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Wednesday, October 30, 2013

Horseman pass by

travels-ireland-sligo-dublin-elsinore-yeats-05
Under the shadows of Benbulben
The Balloon of the Mind
Hands, do what you’re bid,
Bring the balloon of the mind
That bellies and drags
In the wind,
Into its narrow shed.
Wm. B. Yeats 



2 glasses of wine
Source: wine as medicine
A Drinking Song
Wine comes in at the mouth
And Love comes in at the eyes.
That’s all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift my glass to my mouth,

I look at you and I sigh.
Wm. B. Yeats
                                                               
William B. Yeats—always a favorite of mine.  

Monday, October 28, 2013

Well, then...

B-29 Superfortress
 Well, then…

My father began every story with those words.  He’d lean back in the kitchen chair—that is where most stories were told—and tilted back the John Deere cap.

Me and Sweetman were on a long run over the China Hump…you know what that is, dontcha?  Well, that is a flight over Burma and China to Japan.  We dropped bombs on towns there.  But... Well, then. 

It took close to 24 hours to fly there and back.  Had to fly low over the waters, so low that we could see the white caps on the waves.  I betcha we coulda reached out to grab some sea water. 

We flew so low to conserve fuel.  Plane was heavy.  Man, it was heavy with the fuel tanks and the artillery.  Me and Sweetman were the bay gunners.  The closer we got to Japan, the Japs would be buzzing around us like hornets.  Me and Sweetman would shoot at them, heavy guns and loud.  Now and then, we’d say, “I got one…”

Well, then.  This story is about a rule we had on the bomber.  The first one who had to pee would have to clean the latrine.  Nasty, bad job.

Ol’ Gandy had to go bad.  The rest of us were pent-up about the mission, we couldn’t have peed for nothing.  But Gundy had to go.

But the latrine?  He decided he’d open the bomb bay doors just a little and pee down them.  Worked just fine.

Then we heard the navigator Ol' Shelton say somethin’ like.  “What’s this?  Yellow sea water?”  He smacked his lips, wiped his face.  “Tastes funny.”

We never told him what that was.  Don’t think he’da like it.

Top Row (rt. to lt.): Charles T. Rock,  Charles H. Donalds,  Ronald M. Gandy,
Louis E. Peck (my dad),  John Sweetman

Middle Row:  Capt.Willam O. Ezell (pilot), Lt. Hump Halsey (co-pilot),  Arthur M Shelton, Merril Williams

Front:  James. D. Waring,  Robert Quick










Then Dad would stand up, straighten his cap, and go out to do chores.  

Dad loved to tell stories, but only certain stories.

Friday, October 25, 2013

Chosen Rocks

Source
Gray still sky over
Roiling silver sea,
Soaking gold to slate
Slabs of sand.

Satin rocks, ancient rocks
Worn and beaten
Smooth by
Merciless waves.

My brother is dying.
Her whispers cast
To deaf waters.
Salt to salt,
Whispered over and over.

Three speckled rocks
Chosen by grace.

One rock resting
in a noisy room,
Whispering silently
My brother is dying...

One rock for bedside
Where whispers and tears merged.

One rock more--

At last, gazing at her
Blessed brother, eyes closed, 
In steel gray casket.

Tucking a smooth
Ocean stone into icy hand.
My brother has died.

Tears to tears,
Sea to earth,
Cold hand to warm,
Words silenced,
Whispers lie heavy
in the heart.