Poem: ‘To my wife’

HopperTo my wife

I see the unseen, unchanging
Invisible you
Shining eternal.
Such celestial gifts impart a heavy price —
I’m perpetually reminded that one day
I will steal my last kiss while you sleep,
I will fold your nightgown one last time,
And I will whisper one final ‘I love you’
Before the veil is lifted.

I will carry you to bed
And I will wash your feet
When the seasons have humbled your bones,
But no amount of time
Can prepare me for your passing.

I’m not a selfish spirit — God knows
I’m aware of what is rightfully His.
Regardless, I cannot help but pray
That when you shed your earthly self
He’ll call me soon thereafter.

Advertisements

The Copy Editor

Books

The Copy Editor

You’re
Torn
Tattered
Pages,
That book I read
Over and Over
And Over again
Always finding something new
Within the familiar
Before I slip
Up, an accident
Or two
Tiny rips
No one witnesses
But me as I lie
In bed
Because you’re closed
To Them.

You’re
Worn,
A weathered
Cover
With smiles
That say: “I hold
sentimental value
To someone.
He holds me
In high esteem.”

But such
Understatements
Need a copy editor:
You’re Beautiful and Loved
So never fear—You’ll never
Be neglected
By Me.

Related: Wave meditation

Related: In Defense of Dead Presidents and the American Way of Life

In Defense of Dead Presidents and the American Way of Life

Penny

In my last post I talked about Robert DeNiro’s apt description of the mind of a writer. One of the things I’ve always wondered is why there aren’t more openly conservative poets and writers. I have a few thoughts of my own, but I’d like to hear what you have to think.

I’ve shared a poem or two over the course of this blog, but I don’t think I’ve ever posted one that really makes a political statement. If you want a peak into my mind as a 21 year old kid, and the reaction I had after exiting the military and entering the college classroom, here it is. My writing has improved since then (I’m 34, so I would hope so!), but I don’t mind giving you a glimpse of my younger self.

In Defense of Dead Presidents and the American Way of Life.

Bees make beehives and we make buildings
Don’t lament the ingenuity within this sleek machine I’m driving;
It’s an extension of our being
Natural, like honeycomb or busy bees consumed by some activity
To better their day-by-day existence.

Let’s return to the lush green-wooded yesteryear
Where tribal chants and chieftain rants
Were aspects of everyday living.
Or better yet let’s not,
Intertribal rape and head lice were never that appealing.

American Empire, or so they say
Rapes third world resources from exploited labor—
Fire those lads lined up and ready to work long hours
Making meager earnings three times their peers!
Let’s pull out and prop up tin pot despots with aid that will never get there.

Curses! Western Civilization
With your claims of moral superiority
Ah yes, I’m aware of your duplicity—
Behind those technological wonder kids and wonder cures
Churned out from rule-of-law freedom spawn is something sinister I’m sure.

Back home things are horrid
The burger and fry flippers scream foul
Ten, Twenty, why not Thirty!
Let’s hike that minimum wage stand back and see what happens
Never mind the economics.

What’s wrong with the summertime soldier and sunshine patriot?
Let’s redefine patriotism to include
Malcontents and misfits and anti-war mentalities
Dead set on peace at any cost
Although rooms for rape, rooms for torture, rooms for worse are tricky.

I had been ill for quite some time—
Green tea tasted great but did little to quell my disease.
I asked my son to pray for me, but his principal said no.
Dejected, I turned to God and in a dream
He told me to see a doctor—who knew.

America, you make me sick
What with your so-called religious freedom, I’m persecuted at every turn.
I informed my priest I was heading to Saudi Arabia.
I would’ve went too! (if it were legal)
Christians can’t be citizens.

Mom and Dad say it’s not healthy
To be so wry, so angry, all the time.
The soul, like worn copper pennies.
It’s hard, I tell them, when notable poets and award winning scholars
Invent ways to trash Abe Lincoln.

Wave meditation

Douglas Ernst Beach meditate

These grains of sand

And tiny shells between my toes

Ground Me —

I’m sentient sand

With a pair of eyes

For a time

And today

Right Now

I’m fine

Dust

Before an infinite ocean

Listening to its breath break

Along the shoreline.

My wave meditation

Can’t be broken

By the call of seagulls

Squealing kids or random beach bodies

Entering and Exiting

The scene.

Like high and low tide

My moment to go will come

At the perfect time in the perfect place

And in that Now

As in all

I am thankful

Douglas Ernst Sun walk