POEMS
MEMORIAL DAYS
five am again
and I am ruminating
and today is Memorial Day, 2025
and I remember
growing up in the 50s
we never forgot
the days of memory
for we all remembered loss
and yet we were all proud
because our warriors fell
for great purposes
and great victories
and were the holy dead
of our modern crusades
we put the flags out
on almost all the porches
and there were gold star flags
on many houses
the Memorial then
was always on the 31st
and we had no school
but always had assembly
just before
where we sang patriotic songs
and prayed for the dead
for we still had prayer in school
in those days
and although the kids my age
were just too young
to have lost parents in the big war
some of us had fathers
or older brothers
gone to Korea
and in the classes just ahead of us
many more were fatherless
and our fathers
put on their uniforms
and many joined the parade
and the kids watched
and yelled and pointed
at their dads and uncles
and the bands played
and if our town was lucky
we had one of the good bands
from a military service
and the music roused us
and our hearts
beat in step
I remember my father
brushing off his uniform
proud that it still fit
straightening his hat
and I was proud
that he was an officer
and marched up front
yet he never spoke of war
and tried and failed
to ban toy guns
and would not let us hunt
with Grandfather
or our uncles
and for many years
the only thing I knew
of his service
was his incredible luck
in being on a ship
in the summer of '45
that was supposed to sail
from London to Asia
but went to Boston, instead
the family got together
and often had a dinner
at which the lost were missed
and stories were told
and we thought all were heroes
although we knew better
and stories were told
of my father's cousin Howard
who died in a fiery mystery
and how his brother Glenn
had probably been saved
because his allergies
sent him home from the Pacific
where Howard had died
we all were sadly proud
and wept and celebrated
and visited the cemetery
and made sure
no graves were neglected
our town had a national cemetery
so older wars were still remembered
and even the confederate dead
remained among us
and some came north to remember
and make their pilgrimage
when I went to college
with automatic duty
I joined ROTC
and joined a unit
that regularly marched
with flags and pomp
and youthful energy
and fancy drill
for parades and other ceremonies
and on one Memorial Day
we marched in two parades
and those days continued
and the parades went on
unquestioned, undoubted
until the cloud of stories
from Vietnam
and the loss and return
of veterans of that strange tragedy
challenged our opinions,
mixed up our emotions,
and eroded our ideals
and I rejected my hope
of honorable service
and rejected that war
and doubted, then rejected,
that crusade,
but could not reject
those who chose,
or who were forced, to serve
and many whom I knew
went to that war
and some did not come back
and are listed on that dark wall
and many whom I knew
helped evaders and deserters
and risked, and sometimes went,
to jail, or to Canada,
in opposition
and many whom I knew
who opposed that war
and marched
and even contemplated violence
against it, and its leaders,
still visit that dark wall
and weep
for the senselessness of it
and many years now have passed
since I stood
at the curb of the Memorial Day Parade
heart swelling
to the flags and music
and saw men whom I knew
and loved
march in memory of those
whom they had known, and lost
and was purely
and unquestionably
proud
and I have seen since then
no great and holy war
only tawdry exercises
of greed, and power, and false ideals,
mistakes of intelligence, and judgment,
and still we keep great forces
and many weapons
and send our warriors
throughout the world
on missions for which
I have no faith, and see little honor
and yet,
I see in other places of the world
warriors of honor, struggles of hope,
and I know, still,
the respect for the lowest soldiers
who go where they are sent,
who fight for their homes,
who help their comrades
who fight for something
in which they have faith
and I know
that not all were noble
and that some were fools
and that some were
the willing servants of death
and I know
that some died quickly
and some slowly
and some screaming
in fear and denial
and few died well
and I know
that the world will never
be all at peace
and that most who have died
will have died fruitlessly,
in vain, in pursuit
of some mistake or lie
or impossible hope
but my memory goes back
and I remember my father
and his silence
and its reasons
for he was a physician
a surgeon
who did not serve at the front
but at the hospitals in the rear
caring for those
who died slowly
and bit by bit
and where he learned to value
the fitting of limbs
and so I say,
still,
it is Memorial Day,
and it is time to remember the dead,
so let us remember all the dead
and do not sort or judge them
by which side they were on
or which dream or error
enchanted them
but remember them
and how they were driven
by will or command or error
to give their all
and have compassion
and accept their gifts
Published May 1, 2026
in
In Time of War: More Poems of Resistance
WHAT IS TO BE DONE
in troubled times
this question
has been asked, and asked again,
and it must now be asked again
today I wondered
what is poetry for?
or rather,
what is my poetry for?
and
what is to be done?
day to day
in all the little details of my life?
and I think back
and realize
that i was first radicalized
by books -
by poems and novels
often old ones
but with messages still new
with examples still strong
which is why they burn books
why even the books
in the imaginary canon
are often at risk
and I think back
and browse my shelves
and realize that the answer
to the question
What Is To Be Done?
is the same as always
do not comply
do not give them power
do not be afraid
for they fear nothing more
than the unafraid
and words have power, so
love the world
notice the beauty, the good, the kind
and speak out joyfully
about the need to be free
think freely
read freely
speak freely
write freely
and be unafraid