The World That Jesus Saw

 An Easter Elegy - 2012

There was a world

That Jesus saw,

A world,

That was a place,

Of brothers,

And of sisters.

That world died apace.

It died of law,

It died of hate.

But,

That world lives,

In the kindest hearts,

In the sweetest souls,

It can but beg

To emerge,

Until

A brighter day,

When truth

Might be known,

And sects

Might no longer,

Serve of any

Use,

Until that day,

We all may pray,

Each,

In our own way.

Cold War Sailors

What do we do with obsolete navy ships? We used to give them away, or sell them to allies. The march of technology has made this less practical. We often sold ships for scrap. Environmental considerations have made this less desirable. Ships are often used as targets these days, in sinking exercises, or sinkexes, hit by gunfire, bombs, and missiles, until they finally roll over and sink. Ships are often sunk in strategic positions to provide fishing reefs. Given their compartmentation, it often takes quite a while for a navy ship to sink. These days, it's possible to see video of many of these sinkexes on YouTube.


The cold war sailors are
A dying,
Being bombed,
Broken,
Sunk beneath the waves,
Proving just how tough
They would have been,
Had they ever fought
The big one.
They fought a bit,
But mostly they
Just kept the peace,
And then,
When they were old,
And creaky,
Then,
Their children
Put them down,
Just for practice,
'Twas a better fate
To die a death,
By the sword,
Than slowly,
By the disrespectful
And ungrateful roar,
Of the breaker's
Blow torch.
Still,
It's hard
To see 'em go,
Those old gray ladies,
All of them,
Who served so well,
How'd you like it,
If your son,
Or daughter,
Put you down,
Just because
You'd gotten old,
And gray,
And arthritic?
Well,
Perhaps it is
A blessing
For a job well  done.
Bravo Zulu,
Requiescat in pace.

Hail To The National Security State

Dedicated to General Smedly D. Butler, USMC (1881-1940) ("Old Gimlet Eye")

Hail to the National Security State,

Our prosperity -

That's just some of what

That state ate.

We feed you quite well,

It's just never that clear,

Where we should stop,

That's our biggest fear.

You're not a bad fellow,

But the friends that

You're keeping,

Their not good for us,

They're not good for you,

Either.

They're always out trying

To fatten you up.

If we object,

They tell us to

Shut up.

As for peace,

That will have to come

Later,

"If your looking for peace,

You must be

A traitor."

Just ask a Chicken Hawk,

He'll tell you straight,

We must be an invader,

If we want to be great.

We're here to serve you,

Oh statelet of ours,

To keep you in business,

To  help you go far,

To serve up our youth,

To serve up our wealth.

Our kids will be different,

They'll be bleeding

Haze gray,

Or Marpat,

Or Multicam,

Whatever you say,

Unless,

Of course,

Their too good to fight,

Then they'll trade

Stocks and bonds,

And drink fine wine,

All night.

Copyright 2012 by Commander Gary L. Misch

All rights reserved - may not be reproduced without permission

The Cherry Tree On The River Bank

How can beauty

Be so fleeting?

Her petals begin

To fall,

Drifting in

The wind,

Before the last

Has even bloomed.

Perhaps she wish'd

She might have been,

Fully dressed.

Haiku on Spring's Fleeting Prettiness

Pink tears in sunlight,

A cherry tree's too short life,

Beauty flees apace.

Ras Bir, 1976

Leave the town;

Not everyone can,

You need a camel,

Or a Land Rover,

(a real one),

And a driver

Who can infer

The road.

Take two spares,

We might be on

The moon's face,

Behind you,

Djibouti,

Ahead,

Rock,

Scrub,

A kind of

Desert.

To be lost,

To be stuck,

Is perhaps,

To die.

Why go?

To see the light;

Light houses

Call us.

It sits alone,

They all do,

This one watches

The Gate of Tears,

Flash-flash it says,

Then it rests,

Then flash-flash,

It works alone,

Its mates

Are ships,

Someday, perhaps,

There will be,

A real road.

For now,

The track is

Half imagined,

And the place?

Unchanged,

Unchanging,

As if we,

Had never come.

Djibouti, French Territory of The Afars and Issas (FTAI)

Block Island Bound

The clouds were high,
The sun was bright,
Our boat bit into
White capped seas,
In the distance,
Barely seen,
A hint,
A smudge,
Our place to be,
Our goal,
To troll
Beneath the cliffs,
The sandy perch,
Of Southeast Light,
To troll for blues,
Or maybe bass,
A good days work,
Of playing hard.
But meanwhile,
There's the wind
And seas,
Right in our teeth,
An hour or more.
As Point Jude fades
Astern of us,
We dream of fish,
And keep her straight,
And hope our reels
Will sing a song.