
that wears away the me I was
before this nightmare come.
But minutes...more, are lost and then
an hour gone (though time's no friend,
as hellish fight still steady be,
yet still, I hold my ground).
Then 'midst the grey the faintest glow,
as dawn begins her splendor'd show
and swelling heart where fear had been
doth fill my chest with hope again.
Shaped now by strife, and sweat, and tide—
the thieves of loftiness and pride
have done their duty (sore it be)
that I might better, stronger, be.
So blow ye winds, come storm of storms
and wrest the weakness from this form
that from it rise a creature hewn
to ever face life’s frightful blooms.
'Till final call, a melody—
above the storm is heard, so sweet:
'tis time to rest now, finally.
Then come, the blessed new.
Copyright © Bradley Howey | Year Posted 2021
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Bradley Howey Poem
In yonder field where lilies bloom
you'll find the one who promised: "...soon,
I'll get to it--I'll do it, when I can."
And there beneath the hawthorn tree
another who had promised me,
but simply could not find the time, it seems.
Or should you happen by the place
where sunflowers stand with shining face
there's one there who's intentions were so grand.
But now the time for "soon..." has passed,
and each has come to rest at last:
Where lilies bloom, and sunflowers stand,
and hawthorn lends its shade.
Where is the hope that filled their gaze--
that once inspired and shaped their ways?
How fleeting were their dreams of what could be.
Where are the fruits of charity--
a cheerful heart, a chance to see
beyond the cares that frighten human hearts?
Where is the faith that made them strong--
that comforted, when days were long
and taught them how to put their trust in me?
Each was lost along the way--
swept up among the day-to-day;
and soon, but distant mem'ries,
left behind.
Oh, do it now?
Please, do it soon!
Keep the precious promises you've made--
that your life serve as testament
to choices made without regret:
When lilies bloom, and sunflowers stand,
and hawthorn lends its shade.
Copyright © Bradley Howey | Year Posted 2021
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Bradley Howey Poem
Once upon a time,
an ant who had long made his home at the root of a tree
asked to be assigned to work among the high leaves and branches.
Having been granted his wish,
the little ant was astonished by the great difference he found between the tree at its root and the tree at its branches,
as all that he knew were based on his experiences at the base of the tree.
Though overwhelming at first,
the steady routines of life in his new home began to set in,
and the little ant began to appreciate the view his new station provided him.
Until one day,
when the little ant overheard a group of ‘high-leaf’ ants
discussing the root of the tree:
“What I’d like to know,”
said one high-leaf ant to the others,
“is how the 'bottom-of-the-tree' ants put up with all of that swaying back and forth.”
This discussion deeply troubled the little ant,
for he knew very well that the root of the tree is as unmoving
as the great earth itself.
Before long the season passed,
and the little ant's time to work among the high leaves and branches
came to an end.
While preparing to make his way back to the base of the tree, though,
a rush of understanding flooded through the little ant,
and he knew what he must do.
He made his way
to the top of the tree
as fast as his little legs could carry him.
Once there,
the little ant did something that ants almost never do:
The little ant looked UP!
Were you to make your way to that very tree tomorrow (whether to the root or to the branches),
you would probably not find the little ant at home,
for he rarely has time to be in any one tree for very long.
You see,
having imagined what his tree,
and more, and more, and more trees might look like to the sun,
the little ant felt a great need to teach other ants to look not just from the root or from the branches,
for to do so is to ensure that the tree they see
is as they themselves are.
The little ant who looked Up! tells stories of life among all the different parts of a tree;
and one day, when the other ants are ready he will teach them to look Up! too, so that all of the ants might finally see the tree
as it is.
Copyright © Bradley Howey | Year Posted 2021
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Bradley Howey Poem
Were life, oh Light, set as a poem—
a sonnet, say, of moments born
with glory in their brightness
seen not over lives, but in-between:
Could such moments (once they’re cast)
burn bright enough o’er life to last?
(Am I ever bound to seek not precious life, but
in-between)?
‘I’ll wait,’ says I, ‘I’ll wait ‘till then!’
...’till faited stars align again,
and (if need be) e’vn grains of sand
find place ‘just so,’ (as if ‘by hand’)!
But comes instead another view
(as steady-sure as morning, new):
‘Precious seconds hurry past, for none was ever meant to last;
spend each one the best you can—it cannot / will not come again.‘
Perhaps save for the precious few
that come to life in passing—
found there ‘just so’ to brightly gleam
forever, in the in-between.
Copyright © Bradley Howey | Year Posted 2021
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Bradley Howey Poem
Picture a rainbow…
spread out cross the sky
(captured on popsicle sticks
flying by).
Gather a handful…
together they’ll store
laughter (highest to lowest):
spread them out ‘cross the floor.
And there, you’ll have captured
(from hither to yon’)
the music of moonlight—
the sound of the dawn.
Then hear you a sunset
(so tender, so mild)…
or see you a giggle
(the paints going wild!)…
And words
become boring;
so clumsy to say…
once you’ve:
captured a rainbow
for some special someone
to play,
and play
and….
play.
Copyright © Bradley Howey | Year Posted 2021
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