Tank action at Hill 85 on Okinawa near the end of World War II.
Not Much Left
It got too bloody,
too big, a goddam black tank
clanking and driving
right over my heart
and jamming me down down down,
smashing me into
all that left over
rubble from making those walls
that have boxed me in.
I'm sorry. I just don't
have much of anything left.
I think it's past time.
October 15, 2010 9:54 AM
Never before published but over four years old... I have no idea what this was about now. That's a good lesson on how it all passes. I was still working in those days. Perhaps something happened at work.
These days there are people in my life who are making trips to hospitals for serious things. A friend has just informed me her horse will be put down tomorrow at age 30. An insurmountable medical problem. My heart clenches up. WTF. Wait. This is all normal. I will see sunshine and rainbows tomorrow. Today is for how hard it can be.
Only. I have other friends who have retired to a part of the world they hoped to get to. They just posted how happy they are. So the truth is we must sit together on the smae bench, some rejoicing, some grieving and most just trying to get along right now. While someone cries openly, someone else cracks a joke and a few go off to take in a movie. Most have to go back to work but some don't.
The trees have lost the summer.
Me too. It's on the verge of winter for me.
The cat and the dog are both napping with full bellies. I will soon be called to dinner, I believe.
This is Monday. On Thursday there will be a Thanksgiving celebration. I will give thanks. This is all normal.
An M-4 Sherman tank with a "rhino plow" attached in front has just punched its way through a Norman hedgerow. This image from the war in Europe, World War II in France.
Some years ago my poetry took on a mythic flavor and I became a character in my own poems, a mage, "the man of the Northern Wall". This apellation is not completely fictional. My middle name is Noordwal, a Dutch term for north wall, though in current Dutch it mainly means north bank as in riverbank. I was told that an ancestor, a Portugese Jew escaping the Inquisition, settled in a small Dutch town and took this name from where he settled, near the north wall of the town. I have thought for a long time that -wal meant wall, think my mother told me that. A linguist might say that my usage is no longer common, is an older usage, but then the Inquisition happened in Portugal a few centuries ago, right around the time the Moors lost control of the Iberian Peninsula and the Jews lost the modest protection given them by Islam. Now I write as this mage, my poetry persona.