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Joseph E Bird

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free verse

gentle assault

sunday afternoon
at the home on top of the hill,
the first of two.
trying to make small talk
with the neighbor we never really knew.
but he can’t speak
and the effort is unrewarding
for any of us.

down the hall
we smile at the new faces,
say hello to the old.
the old man who used to
believe he owned the home
and offered help to visitors
now sits and mumbles to himself
and stares ahead.

our friend is awake
but looks so frail.
she remembers and talks
though all is not clear.
we offer snacks and she says
put them in the drawer
which is now full of unopened
packages and soft drinks.
thanks for coming,
and we leave.

we drive two hours
to the top of a mountain
where these homes always seem to be.
an alarm whistles and never stops.
down the hall a man screams
and screams
and screams
ignored by all because
nothing can be done.

my brother asks for a cola
which we have brought,
and applesauce and pudding.
on the other side of the curtain
a football game is in double overtime.
a man in bed watches,
his son sits in his wheelchair.
a lady also sits in a wheelchair
not knowing if she belongs there.
and down the hall the man screams.

it’s an hour before supper
and meds are being distributed
and laundry dropped off
and cleaning, always cleaning
of the spills on the floor.
we leave the room and pass doorways
where sounds and smells and sights
we don’t want to experience
gently assault.

through the over-sized door
and into the courtyard
that is seldom used
because in this courtyard
you can’t light a cigarette.
there are plants and flowers
and hummingbirds and sculptures
and the quiet hum of the air conditioners.
there are no smells no desperate souls no screams.
a breeze blows in from the mountains
and there is peace and
we pray and give thanks
for all that is good.

copyright 2017, joseph e bird

 

6

the secret hidden

close your eyes
so you don’t see
the browning leaves
or the yellow ones
that have fallen

and

cover your ears
so you don’t hear
the dry grass
or the leaves crunch
beneath your feet

and

ignore the scents
of the pumpkins
and spice
that sing of
the last days of harvest

and

feel the warmth
of another summer day
that burns the skin
and brings forth sweat
so late in its glory

and

dream again
of all that is possible
and what you can do
and who you can love
in this gift of a day

and

think little
of the secret
hidden in the breeze
from the mountains
which portends the future

and

worry not
of the chill that will be
or the winds that will howl
for today it is warm
and that is enough

 

copyright 2017, joseph e bird

6

Beginnings

In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.
And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep.
And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters.

–Genesis, Chapter 1

What evocative language. What a way to start a story.  What a choice of words.  The prose is so strong, it’s poetic.

Of course the original writing was Hebrew.  Does the Hebrew translation have the same effect on the reader?  I don’t know.  The translation above is the King James Version.  Here’s the New International Version.

“In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters.”

Basically the same meaning, and probably more grammatically correct.  No sentences begin with “And”, which I know drives some people nuts.  And the last two sentences have been combined into one, which modern grammar-check software would undoubtedly suggest. It may be more correct, but as literature, it loses a little of its punch, a little of its rhythm, a little of its beauty.

The choice of words matter.  Subtle changes can make powerful differences.

Let’s look at another beginning.

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.
The same was in the beginning with God.
All things were made by him; and without him was not any thing made that was made.
In him was life; and the life was the light of men.
And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.”

–The Gospel of John, Chapter 1

I find this language intriguing. If one were to pick up this story without knowing anything about it, the first two sentences would produce a shaking of the head. What??? A mystery right off the bat. Then the third sentence introduces the main character. Quite a powerful guy, it would seem. Then the talk of light and darkness. A sense of foreboding.  Yeah, this would be my kind of story.

Many of my favorite books begin this way. A sense of mystery. The introduction of an intriguing figure. And you know something is going to happen.

This week we’ll take a look at beginnings, and we’ll see that words matter.

 

 

 

 

3

on the brink

talk that is shocking with mocking and hawking
they say what they will, and neither one’s balking
cross over this line, i ain’t gonna blink
so much to lose, with war on the brink

minds that know all and know all to be
tell us what’s best, ‘cause we just can not see
your way is right, and there’s no other way
my voice must be silenced, i can’t even pray

.

so sing me a song
of the girl with the smile
whose laugh will stay with me
and linger a while

sing me a song
of our walk on the shore
i’ll think of her touch
and worry no more

.

fear that is chilling with a spirit unwilling
to stand for what’s right, and stop all the killing
the innocent too, will fall to their fate
because even the good, they must desecrate

hate that is righteous and noble and pure
just ‘cause you say it, does not reassure
love is a concept you can’t comprehend
and meek is a virtue that you won’t condescend

.

so sing me a song
of the girl with the smile
whose laugh will stay with me
and linger a while

sing me a song
of our walk on the shore
i’ll think of her touch
and worry no more

copyright 2017, joseph e bird

0

75 in Tehran.

09:30 PM, Eastern Daylight Time, St. Albans, West Virginia, USA.

Here, it’s 65º. Perfect sleeping weather.
In Cusco it’s 48º.
It’s 66º in Kiev.
At 9:30 in the morning it’s already 81º in Qingdao.
46 in Soweto.
75 in Tehran.
In Jerusalem, it’s 73.

Some are sitting at their computer.
Some are sleeping.
Some can’t sleep, worried about tomorrow.
This one is lonely.
Another is scraping together loose change for a drink.
A mother is worried about her son.
A father goes to work at his second job.
A child is very sick.
A boy meets a girl, and the world stops.

If it rains tomorrow, I can’t work.
If it doesn’t rain soon, the beans will die.
If it rains tomorrow, there will surely be floods.
If it doesn’t rain, the fires will rage.
If it rains tomorrow, we’ll dance in the puddles.
If it doesn’t rain, I’ll skip school.
If it rains tomorrow, I won’t have to walk to the well.
If it doesn’t rain, I’ll wear my new shoes.

Tomorrow we will rise.
We will go to work.
We will drink coffee.
No one will ask us what to do about
bombs,
or missiles,
or cyber warfare,
or identity theft,
or human trafficking,
or hunger,
or climate change.
Our world is small.
We just need to know if it’s going to rain.

copyright 2017, joseph e bird

0

wars, lies, ignorance, light

wars
and rumors of wars
and killings
and bombings
and shootings
and peace
that is nothing
but
a mirage

.

lies
and tales of deceit
and slander
and malice
and betrayal
and words
that are nothing
but
emptiness

.

ignorance
and shallow thought
and foolishness
and naivete
and banality
and ideas
that are void
of
wisdom

.

light
and shining brightness
and understanding
and truth
and hope
and peace
which passeth
all
understanding

copyright 2017, joseph e bird

0

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