Five Hundred Hours of Midnight

 

Five hundred hours of midnight 

Would not count my paces ere the dawn

Back and forth I walk and wonder

How God will tear the sky asunder

Rend the storm and come down. 

Stand, you weak-kneed children of commerce

Find your fire and stand! 

If not here, backs to the last patch of daylight, 

Facing the oncoming sheet of midnight

If not now, then where?

Your fathers were fat and lazy cowards

Who hesitantly raised a flag against the world

And stood, with scowls at their own achievement

Humbled emperors in their raiment

Laid low the mighty in their hour in heaps untold

But for all their failings; greed, avarice and shame, 

They clasped their swords with hands unyielding

Fought and lost and were sent reeling

And fought again and won, this little land

And we who eat from vineyards we did not tend to

And fields we did not sow

Now found again where they left it:

A rusty sword, a defunct musket

And the call to march, and stand!

The Girl with the Shy Smile

Around the new years, when I was beginning to think that beauty was something we invented to survive as a species, a young woman crept up on me without warning and taped this poem to a hole in my sleeve. I wasn't able to get her name, but I think I will recognize her if I see her again, by the way she smiles. 

Her eyes are clear like crystal,

Her brows are straight and true,

Her lips are as full as the summer moon,

and as soft as the summer dew. 

She wears a shirt of satin, 

and a jacket of dark green,

and she walks beneath the shadowed trees

wherever a star is seen. 

 

I dreamt that I walked with her,

and she whispered words to me,

words of love and longing, 

of faith and loyalty.

 

I woke then and I wept then, 

that she was not in my arms,

but still I know she walks alone,

in my dreams and in my heart.

Beneath a Star in Bethlehem

While traveling in the east, I was received by some good people who insisted that even though I had just celebrated Christmas, it was actually time to celebrate the birth of our Lord a second time two weeks later. Since they were providing cookies and cake, I obliged them. I even got this poem as a gift from a mysterious figure calling himself 'Father Frost'.

 

Beneath a star in Bethlehem,
A king is born tonight
To lift the weight of all the world
A babe sleeps sound and tight.

Beneath a humble stable roof
A Virgin mourns her birth
Her son has come to bleed and die,
To bear a cross and tear the sky,
And bring heaven down to earth.

Above the stars of Bethlehem,
The angels sing for joy
Let shepherds quake and kings bow down,
The gates of hell shake at the sound,
Of this sleeping baby boy.

Up until this morning

Up until this morning, 

My entire life along, 

I told myself I could be trusted

and it was the others who were wrong. 

I divided the people in my heart,

the bad on the left, the good on the right, 

The good to be trusted and welcomed, 

the bad to be turned out to the night. 

And lo and behold, 

Though the years took their toll my face, 

the list of the bad got longer, 

and the pain I could not erase. 

And lo and behold, 

I was struck with the guilt of my sin, 

I had kept my brother out, 

and let the devil in. 

Because I made hatred my armor

and rage the sword in my hand,

I had rejected the cross of my savior,

and spat at His outstretched hand.

I had looked at people as objects, 

I had scorned the kingdom of God, 

I had schemed to be Captain and Master

to seize fortune and glory abroad, 

To spend my whole life running

From the Man with the blood-red hands

Who was killed and then conquers and calls us

To let go of our wretched plans

And give all the fear and anger, 

and the rage that burns in my heart

To the sky that is blue eternal 

and the wind that cries "Thou Art!" 

As far as the east is from the west,

so shall that bright sky blow

and carry away like a leaf on the wind

That list I had always known. 

And with every passing morning

when the sun rises with the day

Christ will be seen carrying 

my sins far and away

The man who was sleeping shall awaken

and the sinner who was dead shall die,

And the King who is alive within me, 

shall walk to The City in the Sky. 

A Poem for Wee Rascals

 I found this poem written with chalk on the concrete path leading up to someone's house. It was a sunny winter day, where it seemed that Persephone had broken out of Hades three months early and was dancing across the light blue cloud-scudded sky. As such, I did not mind walking down this path to read the poem. Since it was written with chalk, I figured somebody ought to copy it down before the  elements blissfully washed away any proof of it ever having been there at all. 

A Poem for Wee Rascals

No need to stab at me with your swords;

Keep them within the velvet sheath of thy paw;

One look from you, no words;

and my heart is pierced with gentleness and awe. 

Aztec Gold

Here is a poem I found scrawled hastily on some line paper that was stained with a great deal of sweat and smudged with dirt.

Aztec Gold

In the haunted Aztec Jungles - there is a lake of Gold!
Wrapped in skeletal embrace, they are old, old old!

The Spaniards who hug those treasures - they are cold, cold, cold!
They strode as gods on bloody temples, and they coveted the gold!

Conquerors, Adventurers, proud men; bold!
Heavy were their wages, and down they pulled!

Beware the call of Glory - know the price it holds:
We have sung their story, now let them keep their gold!

The Big Muddy Mountain

Once there were two grunts who were marching somewhere because they wanted to be warriors. There was a whole column of grunts marching this day, but these two were at the very back. They were marching up-hill and they had big heavy packs.

One grunt tried to wipe sweat from his eyes but just got more sweat in them.
"This sucks." He said.
"Things will get better," said the second grunt. "You'll see. When I look up ahead I think we are close to the top, and soon the path will level out. We just have to be strong for another five minutes."

The two grunts began to march harder and put pep into their step. As they neared the top they smiled and began to pass other grunts. They were Positive.

Then they reached the top of the ridge, and it was not the top at all. The path turned and went straight up the hill again. The two grunts began to march very slowly now and did not feel so strong any more. It would take more than five minutes.

Then it started to rain.The grunts got cold and the red clay path turned slick and slippery. The first grunt slipped and fell down, and was all orange colored by the time the other grunt was able to help him up.
"This sucks." said the first grunt. "The path is still going up the hill, and now we have to be careful not fall down in this slippery mud."
"Things will get better," said the second grunt. "don't worry. I can hear a big river up ahead and it will be swollen with rain. When we reach the river bank, the officers will have to stop and let us rest until the storm is over. All this rain is a good thing."

The two grunts marched fast again, and they smiled when they saw that the rain came down in blinding sheets. They were feeling Positive again.

Then they reached the river. It was swollen and fast, but somehow the officers had crossed it and wanted everybody else to cross it too. The water came up to their chests, and they had to hold their rifles above their heads.

Now the two grunts walked slower than ever. The column began to march through a thick forest, and even though they were at the back somehow there were lots of thorns and vines that popped up in their way and grabbed at them.

"I don't think I can go much further," said the first grunt. "this trail keeps getting harder and harder."
"Things will get better," said the second grunt. "Trust me. We can't see how close we are because there are trees blocking our view, but when we turn the bend I see the trees open up and then we will see how the path gets easier."

The grunts hurried along towards the open area and tried very hard to be just a little bit positive.

Then they reached the open area and looked: The trail did not get better. The trail went down a little bit, but then went straight up a huge muddy mountain that seemed to block out the rainy sky. Even though it was mostly covered in big boulders and thick forests, the grunts could see that the path would cross not one, but two rivers. And when they could see the trail it was a bright orange-red mud that would be slippery and cold. They did not feel positive at all.

An officer noticed the two grunts and came to yell at them, but instead of hurrying back onto the trail they walked slowly towards him with their shoulders slumped. "We want to go home." said the first grunt.
"We thought we could be warriors," continued the second, "but instead we are weak and slow and feel nothing but disappointment after disappointment. You had better replace us with strong fast men who like to march up muddy mountains."

"What's this?" asked the officer. "You feel disappointment? That means you live in a real, dangerous world where things don't live up to your best hopes. That's why we need warriors. And weak and slow? That means you are finally pushing yourselves harder than you ever did before."

The grunts did not say anything.
"Now you will march up that trail with your column," ordered the officer. "and you will not think of the end, or how good or bad things are. You will not wonder how much farther you can go or when you will stop. You will march because you are strong and your hearts are steadfast and because you will be warriors."

Then the two grunts did as they were told. They did not think about how tired their legs were, or make up stories about how they were going to stop soon. They did not imagine how many more turns the path would take, or try to count how far they had come.

There were more than two rivers to cross, but they did not think about this at all. They did not wonder when their legs would get too heavy to lift or when the officers would let them rest. The path got steeper and steeper and their legs burned with pain and their breath grew ragged in their throats, but they did not wonder when the mountain would stop rising in front of them. They no longer thought about the future or fantasized about the past.

And then suddenly, they were at the top. The column was allowed to drop packs and rest. Grunts sank onto their packs in exhaustion, but the two who had been at the back walked to the edge of the top and looked to see what was ahead.

Before them, the path wound down the mountainside, through rivers and boulders and up and down lesser ridges. Then it sank down into a deep dark forest and finally entered a wide flat valley where a town full of strange people was gathered. The road went straight through the town and back up more foothills until it disappeared over a cleft in two mountains into the blue lands beyond.

But the grunts did not care. Things were going to get better, because they were strong and stubborn, and they were going to be warriors.