Sarah Flanigan - Poetry Simply Put

 I love museums on the weekend. Don’t you? Enjoy.

sarah

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/v/fFOmimHbJrQ]

We are all the same
Individuality
Bad for the machine.

“Trust your own instinct. Your mistakes might as well be your own instead of someone else’s.”

– Billy Wilder

Billy Wilder, the Austrian-American film director who gave us classic films like the farcical Some Like It Hot and the sardonic Sunset Boulevard,  as well as The Lost Weekend, The Apartment, Double Indemnity, Stalag 17, Witness for the Prosecution and many more.

 His, was a true rags-to-riches success story. Born in 1906 in the Austria-Hungarian empire, he fled the Nazi regime in 1934, arriving in Los Angeles with $11 and speaking almost no English. By the 1950’s, he had become one of Hollywood’s greatest directors, directing more than 60 films. He won six Oscars and the National Medal of Honor. He died in 2002.

If you have never had the pleasure of watching any of his many movies, do yourself a favor and rent a few of them. This man was a true writer and knew his craft. Watch his movies, read the scripts and study them - he has much to teach us.

Sarah 

I received this today in an email with this message:

PLEASE, would you do me the kind favor of sending this to as many people as you can? Christmas will be coming soon and some credit is due to our U.S service men and women for our being able to celebrate these festivities. Let’ s try in this small way to pay a tiny bit of what we owe. Make people stop and think of our heroes, living and dead, who sacrificed themselves for us.

LCDR Jeff Giles, SC, USN
30th Naval Construction Regiment
OIC, Logistics Cell One
Al Taqqadum, Iraq

I don’t know if LCDR Jeff Giles is the author but I believe it is worth the read and perhaps a small prayer afterwards.

A Soldier’s Christmas Poem

The embers glowed softly, and in their dim light,
I gazed round the room and I cherished the sight.
My wife was asleep, her head on my chest,
My daughter beside me, angelic in rest.

Outside the snow fell, a blanket of white,
Transforming the yard to a winter delight.
The sparkling lights in the tree I believe,
Completed the magic that was Christmas Eve.

My eyelids were heavy, my breathing was deep,
Secure and surrounded by love I would sleep.
In perfect contentment, or so it would seem,
So I slumbered, perhaps I started to dream.

The sound wasn’t loud, and it wasn’t too near,
But I opened my eyes when it tickled my ear.
Perhaps just a cough, I didn’t quite know,
Then the sure sound of footsteps outside in the snow.

My soul gave a tremble, I struggled to hear,
And I crept to the door just to see who was near.
Standing out in the cold and the dark of the night,
A lone figure stood, his face weary and tight.

A soldier, I puzzled, some twenty years old,
Perhaps a Marine, huddled here in the cold.
Alone in the dark, he looked up and smiled,
Standing watch over me, and my wife and my child.

“What are you doing?” I asked without fear,
“Come in this moment, it’s freezing out here!
Put down your pack, brush the snow from your sleeve,
You should be at home on a cold Christmas Eve!”

For barely a moment I saw his eyes shift,
Away from the cold and the snow blown in drifts..
To the window that danced with a warm fire’s light
Then he sighed and he said “Its really all right,
I’m out here by choice. I’m here every night.”

“It’s my duty to stand at the front of the line,
That separates you from the darkest of times.
No one had to ask or beg or implore me,
I’m proud to stand here like my fathers before me.
My Gramps died at ‘ Pearl on a day in December,”
Then he sighed, “That’s a Christmas ‘Gram always remembers.”
My dad stood his watch in the jungles of ‘ Nam ‘,
And now it is my turn and so, here I am.
I’ve not seen my own son in more than a while,
But my wife sends me pictures, he’s sure got her smile.

Then he bent and he carefully pulled from his bag,
The red, white, and blue… an American flag.
I can live through the cold and the being alone,
Away from my family, my house and my home.
I can stand at my post through the rain and the sleet,
I can sleep in a foxhole with little to eat.

I can carry the weight of killing another,
Or lay down my life with my sister and brother..
Who stand at the front against any and all,
To ensure for all time that this flag will not fall.”

“So go back inside,” he said, “harbor no fright,
Your family is waiting and I’ll be all right.”
“But isn’t there something I can do, at the least,
“Give you money,” I asked, “or prepare you a feast?

It seems all too little for all that you’ve done,
For being away from your wife and your son.”
Then his eye welled a tear that held no regret,
“Just tell us you love us, and never forget
To fight for our rights back at home while we’re gone,
To stand your own watch, no matter how long.
For when we come home, either standing or dead,
To know you remember we fought and we bled
Is payment enough, and with that we will trust,
That we mattered to you as you mattered to us.”

Indeed, you do matter to us. God speed. God bless. And Merry Christmas.
sarah flanigan

I went in search of
truth
and found no wisemen
home

I went in search of
answers
and found questions
alone

I went in search of
self
and found the mirror
was broken

I went in search of
friendship
but found that it was
token

I went in search of
life
and found only a
game

I went in search of
freedom
but no one knew its
name

I went in search of
comfort
and found that there was
none

I went in search of
many
but found there was just
one

I went in search of all these
things
and in search of so much
more

But found to find
anything
you must unlock the
door

© 2006

Like a warrior
he stand tall and brave
as a soldier
he goes into battle
sure of his weapons
sure of himself.
Always with a
smile at his lips
a sparkle in his eye.

He places his helmet
raises shield
and goes happily
to face competitor and foe.
And wins…
Though bruised and bloodied
His heart has wings
and it soars
toward the heavens.

The people cheer
for having been saved.
In his path
flowers are strewn
Hossannas sung
gifts are lain.

So clear in purpose
so high in ideals is he
that they will follow him
into battle
and aye, even die for him.

On certain mornings
he has risen
to see the sun shining
making golden orbs upon
the water.
He has seen the
rainbow fish
laying at the cool bottom.
He has put on
the armor,
the dress of battle…

He has looked toward
the lake
and toward the boyhood memories.
Of the maiden
he thinks
that waits for him
ever patient
ever true.

He thinks of the son
they have not yet made
that should now
be a tall shoot of a boy.
He looks upon
the scars of his body
still young
still strong.

He thinks what fool
is he
to go on this way.
Remove his armour
he does not.
Turn his back
close his mind
he will not.

As he looks out
as he sees these things
he sees also
what life would be
for all those he loves
and loves not.
Were it not for him
were it not for his
strength
his courage
his tenacity.

So…
as a warrior
who stands tall and brave
as a soldier
he goes into battle.
Sure of his cause
sure of his purpose.
Always with a smile
at his lips
and a light in
his eye.

For there still lie dragons
to slain
children to be protected
battles to be fought
and wars to be won.
And it is he
who has stood for
them all.

It is he
that carries the weight
so well upon his shoulders.
He who laughs
at the danger
and evil…
He has given us
pride in ourselves
our world
our ways.
Given us hope
in our future.

And if ever he has wept
we have not known.
If ever he was hurt
we were not told.
If ever he has wanted to turn away
it has been a secret
never uttered.

I am sure
he has wept
and bled and pained
and has longed for
the life of a normal man -
an ordinary man.

As a leader
he has stood
among weaker men
and smiled.
And with that smile
given strength.
Made us think
we too are strong…

For indeed
with him we are
And shall always be.

Copyright 2006

Once we were brothers
and it mattered not
in what shell we were held.
Matter not, did our faiths,
our colours
of the homes in which we
lived.

Our children shared
their voices in song
and lent their hands
in toil and in chore.
Once we held dear
one another
and fought side
by side.
For our common purpose
mutural priveledge and right.

We did not care
from when we came
and to where we would go.
Our hands joined
and made circle around the world.

Brought together our
hands we did
and made music heard.

Together we had journeyed
together, sentenced to
this outland.
It was by the joining
of hands and hearts
that we survived.

We landed safe and strong.
To the hills
some took
to the sea, to the sand
to the prairies and plains
went others.
All agreeing to
smile warm
when next we met.

But the wars came
and made us bitter.
Our children died
and suffered they did
by the hands of a neighbor.
Hatred was bred
and passed down
as a valuable is
to the generations.
And as it was their duty
they carried the seed
casting it far and wide across the land
so that it would grow and flourish.

Grow it did.
Flourish it did.
Until the world was
but a thick jungle of it.
Only the strong survived it.
Until
it was every man for himself
and his.

Sharing was a fond memory
a secret whispered on the wind
and heard only by small children.
The world that once shone
with common purpose
and mutual strength
began its decline and decay.

Shaken with thunder
blistered with drought
drowned in water
it was.
And on the islands
that emerged from the murky depth
we stayed.
Making smaller groups
forming separate purpose.

In the night
I have heard the cries
of all men.
And in a child’s eyes
I have seen the wonder
we once knew.
I have seen the light
of hope in those eyes.
And it is for that
child’s eyes
I have seen the answers.
I have seen the salvation
of us all.

Lacking luster and light.
Stoop-shouldered and furrowed brow
has been the sight of us.
But for that child’s eyes.
For it is the future
that shone there.
The promise of tomorrow.
Of a second chance…

I beckon you out of the flame
and fire
up to the earth.
Where the air is but
fresh and sweet.
The breeze is a cool comfort.

Join we must again
all hands
all colors
of all trade and walks
and make circle around the world.
Bring back to our eyes
the light that shines bright
in the eyes of our children.

To send them off
in their mission
their journey
to the making of the future.

Copyright 2006

I gave them my pledge
I agreed to the oath
I went on my missions
and did what they told me.

Right or wrong.
I did as I was told.

Many a rock I sat upon.
Barron lands
my eyes did come to know.
Every stretch of unwanted
black, desert space
had come to be
my stations
my posts.

Where the sun never shone.
Where no sun there was.
On fond thoughts
of warmth and fresh air
I did live.
Sweet memories
of friends
and good talk.

I sighed.
I shrugged.
I had given my pledge
taken my vows.
A good soldier was I,
A good officer I was.

I questioned nothing.
Year after year
I reported for duty.

The dreams that
had moved me when a boy
the hopes
the images that
leapt and sprang
from my mind
and my heart.
Were but that - dreams.

For the uniform
had not made me
braver still.
Had not bestowed
the courage
or strength I sought.
It had given only
the answers to
the lines in my father’s face
and the worry in my
mother’s eyes.

I inherited
the lonliness of my uniform
separated from all
that was precious to me.

In the War for Freedom
I planted the Flag.
Watching the dying
faces of my friends
hearing the cries
of life’s last breath.
With each
my heart became heavier
my fear stronger.

I was lost
I was tired.
My purpose
long forgotten.
My deeds less pure
my actions more human.
Each day
a nothing.
No tears left
only a dull ache.

In the night
I saw a shining!
it shone ever more
in my approach.
I sped toward the light
my heart lifted
my hopes rekindled.

More brilliant it became
as we drew closer
So sure was I…
so certain, so right…

The impact
the explosion
the screams of my crew
were swallowed…

The next thing
I knew
I was a small girl
sing songs
no one seemed to know.

copyright 2006

In an earlier time
I could
with my words
move men to tears
and children to laughter
I could cause the old
to rise up and dance!

I could make magic.
Give back their dreams.
I could do,
with my pen, anything.

They told me
I had the secret.
I had the gift.
They told me
they could not live
were it not for me.

So…
in my room
at my table
I kept the light buring
kept the words coming.
I painted the beauty
I knew life to be.

With me were others.
Not many were we in number
but great we were in our creations.
Oh how the people loved us!
How they treasured us!

We did not mind the toil.
We did not mind
the smell of paints,
the dust of granite in our nostrils
or the ink on our hands.
The hours of work…
The joy of giving was ours.
The common man’s smile
our only payment.

Side by side we worked,
as children of one parentage.
We were the children of the future,
we were the breath of life.
We held it all in our creations.

And certain am I
tha we could have made forever
this world of form and beauty
of joy, of life…

But we became weary…
Too sure we had become of
ourselves,
of the magic we could make.
To lazy,
“Tomorrow…another day…”
Another time, another day,
another year, another era.

The people soon stopped coming,
soon stopped listening to our excuses.
They turned their backs.
We closed our hearts to the people
and to one another.
Aye, even to ourselves.

So we have floated
without destination
on our own.
Making our creations for only ourselves.
Getting little joy of them
gaining nothing but more solitude.
No agreement.
No magic.
No wonder.

So long we have sat in our separate rooms
secretly creating
secretly hoping
the people might see again.
That a knock on the door
would beckon us to uncover our work…

We have cried for our mistakes
The tears lace our work and
dampen our dreams.

In a flickering flame of a candle
I have seen all of this.
I have seen where we have gone wrong.
And as i watched the flame grew ever stronger
and the light pushed back the shadow.

So now, I call to you
I reach out to your soul
and beckon to come join me!

Make again the magic
that once was without effort.
Give back the people their hopes
and their dreams…
Because it is we,
who are the hope…
the light…

Let us reach out
and give back the wings
that give rise to
the new way - the vision.

Wipe away the tears
roll back the sleeves
there is work to be done.

copyright 2006

Coffee
cigarette
music soft
morning fog
burning off
to high clouds
bright sun

something buzzes
around
my brain
but it
doesn’t speak
my place
my spot
has been
found

I drift…
sunday paper
old movies
kleenix
more smokes
diet cokes

computer screens
rewrite scenes
read again
start over
“is it good?”
yes
“but is it good?”

© 2006