Faith, Hope, Love

Faith awakes from ancient dreams,
Calms the winds, hears our screams,
Stands to reprimand the waves,
Speaks—you need not live as slaves.

     But we reside in holes and haunts
     And crumble ‘neath desire’s taunts. 
     Offered playground swings on chains,
     We close the sash and wait for rain.

Hope, a hungry fire starts.
Sparks fly to light our hearts. 
We long for heritage and glory,
To be the hero of our story.

     But pallid lips quaff bitter brews;
     We search the dregs for any clues. 
     The vestige of our stumbled path
     Winds through weeds and down to wrath.

Wearing bold and vital colors,
Setting blazing wild fires,
Love, though we may never say it,
Bests our fine and whited harlot.

     Yet we, our remedy, resist;
     We wipe away our Lover’s kiss. 
     We hesitate before the altar
     Scorning freedom’s final offer.

Dad’s Journal, Saturday January 1st

Arose, made coffee, oatmeal, and a list.
Hugged and kissed spouse, and prayed.
Discussed a canoe, a massage—a birthday.
Chased, regained, attempted to retain
next door neighbor’s pet, crazy.
Climbed up and down attic staircase,
then folded stairs away.

Exercised paintbrush on desktop
and taught third grader a bit
about how to paint.  Made a lap:
dressed toddler in pink boots
and green shirt.  Went out to help
with fifth grade science experiment
before it rained—got damp anyway.

Brushed and rolled here and there.
Watched fifth grader play computer game.
Watched Popeye and the gang.
Cleaned up for dinner.  Sat down
with family and ate.  Beheld faces,
took up the graces, read books…
then wrote, and hit the hay.

Let A Rose

Let a rose be all things beautiful and true; let the rain be you.
Let a button be forbearance; let your blouse
be faded blue. 
Let a shoelace be repentance;
let me stop and tie my shoe.
Let a rose be all things beautiful and true.

Let a rose be all things beautiful and true; let a sigh be you.
Let a button be forgiveness; let your fingers
push it through. 
Let a shoelace be a promise;
let me double knot my shoe.
Let a rose be all things beautiful and true.

Robert Buchanan, Hindenburg Docker

Robert Buchanan waited on the field,
in wet clothes, to dock the Hindenburg.
No shadow marked its’ place
beneath the heavy morning sky.
The airship came close, then, POOF!—

strange enormous light, a bite, and suffocation.
He wondered, is this the end?
Heat shoved him, outran him, jumped down
on him.  It was the hottest thing
he would ever live to tell.

Rain came twice while he had waited;
twice its’ grace fell on him.
He escaped, but had to run a long way
before he turned
(to see from what he had been saved).

Robert Buchanan was interviewed for the PBS program History Detectives (Season 6, Episode 5).  His testimony of how he avoided severe burns and possible death at the crash of the Hindenburg inspired this poem.