War at night has a special beauty,
Nothing anywhere can compare.

Perimeter flares arc over the blacken earth,
Slowly weaving to earth.

Shadows dance and weave,
Stretching the moment's reality.

Distant artillery white blinks
Split the nearby tree line shadows.

Their cracking thunder
Streaks screaming through the sky.

Bombs become quick and ruthless,
Fast silver-white flashes in the dark.

Rockets flash, streaking a fiery sparkling tail
Skimming into the black void, resurrecting as a detonation.

The sights and sounds of war at night,
Are unseen and impersonal.

Smell is the one unpleasant reality of war.
The burning cordite, the acrid sweet smell of burning, human flesh.

That and the screams of the unseen dying out there,
Diminishes the beauty of it all.

Memories creep back into the present,
     Tiptoeing silently, then suddenly...

They are fully present,

     As if they had never left…

Before our insertion, just above the triple canopied jungle,

     The oldest silence fell over everyone.

The night black as silk,

      Our minds focused on deadly firepower, humble prayers.

Following above, gunships circled

     Like dragonflies in the muted, starry sky.

We looked furtively at each other;

     Our eyes masking fears with bravado.

If we could see the future,

     Some of us would end up on stretchers.

Lifeblood bottles swinging from side to side,

     As frenzied feet run to the medi-vac.

Where am I, as I rappelled to the earth?

     Somewhere else among those lost planets and dead stars.  

Come to me my love. 
Brush your fingers against my hand. 
Let me taste the wild beauty on your lips.
Be awakened by the night,
     Let me in.

Does love sing in your blood?
Does love bring you alive?
Does your heart pulse in rhythm,
     To the heartbeat of the night? 

I know you feel my love. 
I can see it in your eyes.
I sense your fear; 
     Open your mind to our love.

I would never hurt you. 
Nor, would I tell you lies. 
I only want to show you my love, 
     And open up your eyes.

I talk to him when I begin to feel lonely.
     And I know he understands.

He looks at me so attentively.
    And gently licks my hands.

Then he rubs his nose on my tailored clothes.
      I never correct him.

For I can always buy more clothes,
     But never a friend like him.

Thank you for you; for who you are.

However far away you may go.

And for the words you send to me.

Now I await for what you say.

Knowing simply that you're there.

Yet thinking much of me.

Opens up my happiness.

Universally visible for all to see.

Two roads ahead diverge
Which should I take?
To the left or the right,
What difference does it make?

The wording on the signs is worn
Both routes appear rough and challenging.
Whichever road I choose,
Will prove to be troubling.

Standing somewhat puzzled, 
Uncertain and confused.
Will not give me answers,
But certainly guarantee delays.

Best to choose now
Take option one or two.
Traveling with conviction
My heart is true.

Sunlight brightens my way,
Eliminating my confusion.
I know the journey I take
Leads to fulfillment and resolution.

Today I reached the top
I looked around.
A long deep breath
A sigh out loud.

How long have I
Been in this place.
And never noticed
Solemn grace.

The air around
The trees alive.
The clouds above
The endless sky.

A morning dew
A ray of sun.
A summer breeze
Alone with one.

Departure is nothing at all.

     I have only slipped away to the next room.

Whatever we were to each other,

     That exists today.

Call me by my old familiar name;

     Speak to me in the gentle way you always used.

Laugh at the silly jokes we always shared.

    Think of me, pray for me.

Life still means all that it ever meant.

    All is well. Nothing is lost.

In one brief moment all will be as it was before.

    Only better, infinitely happier.

We will be together again.

My body remembers not only how much it was loved,
     Not only the beds on which it lay,
          But also those desires for it 
               That glowed plainly in the eyes,
                    And trembled in the voice.

Now that all of them belong to the past,
     It almost seems as if you had yielded
          To those desires and how they glowed.

Remember, in the eyes gazing at you;
     How they trembled in the voice, for you.

Remember, my body -- remember, my soul.

I found a secret place

     Sheltered from April’s sharp winds,

          Down a narrow forest path.

Spring arrives early there

     Under a gray cobalt sky,

          Before the snows have all melted away.

There, I hear the soothing trickle of snowmelt

     Down the forest floor

          Sending slips of gentle water to the river below.

Delicate violets push sassily

     Up from the dark earth and tightly curled fiddleheads,

          Unfurl in the spring hazy sunlight.

I shed my heavy winter heart

     As a grass snake sheds his skin,

          For it is spring, and I am young again.

Colors abound around me: rich crimsons, muted pale yellows, royal dark blues and washed grays. An elderly man sits alone on the cream colored sofa. I see an array of stratified wrinkles. They cover the cheek I once knew to be always a warm, pastel pink. They trace a lip I once knew to be long and quivering, coupled with an anticipating, yet welcoming happy gaze. The endearing purity, that childlike exhilaration and consequent sparkle, were a wonder to see. The wrinkles around them now mimicked those that used to decorate his face when he laughed.

His freedom was a breath of fresh air. It swept me off my feet and I could not help but breathe it, crave it. I held onto it like it was the last piece of  chocolate I would ever eat in my lifetime. Now, his face was at peace. His calm and serenity were contagious. I felt my heart give a familiar beat: two fast, one slow. That was the rhythm I encountered seventy years ago. 

His hair had receded; it was as white as shadowed porcelain. Suddenly, his face turned towards me, quitting its reverie. He held a quizzical expression and, although he did not yet move from his seat, I knew that he soon realized who I was. He studied me just the same, drinking in all the information he could possibly gather, still taken aback. I cautiously came closer; I knelt before him.

I momentarily lifted my hand and let out a smile. It felt more of a sigh, half from happiness, half from awe. Without further thought, I bravely lifted my left hand in answer to his waiting face, asked: “May I?” Upon a second’s ponder, he gave a slight, yet prominent nod of his head. I brought my hand closer, and placed it on his right cheek. He closed his eyes and let his head fall into it, my palm serving as a buttress to his cheek. I released a more excited smile and instantaneously felt trickles of salt fall down my weathered rosy cheeks. His response mirrored mine; he smiled a full smile against my wrist. 

His eyes were now closed. Upon opening his eyes, he anticipated what I might do next: I uttered, “May I kiss you?”. He smiled deeper this time, his wrinkles even more pronounced. I touched my lips to his. It was as chaste, as lovely and full of promise as our first and last. 

In the fierce hug we embraced, my head once more against his chest, my frame covered with the wonderful arms that I have missed so much, I felt our breaths dwindle away into the rest of forever. 

So, I kept my promise. I found life in this man’s arms, and I died in his arms. 

The new materialism challenges us to love our possessions not less but more.  To cherish them enough to care about where they came from, who made them and what will happen to them in the future. Environmentalists are in a similar spirit, slowly redefining themselves less by what they are against, e.g., global warming, fossil fuel extraction, and runaway consumerism, then what they are for --  a healthy, balanced relationship with the material world that sustains us in all its delicate, interconnected beauty. This is both a philosophical and spiritual position. If we could truly cherish the things in our lives, wouldn’t we be the opposite of consumers?

Much of modern conservatism provides a vision of a good life

      That differs little from that advocated by the most energetic progressives.

          The ends might be different, but the means are the same.

Everything in contemporary culture pushes us

     To look forward, to “aim high” and relentlessly pursue change.

We might remember that there are truly counter cultural ways of living

     That ask for patience, gratitude, and satisfaction instead of impatience, 

          Discontent, and constant desire for what does not yet appear.

Such an attitude does not entail our becoming inactive, boring, or staid,

     But it requires a willingness to preserve rather than tear down and build anew.

Reform would be, as Edmund Burke suggested, more cautious than radical,

     With careful attention to the familiar and the tried.

We might begin by learning to appreciate and even to love,

     As Michael Oakeshott has put it, the

          “Gentle, endearing imperfection of all living things,” including ourselves.

Though compassion may desert me.

Or common sense elude my thinking.

I am human,

     The only honest label.

Human is my hallmark.

Lover of my brothers.

Father of my children.

One with nature.

Lover of freedom.

Let my epitaph read

     He was Human.

The only honest label.

Sometimes,

     Life becomes too full to be comprehensible.

I know too many cities

     To be able to grow into any one of them.

Too many acquaintances to have any real friendships.

     Too many books to know any of them well.

The quality of my impressions gives way to quantity,

     Making life seemingly like a movie.

With hundreds of kaleidoscopic scenes

     Flashing off and on in my fields of perception.

All of them gone,

      Before I have time to consider them.

I believe we need a deeper sense

     Of the delusions behind rampant materialism.

A deeper sense of the wisdom in

     Silence, nature and tradition.

There are many paths from which to choose,
I can only guess where each one leads.

The stars positions or mere chance,
Perhaps control my failure or success.

Or, was it all predetermined in advance,
I will receive no more or no less.

It matters not; the road I chose,
Will make me happy, or make me mourn.

However, it will never cause me to regret,
This journey's goals I have set.

I wander far away,
     To places unexplored and wild.

I quietly behold
     The world’s magic beauty.

When by myself,

      I walk through empty fields,
           Bathing in the magic of the night.

To find that one evasive key,

     That would pick every lock.

That would enable us

     To tell what's wrong, what's right.