Crisp, sprawling azure sky Not bothered by clouds Sits above rolling hills <?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o> </o> Like old men sit in rocking chairs Not bothered by traffic Sipping contentedly out of silver cans. <o> </o> This is warm, glowing Indian Summer No need yet for scarves, or even shoes Barefooted children sprint across grass <o> </o> Towards an old Maple, and call it “Safety.” Chipped mailboxes still have some time before They are stuffed with rigid Christmas cards <o> </o> Bursting with holy nights and the baby Jesus, Sleeping mildly in luminous hay. For now, fat sun-baked tabby cats <o> </o> Lounge on front porches, Drowsy yellow eyes reflecting the Not so distant hills <o> </o> Painted scarlet and gold for autumn While a flag beckons lazily from a white And rusted pole in the front yard.
Do you remember the rain? There we were lost again begging for forgiveness and not knowing if we sinned And the tears of the place soaked our broken shoes as we cluelessly mourned the insubstantial end of small mortal things and prayed it would never happen to us Us, We, the lovers, the breathers, the givers, believers We prayed and prayed So sad, such small and mortal things ourselves. And now the opposite has happened Here it is, a third from two and here we are waiting for a reason an illumination a white granite foundation large enough to support our heaving faith too heavy now to support itself Later we are shocked bored simultaneously We're going in circles dangerous loops that threaten to expose our own bleeding truths While we all try to hide from the silver eye in the sky that sees all our secrets but knows not our names.
This may not be the final version of this- I've got ideas for some improvements, but here 'tis: (My apologies for Navyspeak that you may not understand...) (To the spirit and tone of Beowulf) Lo, In the spirit of this thread, I sing the tale of our honored dead. Bug Roach was this legend's name In time all came to sing his fame If it was your turn for a night in the barrel Bug took the paddles and vanquished your peril. I met Bug in '88 When I stood at the starting gate Miramar was the place to be Naval Air was my destiny. Crusaders; Scooters, then TOPGUN He taught the lessons that were hard won CAG LSO of Navy reknown, he was the man to call Whenever an aviator in trouble had to call the ball. But the best story he ever told Was his own path To Wings of Gold Like many from his generation Bug was old school, from Yankee Station One Sunday morn, Midshipman Roach watched the launch of the dawn patrol Two Scooters, A-4's by name Of Naval Aviation fame Pulled into position, ready to roll But before they launched, one task remained: A canopy opened, and the pilot unnamed blew his cookies, and saved his name from the scorn of hangover's shame Then, his morning task complete this Naval Aviator from the fleet re-donned his helmet, and adjusted his seat. Canopy closed, and clearance received, He went Zone V, and launched to sea For Bug, it was an epiphany. In that moment Bug Roach knew Exactly what he had to do Come hell or high water, now or never His road was Naval Air forever So he came to Miramar Crusaders, Scooters, and plenty more. He did it right He reigned supreme He fought the fight He lived the dream He inspired us to be like him A leader, a rock, through thick and thin So now, think upon my woe The day I donned my Wings of Gold To learn that Bug had met his end Flying the Scooter so long his friend He died doing what he loved Teaching those who soar above Teaching us to do it right Teaching us the way to fight Fangs out is the way to go Bug's the guy who taught us so And when it's time to trap at sea Bug's legacy is OK3. So we hoist a drink to you, dear Bug We're gonna miss your ugly mug When God made you, He broke the mold You exemplified the Wings of Gold.
The Sleep Over While you sleep I lay beside you and contemplate The clear juice running from your mouth Making a lazy gray circle On the pillowcase. Your eyelids tremble Concealing the black and blue The bruise colors Of your iris and pupil. I can only sigh and wish I was so lucky As to fall quickly into the Slow breathing and dreams That always seem to come easily to you After our nocturnal fumblings. Our noises painted the air That is now only stained by Your steady snoring. I wish I could lie here And let my mouth droop And my lids quiver Such as yours. Instead I watch your face In the weak darkness Watch your mouth leak slowly Onto innocent cotton While you slowly leak out of not so innocent me.
