The Young Astronomer

One night a young astronomer

Did gaze upon a star

And saw it glowing brightly there

Like the antithesis of tar

He gathered up his scholar peers

To ask what it could mean

But they all said, “it’s meaningless.”

“Ask again if it turns green.”

They jeered and mocked him as they went

Not looking with their eyes

To see a star in daylight blaze -

What could it symbolize?

Yet two did stay to speak with him,

The young astronomer,

One who studied the histories

The other literature

They spoke of tales and prophecies

In some far western land

Of a coming king and saviour

Who would rise to God’s right hand

They asked the young astronomer

If he could lead them to

The place beneath the star’s zenith

Without further ado

The boy surprised to hear all this

Began to hesitate

But in the end he chose to lead

Their long adventure great

The men they packed their camels high

Provisions stacked in cliffs

And yet the boy said, “One more thing!”

“A king deserves some gifts.”

The two rich wise men thought to give

And spare no small expense

Thus they found the most lavish gifts

Purest gold and frankincense

The young lad wished to give as well

A kingly gift like myrrh

He worked and saved and sold his scrolls

His small means did not deter

He bought his gift and then they left

Just guided by a star

And through the desert and the plains

They journeyed from afar

After questing lengthened days through

Lands barren, burnt and wild

They came to a small Jewish town

And found a Jewish child

“This child,” said they, “Will one day be

The King above all kings

Great joy and mercy, justice too,

Love and hope is what he brings.”

They laid their wealthy presents down

At the small boy’s tiny feet

And Mary with her husband watched

Them give a royal greet

And then the young astronomer

Said “these our meager gifts

Laid at his feet are naught compared

To He who heals our rifts”

And if they entered in that day

Two magi and a boy

They left that place on homeward paths

Three wise men full of joy.

Forgotten, Forgotten, Forgotten

The air is dark with approaching death

And I hear it in the silence

Of forgetting and forgetting and forgetting

Wars, past and present.

Televisions and movie theatres

Add to the dull hum of silence

The sound we all make as we ignore

That which we thought we left behind.

It was not left to burn in fallen Troy

We did not leave it at Thermopylae

At Jerusalem’s gates

Or Rome’s hills.

We did not leave it in the dust of Carthage

At the yurt flaps of Khan

Or the bottom of The Channel

Gorged with the husks of ships

And the fragments of men.

We did not leave it on Abraham’s plains

The bloodthirsty dirt of Gettysburg

Or the long road back from Moscow.

We did not leave it at the door of the Bastille

The fields of Somme and Passchendaele

The skies over Britain

Or the waves in the harbor of pearls.

We did not leave it at Berlin’s feet

Or in the husks of Hiroshima and Nagasaki

It does not wander alone in Korea’s no man’s land

It does not lie dormant in the jungles of Vietnam

Or the killing fields of Cambodia

It is not broken as Yugoslavia

It has not sounded its death knell in Rwanda

It does not lie dead in the deserts of Iraq

Or exposed on the hills of Afghanistan

It is not gasping for breath in Sudan

Or falling into a coma in Somalia

It lives and breathes forgotten

Like a crawling parasite

Behind the eyes

Burdening the mind of humanity

We forget and forget and forget

That war is not left on the battlefield

War remains with us

And in us

War is in our souls

Screen Glow

The glow of screens will light our way

To happiness, we’ll seem content

The shine of screens will make our day

As all our times are nearly spent

And as we write our tales in books

We take a retrospective glance

To see the times and he who took

Them all without a second chance

Look! there he laughs so full of spite

A shapeless thing of blue aglow

The one who turns our days to night

And wastes our times to bring us low

All the hours he greed’ly drained

To gulp and swallow down our days

While we, deceived, were safe restrained

Our books contain a single phrase:

“I lived to be just entertained.”

And all that our frail lives contained

Will not be worth a mocking praise.

The Sounds of Fate

A roll of the dice

A flip of the coin

Red plastic cubes bouncing erratically

Across a felt-lined table

A metallic coin spinning end over end

In over oxygenated air

Thump.

Clunk.

They come to a stop

And you find yourself here

Free to flip or roll

Or stay and choose.

Yet perhaps your choice

Is but another’s roll

Across some cosmic table

Or flip

In some darksome void

“Nonsense!

I choose to flip or roll.”

Thump.

Clunk.

Across the Strait

I begin to see the raindrops

In the distance.

I can’t hear the pitter-patter

Or feel the soaking dripping cold

Of the remote pouring.

I’m in the warm sunlight

Watching rain across the waters.

This strait—

Seeming a gulf—

Between

Places;

Here and there

People;

I and you

Cultures;

Us and them

Rends

Perceptions from reality

Scattering the truth like raindrops

In the distance.

The Mark of the Raven

Ah, I see in your smile

A recent visit from the bird

Who marks our faces

Crow’s feet

Or raven’s

Around the eyes

He lands

And leaves his mark

Then flies

"Caw"

Shattering the sound

Of safety

Show your mark

Show your raven-scar

Show where he stood

And printed

Eulogies to come

Show your crow-scar

With a smile

And a wink

Laugh along with

The black-winged joker

His sign was known

Before it marked your face

His sign is hidden

In the soft skin

Of babies

He even lands on the womb

So do not fret

His constant flight

Overhead

His cackling

Caws

His dark aspect

Do not worry

When he comes

To mark your eyes

But laugh

Laugh with the crow

And raven

Laugh that soon this coil

Will unravel

And release

Its tainted captor

To what?

To where?

Perhaps some distant shore

Some sunrise

Or sunset

But never

Nevermore.