The Strikepoem by Topher Hunt -
12 May 2005 "Here we are, there it is - let no house remain standing." The lieutenant and all the men he was commanding Stood and watched from a hillock to see the town fall - But inspection provided no pleasure at all. There were always the words no true soldier would say. "That pile could not just have been a live being." Whatever was needed to keep one from seeing - Whatever it took to keep looking away. The effort was worth it to live through each day. So they made jokes and banter, made mock of the dead Not from scorn or revile, but an odd sort of awe That gave needed relief from the carnage they saw. False voices, arms folded, a tilt of the head Let them see not a corpse but a scarecrow instead. They make camp in the village, they'll stay until dawn. The closeness of death sets a chill in the bone That ends the forced jokes and sets each man alone. The pretense of sleep lasts until night is gone - And then, wordless, remorseless, they stand and move on. A Sharing Of Gratitudepoem by Topher Hunt - December 2008I read about violence and fear in Mumbai And tried to imagine the anger which triggered it And a shoe thrown in outrage by one who figured That no sniper was worse than our bombs from the sky Or whatever he thought; it was certainly fraught With the goodwill and livelihood of you and I. For I realize now that Vermont life somehow Is but a train, but a plane, but a bridge from such loss We are but a camera, but a news flash from chaos That we proud Americans oft cure but oft grow As we battle the fray - 'tis the small price we pay To protect and foster the good life I know. In these months of hardship and hours worked late What mountainous assets we carry unthanked; This land is no first to lose much that it's banked on We pitch in to the structure which tells our kids' fate. We know not war's attrition, we elect our officials We are promised that our rights will never abate. And I as I can stand, I can sing, I can learn, I can work and spend and thank with ease And as granted I often take such gifts as these I will dedicate this moment to my small return To those souls in need of mere water and seed And a chance at the peace for which they all yearn. Though come and gone is Thanksgiving's appeal This is my time for a sharing of gratitude To pass on the treasures I have, which you've added to For dates are just numbers; but my thanks is real And Christmas means giving; so the world that is living Outside of my scope of awareness can heal. For we who have family close and prospects high: This is a time for a Christmas sharing For pushing outwards our scope of caring To those less able, more fettered, less thankful than I As with tear-filled eyes they look to the skies And pray to know the meaning of hope by and by. So I take this chance to share my good fortune With those who are less lucky, less protected from strife We share but one world and all live but one life Our fates are not separate, but indeed disproportioned And while life is not fair, we can just be aware That what we take for granted can still be important. We never will be nor can be fully thankful for what we have, Thankful for what we lose and learn and keep.  |