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Poetry #149
(published August 28, 2003)
Dear Madam
by Tom Sheehan

Your letter came uphill today
I've not written this way before
William was more than a capable soldier
I've seen my son spiriting the same path
more dreaming than doing
Their faces stand in the clock
winking those sly grins at each sweep
of the second hand running deeper than time
ideas setting quick as lime in eyes
yet as green as watery dreams
Their caliber's measureless
men of this command do not speak
the names of comrade or commander's son
knowing the fragmentation of loss
as if bones could dwindle
I cannot speak of time coming
only of time past and the laughter/cries
of two young voices sounding vibrant horns
I hear only echoes from mountains
of years in the quick tumbling
You must hear the same mountain
the uncluttered system of their thoughts
the brass and velvet of young men at thinking
sometimes down precipices sharper than truth
they would have twinned this command
Yielding neither dreams nor arms
ideas set as hard as Excalibur before Arthur
now their softness mingles in mind's debris
trying to say what they knew
and took to grave
Andrew but a week now
punched out of the sky by the unseen
parting his own grave like a missile
he never hurried any place
but to die
They talked to the mountain
and we are listening.

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The Next Poetry piece (from Issue #150):

May 1943, Saturday, Sun Shock
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The Last few Poetry pieces (from Issues #148 thru #144):

The Unknown
by Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld

by Graham Catt

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by Radames Ortiz

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by Marcy Jarvis

Ant People
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