Father’s Day

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It will soon be Father’s Day, and often that is viewed differently by so many.

Eagle and Child Inkling

 

I sit on the frozen metal chairs, serving to brace my back,
but not my feelings.
Whipping sounds of the cold wind
carries the wet tapping’s on the tent.
Smells of spring are muted by the unearthed hole
covered now with artificial turf
and mounded piles around the edges.
The box, the gray silver box
suspended over the receptor dug for it.
‘Stars and Stripes’ reminiscent of wars
fought in the past, and forgotten not.
Forgotten days of heroic acts
of wars not forgotten and now
remembered; this daughter remembering not.
Six foot and oh so many tall inches
my brother, sitting close by; silent.
He looked past me sometimes and sometimes noticed
with a reassuring nod he was there.
Not saying too much as people approached him,
this the only son and namesake of the departed.
Deep into his blue eyes and the stark black hair
quickly graying…

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Hills of Memory

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In remembrance of Memorial Day

Eagle and Child Inkling

The morning sun rose in cool softness over the gentle Missouri hills,
a morning announced with the calling of the geese as they fly over.

A special gathering is beginning deep within the hills
speckled with white uniform tombstones…

Tombstones all a certain size, all to match the other,
rowed to follow the curves, the sloping grass.

Gentle hushed people walking, stopping to look,
stopping to look for, hoping to see…

See the familiar name, the identity of the one,
the lone one they once knew and shared life…

Flag markers are diligentlly pierced in the grass,
the grass that carpets each gravesite.

Cutting through the cemetery a road lined from one end
leans with motorcycles representing a special war.

Significant of the era it was fought in; tumultuous times,
the confusion so related to the war of Southeast Asia.

Elderly men reminiscent of the World Wars and foreign fields

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