Welcome to my blog site. I've not done anything like this before...so here it goes. I wanted to do this blog as a way to share my poems about war, relationships, and my observations about the world as I see it. Unlike poetry books, so often there is little feedback for the writer. I want to know your thoughts about what I've written. Not neccesarily about poetic structure, etc. (although I'll take what I can get), but what, if anything it makes you think about. I will present a poem or two each week (if I can). Some will be older pieces, and some very new. I will always start with a little bit about what I was thinking when I wrote the poem. Okay... enough preamble. Being that it is Memorial Day Weekend, I want to share two poems about soldiering and war.
A little military history about myself: I've been a soldier in the Army, and was deployed to Desert Storm and was later activated during Operation Noble Eagle (2002). Currently, I'm a psychologist working for the Army at Ft. Carson, CO.
This first poem was written while I was attending a Military Ball (sometimes referred to as a Military Formal). I wrote the first draft on a napkin at my table. Military Formals are steeped in tradition and ritual. At Military Formals, there is usually a small table near the Head Table. It has a white table cloth, black napkin, and the chair is turned into the table so it cannot be sat on. This table is for the fallen soldier. The soldier who died in service to country and is not to be forgotten, so we set a table just for him or her. I was struck by the thought that we do not leave fallen comrades behind in battle, but in order to live our lives, with every breath and with each experience, we must at some point, leave our fallen behind.
Military Formal
pinned
your flag was
silent
unflappable
unflapping.
dwarfed our merrymaking,
our leisure-taking,
a symbol out of time.
empty table for
soldiers beyond homecoming.
their futures
out of time.
medals/ribbons/gowns/toasts
music/dancing/dinner/ghosts.
table white and napkin black
in cold cargo holds
your last coming back.
our dancing for us
our drinking to you.
we left to the night
(without meaning to)
a fallen comrade.
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This next poem was written when I was stationed in Hawaii. My wife and I visited the Arizona Memorial. It was odd that a place so peaceful was a site of such destruction. I felt so out of place. Walking on this memorial, reading the names of the dead, even as you realize they rest below you. If you ever get the chance to go there, please do.
Boson’s Call
With white-capped respect,
Silence deep and blue surrounds the dead.
Life looks on, trying to see past its own violence,
To understand the quiet place where they rest.
A flag snaps sharply at breezes too involved to be still.
Softly,
Coming from a razor sharp horizon,
The clanging of a single ship’s bell.
(I know it is only the flagpole in the wind.)
I strained to see faces long since mourned
Saw only the tomb beneath me.
Its hush left me soul-cold.
I had no wreath.
No tears for a loved one.
I could not give them anything.
There was nothing left to give such men.
Leaving the memorial
I softly whistled a Boson’s Call.
For a moment
The sea seemed to listen.
As if in reply,
Clear and high above the harbor,
The sun burst from dull clouds of gray,
Kissing light into the shimmering grief
Of the Arizona.
Dedicated to the men who perished during the attack on Pearl Harbor, 7 December, 1941.
May you know peace, and reside in that part of Heaven where sacrifice is valued above all.
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Well... let me know what you think. If you think others will like what I've written, please tell them about this site.
Thanks
orn b
