Friday, February 1, 2013

Battle Cry

Battle Cry

You have to have swords,
one in each hand. One severs
the thick inner chords.
The other severs
the even thicker outer
cables that bind heart
and mind to the stake.

So get a fine grit whetstone,
a long leather strop,
and hone them, keep them.

Howl at time's silver spring tide
and stride down the field,
the war front of God
wearing the Cape of Good Hope,
wearing it to rags.

February 1, 2013 10:07 PM


  1. This poem actually spins off a quotation I saw recently. The idea of the two swords was too rich to leave alone. But the poem as is so often the case, wrote itself. I just trim and repaint a little toward the end.

  2. I like the notion of wearing hope to rags...leaving not a stitch that wasn't wrung out between the hands, within the heart.


The chicken crossed the road. That's poultry in motion.

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