Author: Gary Beck
Source: http://www.polseguera.com/writers/writing-802_the-eloquence-of-distance.html


The Eloquence of Distance


Gary Beck/The Eloquence of Distance

 

Afternoon Outing

I walk through Carl Schurz Park

along the East River

on a warm winter day

that has the birds conflicted.

Some sparrows claim: 'Spring is here'.

Others insist: 'It's still winter.'

I stop at the yak tree

and listen to the debate

that reminds me of Congress

though not as clamorous,

but stubbornly divided

and I can only wish

the bird brains would agree

and solve the problems

of birds and our nation.

 

 

The Good Life

The guy in the cell next door

keeps telling me that Allah

if I let him in my heart

will help me find peace.

He's no cheap preacher

like I had growing up

and a decent, well-meaning guy,

weird to meet in prison,

but he just don't understand

I've been bad too long

to become someone else.

I made a choice long ago

to live a life doing crime.

I'm doing time in prison

cause someone messed me up.

My girl will still be waiting,

my boys will still do business,

I'll live the good live again.

If I go away a while

it's not too much to pay

to get what some guys dream of.

 

 

Rapid Decline

When things go from bad to worse

what comes after worse?

It is burden enough

for the most hated nation

since the Roman Empire

to survive enemy countries,

but when we're our own worst foes

it's difficult to determine

how to preserve the future

of our innocent children

completely dependent

on unreliable adults.

 

 

Bitter End

I sit by my bedside

and look out the window

all day and part of the night.

It's all I can do.

My few possessions on the bureau,

photos of a previous life

when I commanded armies

and men and women obeyed,

risked or gave their lives

in response to my orders.

 

I used to swagger

the corridors of power.

Presidents and Senators

listened to my advice.

But that was long ago.

Now I can't even command

the aide who cleans my room.

I am forgotten.

 

I sit on the hard chair

as I painfully await

an obscure, ignored demise

that I would resolve today,

but I no longer have

my service weapon,

the only way an old soldier

can leave his last duty station

with a little dignity.

 

 

Uncivilized

There be monsters

in our confused land

who abduct children,

sexually abuse,

torture, murder them,

our most precious resource,

citizens of tomorrow

who would build our future.

 

We are so deluded

we treat the criminals

who violate our children

as if they were humans

with the same rights

as decent citizens

with fair trials,

legal sentences.

 

And we are so blind

we fool ourselves

into wrong thinking

that life in prison

is just punishment

for horrific crimes

beyond the imagining

of moral people.

 

And our system is content

delivering judgment

to vicious brutes

who will have libraries,

medical services,

other amenities

for the rest of their lives

at public expense.

 

So after we discover

the inconceivable anguish

inflicted on our children

we reward the beasts with comforts

that a sane society

would never tolerate

that should eliminate

enemies of humanity.

 

 

Viewpoint

Many of us believe

we live in crazy times,

with some justification.

But in the fifth century

some citizens of Rome,

fearfully aware

the barbarian hordes

were coming closer,

knew the times were crazy.

 

In the ninth century

Viking hordes

descended on England

ravaging the country,

pillaging, looting, raping,

spreading destruction

on the simple way of life

in crazy times.

 

There were many eras

of terrible chaos,

but instant communication

in hi-tech society

makes everything seem worse

and the good things that happen

aren't enough to console us

for living in crazy times.

 

 

Sights

I have seen the works of man

the most important

the utile

which meant survival,

progress,

more security,

comforts.

 

Our great cities

with wondrous buildings

may not outlast

pyramids,

but marvels of construction

along with ships, planes,

are endless innovation.

 

The pinnacle of creation

the arts

a recent addition

on the march of civilization

as diverse as humanity,

music, dance

common to all societies.

I have seen the best

of ingenious artists,

ballet, opera, painting,

Swan Lake, Cezanne,

The Ring Cycle,

the most beautiful,

Beethoven.

 

Yet all our achievements

do not compare

to sunrise,

a snow covered mountain,

fish swimming in a clear stream,

deer feeding in a meadow,

a bird yak tree at sunset.

 

As I near

the end of my days

confined in a city

I still go to the park,

see a Downy Woodpecker,

a brief pleasure

in the land of concrete.

 

 

Real Politik

When democracy committed crimes

it had been at the instigation,

under the guidance

and for the profit

of the upper classes.

Thucydides – 411B.C.

 

Strange to think

so long ago

someone knew

who always benefited

from the policy

of democracy,

the lords of profit

devouring the wealth

of the people,

always vulnerable

to the machinations

of the scheming few.

 

 

Shattered Image

I can no longer endure

looking in the mirror

at this old sack of flesh.

I close my eyes

and I'm transported

into happy memories,

striding full of youth,

a great face and body,

into restaurants, nightclubs,

all the men's eyes,

most of the women's

clicked on me

with a flash of desire

because I was hot…

But that was then.

Now a saggy frame

no more a picture

attracts no one

and I wallow in pity

for what I used to be.

 

Mass Shootings III

I didn't hear the door burst open.

I was deep in my favorite hymn

'Nearer My God to Thee'

and I woke up to the horror

when the gunfire started.

 

My friends and neighbors

were screaming, crying, praying

as the bullets hit them,

bodies flying, blood splashing,

everyone not shot was running,

desperately trying to escape

the mindless slaughter.

 

I lay down on the floor

under the pew

prayed he wouldn't find me.

More shots rang out

and a man yelled:

"I got him. He's down.

I'll make sure he's dead."

A minute later the man said:

"You can come out now,

he won't hurt anyone else."

 

It took a few minutes

to gather my courage

and get up.

That nice Mr. Thomas

was standing there,

pistol in hand,

reassuring us

the threat was over.

 

My senses were coming back

and I heard him coming closer.

"Mr. Thomas," I said.

"Thank you for saving us.

Now put the pistol down.

We don't want the police

to shoot you."

 

It took a while

until the police accepted

that Mr. Thomas was a hero.

They were so psyched

they wanted to shoot somebody.

But a few of us said:

"Mr. Thomas saved us.

He's a hero."

 

Finally the preacher came back.

He said he was helping folk outside.

Maybe he was.

Anyway. He told the police:

"Mr. Thomas is a good man

and he saved most of us

from a maniac."

 

I went and sat with Mr. Thomas

who was shaking from what he did,

put my arms around him

and thanked him again.

 

They asked me a lot of questions,

but all I said was:

'Mr. Thomas saved us."

They finally let me go,

I went outside

and the media were there

asking questions,

demanding I tell what happened.

I just shook my head,

kept walking,

until they left me alone,

thinking terrible thoughts.

Should I go to church anymore?

 

The Eloquence of Distance is an unpublished poetry collection that looks at some of the anomalies in this strange life.