DEAREST DARK ANGEL

In Vancouver, British Columbia – down by the waterfront near the wharves, right on the plaza where the tourists stream steadily past – there is a larger than life statue, a memorial to all the military men and women who have lost their lives fighting for Canada. The angel is set to soar, one arm arched high above its head, while draping an obviously dead soldier over the other. With careful attention to detail —the kind look on the angel’s face; its seeming ease in lifting the soldier, no visible strain as the angel’s feet dangle as loosely as the whole of the soldier’s limp body; the resignation of death on the young soldier’s face— the sculptor has managed to create something very special here. I find myself going back to my photographs of this tableau again and again, continually inspired to write new poems, stories, even essays. This is one.

Dearest Dark Angel

She had been searching for him everywhere, it seemed
How odd then to see him on the wing of the dark angel
Just there at the edge of the busy harbour

With gulls wheeling round and noisy, scratching the sky, he ready
To be flown off for eternity, if the angel’s stance was any indication
Her innocent brave young son, dressed up like a soldier man

Blood, discernible even through the statue’s grime and blackness
In the folds of the angel’s robes, though fixed, appeared to swirl
As it dripped from the brow beneath the boy’s inadequate helmet
Almost, but not quite, hiding the look of desperate resignation
Set upon his baby face like an unsolved puzzle to carry to his grave

Involuntarily, she reached out, called to the angel to stop, oh please
Halt angel of death, don’t take leave of this place with my boy just yet
For I have need of him and have looked the world over for him
To find him finally and lose him, all in one swoop of your wings
Feels too unfair to bear, you do see what I mean, I’m sure, angel

The angel – guide of lost souls, dead soldiers, and their mothers— stayed on
Gave the mother time to study the shell once her son, take in her loss afresh
Reconcile her grief again and work at letting go of her baby, her boy, her own

She stood as if nailed in place, memorizing the tableau, until the sun fled the sky
And before the moon chanced to throw its light on the scene, she was gone.

S.E.Ingraham©
(a version of this poem is archived on poetsagainstwar.ca)

FOUND BENEATH

In the Tyrrhenian Sea
just off the Amalfi coast
we were diving,
Playing at being fish
when first we
found her

We were near enough
Pompeii to wonder
if she had been swept
from offstage
At the opera perhaps
caught mid-aria
—practicing most likely,
just going about her life—

As so many others
were during that
remarkable eruption …

Vesuvius still
sputters I hear

S.E.Ingraham©
Magpie Tales #100

When We Were Wildings

Do you recall the days
when we took
to the fields
and the woods
in the warm
autumn
evenings

Like a pack
of wolves we were
Howling down
the hunter’s moon
running flat out
calling to each other
from deep
in the night

Until late
when we gathered
to build a fire
Wilding wasn’t
a bad word
back then;
we weren’t
vandals
just loners
who found each
other and recognized
our wild souls
in the dark
in the wild

S.E.Ingraham©

Mourning

There are no words for this sorrow
No ways to explain away the pain
There is only before now and after

She feels the tears of yesterday
Leaking out between her fingers
Feels the lines of tomorrow forming

On the palms of her hands, and her face
As in vain she tries to contain her anguish
Knows the futility of such attempts

Finds herself folding into her soul
Learns misery is deeper than heartache
And depths of ending are unfathomable

S.E.Ingraham©

(photo “sorrow by dechobek”)

ON JUDGING ENEMIES

Out our bedroom window
In the medieval castle
I pictured the enemy
Making a surge up the hill

All those centuries ago
Found myself wondering
How the doge decided
Which armies were significant

Which trivial enough
They could be dispatched
With minimal man-power
Would recede like cowards

S.E.Ingraham©

IT’S BEEN MY E…

IT’S BEEN MY EXPERIENCE

 

It’s been my experience

When the mantle smells

Like swamp-gas, it’s time

To brew a pot of never

Wind the battery clock

And set it to snakes

In a basket or half past

Unpleasant children

Crank the pepper-mill

Past the scent of jackboots

Or being locked up in a jar

By now the tea should taste

Like forever and the mantle

Will be starting to sway

It will be past time to seize

A pocket level which will feel

Very much like nothing

Worth knowing, life

In prison, or a stack

Of quilted lies

Or, might I suggest

Instead you take

The powder brush -

The one giggling there

By the clock – but hurry

- if it coughs or worse,

Sneezes, it will vanish

On you

For by now, the mantle

Shall sound like a waterfall

That really tall one

In South America -

And the level  well – it will be

Old news, the tea will be dirt

The clock a cow and …

It’s been my experience

S.E.Ingraham©

An Example of PowerPoint Karaoke (via Edmonton PowerPoint Karaoke)

Okay – this looks like karaoke I can get behind. A bit worried about the scheduling – Tuesday nights are definitely a problem for me – 1st Tuesday of every month I have one Board meeting I cannot miss and 2nd Tuesday of every month another … so, looks like I’ll only be able to check this out on the third Tuesday of each month if I’m reading your plans correctly … nevahmind. When I can, I will try and come late and catch the last acts at least on the other nights.

PowerPoint presentation is by nature dry, boring stuff; it does seem that makes it prime improvisational fodder – bring it on.

For those of you who want to see an example of PowerPoint Karaoke before you decide whether or not you want to sign up to perform, here you go! This is a great example of a participant trying to take the thing seriously, but also throwing in a fair number of jokes. The beer probably doesn’t hurt, either. I suspect that, at least during the inaugural event, presentations at … Read More

via Edmonton PowerPoint Karaoke

If You Blog in Many Places Does That Indicate Split Personalities or Just Multi-tasking abilities?

What do you think? I don’t know, what do you think? Beats me, I bet you can just do more than two things at once, right? Wait, let me ask what’s her name…hey – what do you think? What? Oh – she’s sleeping – let’s see if the other guy’s around…and so on…the question becomes concentric as well as eccentric…sigh.

Zap-a-cat & read the writing on Facebook’s wall

Vigilantes purportedly writing from Camrose, Alberta named 4 under-aged children who allegedly broke into a home there recently and nuked a family pet over the holidays. These self-appointed sherriffs did their name-calling and justice-seeking on Facebook’s hallowed walls, not pausing to wait for proof, or the wheels of Canadian justice to grind however slowly or legally that may have been. In actuality, all these cyber-space graffiti artists had going for them was hearsay evidence and third-hand repeatings of what may or may not have happened; on plainer terms, gossip.

As abhorent as the original act done here is, and don’t get me wrong – 1) I am an animal lover and, 2) I also realize fully the ramifications attached to the pre-teen cruelty that appears to have been done to this innocent, ie. a history of this type of behaviour could certainly indicate a precursor for more serious criminal activity and needs to be addressed as such. However, the fact remains, naming under-aged suspects is not only illegal in Canada, it is also amoral.  When the so-called ordinary citizen decides to take matters into his own hands, or allows his child to do likewise, and starts issuing death threats and other obscene pieces of rhetoric in a public forum such as Facebook, the moral fabric of a civilized society begins to unravel rather more quickly than one would think possible.

 I believe if we are to preserve any sense of decency at all in this world, it has to start in the home, with parents or care-givers who are willing to take the time to discuss these types of issues with their children, not take the easy, knee-jerk reaction of the vigilante. Is this any easy road? Not at all, but in the long run, what kind of people do we want to grow – people that can think for themselves, judge for themselves, react sensibly and rationally for themselves – or, people that will always know exactly how to lock and load in any situation, no questions asked. Put up and shut up. If that sounds ideal, start considering living under any of the world’s dictatorships;that’s how they’re run. Of course, that means at any time, you might be on the wrong end of the lock and load procedure.  Give it some thought.  I believe North America is better than that but until we start showing the kids that we are, and that we expect the same from them…nuked kitties might be the least of our worries.

What’s worse? Kids nuking cat? vigilante facebookers? or a crying Pres. candidate?

So Hilary boo-hoo’s a bit and everyone seems to be in a flap – what’s that about? She’s cold – she’s unfeeling; she cries – she’s weak; she stands by her man, she’s a push-over; had she left him? no doubt about it, an unforgiving bitch…

Ah the life of the American politician. How you folks get anyone to sign up for that ticket is a magical mystery tour for sure, unless of course, the candidate’s a boob and how often does that happen? Oh right – let’s not revisit that tired tune.

Complete non-sequiter: – about the kids in Alberta who microwaved the cat recently? Bad acts for sure. But is it alright to post their names (ages 1 to 15 and in Canada it’s illegal to name them) and start death threats, before all the facts are in? Vigilante justice is just wrong, especially small-town stuff on big-time Facebook’s walls. The proverbial shit is about to hit more than Facebook’s walls. Yeah, I think you can count on it.