Freedom, An Interchanging Poetry Expression of History and Symbolism


Freedom, defined as the state of being free or at liberty rather than in confinement or under physical restraint. Thomas Jefferson’s Declaration of Independence is a writ of grievance against the King of England, declaring, “That these united Colonies are, and of Right ought to be Free and Independent States, that they are “Absolved from all Allegiance to the British Crown.”

From this historic document, freedom has become synonymous with liberty, patriotism, and all symbols representative of each. This article includes poetry of how I envision the feelings of the founding fathers in their passion for the creation of a constitutional government and my concept of freedom as expressed through writing and symbolization.

I start with my vision of Jefferson as he toiled at his task of writing what I believe is the most important document defining America.

Declaration Of Independence

Alone in the night, gazing at the beauty of a celestial masterpiece
yet untouched by the cover of cloud,
an unrelenting silence is interrupted by the insistent ticking
of an old grandfather clock in the parlor,
a candle with a dual wick rests on a table made of knotty pine
roughly chiseled to add a rustic touch,
accentuates a floor of polished oak,
providing my only light

I sit watching shadows flickering across plaster walls,
mimic eerie phantoms,
slithering throughout the room
refusing to take recognizable shape,
cause unwanted distraction

The work before me suffers
in stark contrast, pitifully begs text be laid
to cover the nudity of the page before me

The accomplishments of my life pale in contrast
what keeps me awake this night,
the plight of a nation will rest on the passion of my words,
my friends and patriots rely on a text that will take them
from anarchy to democracy

Shadows appearing to take shape play tricks upon my vision,
reveal a sight resembling a picture of a united
uniformly defined crowd
cheering and waving as one voice,
one sound

Suddenly it becomes clear,
the page before me fills with pronouncement,
my chest swells with pride,
what is written this night becomes page after page,
until,
finally,
to carry a nation desiring riddance,
a Declaration Of Independence

The original draft of the Declaration was written by Thomas Jefferson from 11 June 1776 to 28 June 1776. It was finalized and approved by the Congress and printed on the evening of July 4th.

The original document was signed by only John Hancock as President of the Congress and Charles Thompson, as the Secretary of the Congress. Other signatories were added beginning in August and were not completed for several months.

John Hancock, waited in Congress for Thomas Jefferson to present his initial draft of The Declaration of Independence. Heat is a poem that describes what he must have felt in signing a document that made him a traitor and a patriot simultaneously.

Heat

It is hot! The air above me suffocates, lacking breeze.
This July eve, the heat affects me most.
Tomorrow, I will end one affiliation and begin anew.

The future causes my brow to arch, the heat
adding to my discomfort.
This house, my home is large and strong,
but may not survive the coming storm.

All before me I must be willing to cede
as a consequence of this nights decisions.

I feel the heat began to crescendo into a firestorm.

I envision myself appearing at the very gates of Hell.
I finish my dress and put on my coat realizing,
soon, this will be my home no longer.

I will be branded a traitor in my native country, a
patriot in my new.

As I sit in the Congress, I am alone if not for Jefferson
and my Congressional Secretary.

The document prepared by Jefferson beckons my signature.
I am overcome with emotion as I, John Hancock,
President of the Congress, slowly, in large bold script,
sign The Declaration of Independence.

As I return to my home,
I realize this heat will not go away for a long time.
I return to say goodbye.

I wrote Freedom and FREEDOM as a statement of current events and the impact of the growing rift in the political and social structure of America. Although from different eras, both reflect the same basic virtues and beliefs.

Freedom

Freedom Its foundation built on sacrifice
maintained by the strength of belief
wounded by separatism
healed by patriotism
destroyed by disunion

and,

FREEDOM

Fought on bitter fields tainted red
Revolution quells garroted oppression
Emporté-moi the cry
Engagement protects treasured belief
Declaration defines a people
Oration warns tread not on me
Muskets herald the voice of freedom

The American Flag is the most recognizable symbol in the world. Anyone, in any country, that sees Americas’ flag immediately knows what it represents. This poem reflects my belief that it is more than just a symbol.

The American Flag, It Is You

A symbol of respect, pride, and strength,
not to be ruffled, wadded, or soiled,
but, to be folded, unfurled, raised for all to see,
as in going into battle resounding victory.

Not to be tattered, torn, or burned in effigy,
rather a symbol of hope to those in bondage,
of hate for those who seek to enslave,
of patriotism to those who guard fiercely,
enshrined with those who died for liberty,
entrusted to each generation to decide its fate,
to be the most loved or most hated,
to be seen in every city, state, and on foreign soil,
wherever seen America is found.

No other symbol rises above or would be allowed,
representing freedom, recognized the world round,
a powerful adversary to an enemy
a gentle giant to those who are represented.

A symbol of red and white,
with fifty shining stars on a field of blue,
call it a flag,
in reality it is you.

In conclusion,

American Flags

American flags,
the right to destroy is yours;
as is your freedom.

Poetry is an association of words placed into structure, weaving majesty and brilliance to create text. History and the symbols that represent history have, long been expressed poetically. I find poetry a novel of verse lacking the novels long narrative, yet providing the same wonderfully exciting experience of wonder and fulfillment.

An Interchanging Poetry View Of War


An Interchanging Poetry View Of War

War is the bane of society. Why do we fight? We do not depend on each for food, clothing, or shelter. Is there a reason for the enormous loss of life brought about through war? The only logical reason for war is population control.

All animals in nature have a predatory counterpart that helps cull the sick in disease prevention, control the number of a species in maintenance of a healthy environment and of course as a food source. In nature, the process is well defined and executed…in other words; it works. This is not the case with man. We have no counterpart to control us.

We therefore, are the control. Is there a genetic code buried deep within the soul of man that dictates war as a population control. Do we use land, ethnicity, resources, and power as excuses underlining the true role of war in human development? I have written the following poetry in my quest to find some justification for the madness of war. I begin with the question, what is war?

WHAT IS WAR

What is war if not a culling of humanity,
a methodology guaranteed to impact growth;
preventing starvation in an overpopulated world.

What is war if not an investment in economics;
yet,
a depreciable asset in accumulated loses.

What is war if not the nightmare of mothers
who grieve for sons or daughters
who suffer no more.

What is war if not the fuel that ignites passion
not extinguished by previous war,
rekindled again.

What is war if not a culling of humanity;
when extinction becomes evident.
What is war if not the end of humanity?

Sensibility dictates, it matters not the definition, reason, or explanation of war. The determining factor often lies in the availability of personnel, economic wealth, industrial strength, and natural resources necessary to conduct war. Wars are fought more often for natural resources than with natural resources. Those who have not want, those who have, want more, therefore war. Personnel resources can usually be assured. Records and documents describing many wars and campaigns site reasons for men and women to come forth when history cries, and display the tears of sorrow shed with their realization of the impact and consequences of war.

WHEN HISTORY CRIES

Men come forth
Black clouds hover, answer the call
When history cries

Upon the field, once green
Flowing red, wars bitter friend
Men come forth

Sweethearts love lost forever
Patriotism wounded, refuses to die
When history cries

Who knows the heart of warriors
Uniforms identify living and dead, ranks define
Men come forth

When next the call to arms
Forget not valor upon whose fields heroes are born
Men come forth
When history cries

MEN WANTED

Young men wanted,
a call to arms,
their biggest challenge,
their deepest scars,
those who die on foreign shores,
those who survive,
to weep forever more.

YOUTH

I am a young man,
as old now as I will ever get,
I lie upon cold ground
trying to forget,
visions of those gone before me,
of whose life I brought to sudden demise,
those who lie before me,
to move not again,
no pain,
only sorrow,
to reach such an end,
another life wasted,
in this troubled land.

ARMIES WONDER

Armies face one another in uniforms that define,
leave no doubt, who is on what side.
The ground upon which they stand,
soon bright red, confirm life’s ebb.

Cries of wounded lessen
as death’s reaper claims each,
causing cessation.

Medics roam the field tending those in need,
care not the uniform,
tend all who breathe and may survive.

All now quiet, both sides watch and wonder.
This death and destruction, this hatred inside,
the poison of prejudice,
a people unknown until they died.

Armies face one another across a field piled high,
and wonder why.

With the cessation of fighting and signing of terms that end the war, comes full realization of the economic cost for taking care of fallen warriors and those disabled physically and mentally. When wars end, for many, a far different life begins.

WHEN WARS END

When wars end,
celebration defines,
disfigurement is its blind eye.

I have no feet; I need no shoes.
I have no hands; I need no gloves.
No legs; no need to walk.
No arms; I long for hugs.

What is left, sits in a chair all day.
At night, I turn in great pain.
Some say I am lucky to be alive.
I disagree,
It is through the grace of God
I survived.

I am a testament of how
precious is life.
An American Veteran,
not crippled, alive.

When wars end,
celebration defines,
disfigurement is its blind eye.

As we age, we are enlightened and often reminisce over the actions of our youth. That period when we have no fear of death and there is a feeling of indestructibility. That is until the shooting begins and the body count makes men of boys; setting aside forever the fantasy of youth. Through age, comes the realization once again of death. We therefore anguish over our youth and will not rush to death in our twilight. If old men fought, wars could not be possible.

IF OLD MEN FOUGHT

An old man, looking out his door,
gaze fixed on a distant shore,
reminiscing to a time, not of happiness,
or, the prospect of a bright future in store,
to when he was sick, to his very core,
to when as a youth, he went to war

A time before infallibility had meaning,
patriotism and bravado the fashion,
the future was still a quandary,
zest for life, at an all-time high,
a time for romance, partying, buying,
no thought of pain, deformity, dying

Too young, to understand or question,
ship to foreign shore, medals abound,
sacrifice not temporary,
forever more,
a legacy etched into a wall,
few will remember,
flesh shredded, burned, torn,
families mourn

A time, when he willingly went to war,
will happen no more,
all lost in youth, now conscientious,
no blind obedience,
minimal risk,
long life, his number one endeavor

As he turns back from the door,
he thinks of the youth,
here now, soon no more,
lessons never learned,
the call to war,
to common the roar,
complacency the mood,
another generation removed

The old man laments
over what was
originally not known,
war is preventable,
life too precious to waste,
the solution simple,
his vision, maybe too late

Send old men, to the front to fight,
arthritis, heart disease, poor eyesight,
let the youth enjoy their life,
his near over, it is only right

Send old men, to the front to fight,
ask them, to give up their life,
patriotism and bravado, still right,
will and desire, would not last the night,
old men do not rush to death, in their twilight,
failure inevitable, the old man smiles,
knows he is right

Wars not possible,
if old men, are sent to fight

I wrote this poetry in my quest to find some justification for the madness of war; I have failed. We will continue to fight wars and kill one another through ignorance. There is no honor in the predatory nature of man. Our biological classification as an animal, does not mean we must act as one. Nature did not provide us a natural predator and did not intend for us to prey on each other. We were given the intelligence to develop the means of controlling population and sharing resources without using war to satisfy the animal existing in us all. One day we may look upon each as what we truly are, family, not enemies.

An Interchanging Poetry Expression Of Love


I write about all the various stages of love; defined by the length of a relationship regardless of longevity including, relations of our youth to love strong enough to survive the challenges presented throughout marriage. I define love as a cyclical process as related to generative grammar, through which we develop our relationships, either good or bad, to reach the ultimate experience of obtaining the realization of love over a lifetime.

This poetic expression is written from my perspective and experiences. It covers a lifetime; a time span of all human emotion associated with feeling. The slant from which I write is male. The prevailing emotions surfacing, as you read, allow both male and female to insert their memories equally.

Our trip through love, begins with what most of us remember as the first time we fell head over heels in love with the one who drove us out of childhood, to experience that “first time I saw you” emotion burned forever into memory.

Since First I Saw You

Since first I saw you, it was your eyes,
mesmerizing me, your gaze transporting
me to a realm, not of fantasy, real,
where young men go when cupid’s
arrow takes root.

Since first I saw you, it was your lips,
captivating me, holding me frozen
in anticipation of our lips brushing
for the first time.

Since first I saw you, it was your voice,
a crescendo, light, invigorating,
each word you speak intensifies
my hearing, enveloping each
note, time ceases as I hang motionless
savoring, memorizing.

Since first I saw you, it was your hair,
long, flowing, gently rising above
your shoulders as a slight breeze
passes through,
sending waves of your essence my way.

The sun magnifying each strand,
highlighting the minute
variances of invigorating color,
creating a halo effect, a portrait of
your beauty forever imprinted.

Since first I saw you, It was you,
my love forever more for you,
only you.

Of course, it was not be. The transition through puberty will lay waste to many relationships that will be forever remembered, and will be reminisced as “our songs of love.”

Songs Of Love

Sung throughout the ages,
song immortalized,
hearts broken or
bursting, overflowing.

Songs of Love
melody and verse change,
pain and sorrow vary,
gaiety and feeling
remain constant.

Songs of Love written by those who
lived them, remembered
by those who sing them.

As we move from the freestyle of youth, we move to a willingness to accept additional responsibility both financially and in love relationships. As we put our youth behind us, we elect to make commitments that are temporary or long term. Today, many couples have no desire to marry and are perfectly content in their lives. Those who marry do so because they may feel more secure and greater stability. Both relations experience the same problems and failures. Although there are relationships lasting a lifetime, the common consensus best describes today’s long term commitments as,” the first one being practice; the second being forever.”

Love

Love
born in the fire of youth
foster to preserve
lost to betrayal
regained in trust
through decades of growth
capitulate all
nevermore lose
love

Once we move through the uncertainty of love, we may move into the lasting relationship we all crave. A relationship that is mutually bonding; providing a deepening of love inspired by greater understanding, and mutual satisfaction lasting through life’s remaining days. This stage may complete early in relationships or take years to realize.

My Wife

The sun reflects from her face illuminating
the inner beauty of her soul
she smiles and the world is all aglow
speaks and chaos and confusion cease
laughs and all are at peace
she cries and frustrations released
She sees only the good in everything
she bathes her soul in heavens spring
bears the pain of those under her protection
her arms their umbrella, know not rejection
Her gift to life is her very presence
she is my reward of excellence
she is the guiding light of my life
she is my wife

The most amazing event in life is the delivery of our children. One of the few times a man can cry, be congratulated, and hugged by friends without embarrassment. Children require a lifelong dedication for their welfare and guidance in preparing them for the challenges and obstacles they will face as adults.

A Child

A child,
like
a ball of dough,
must be raised to
achieve success.

Without Discipline

You starve your children
not,
by denying them food
but,
through lack of discipline

My favorite time is watching children grow, mature, and begin their lives as loving reproductions of the parents.

I See Angels

I see angels, not only when I sleep, more often,
when awake, some petite, in gowns flowing long,
or putting final touches to beauty that needs none,
from little angels, to full-grown ones

They talk in tones often disguised, not understood,
a language interpreted only by angels
in their own angel group, occasionally break tradition,
speak certain phrases recognizable to all,
always welcome, always good,
increasing my love for my angel brood

Memories of angels, pleasurable thoughts,
lead to today, an angel does leave me,
for another she will care,
increasing the love we all share

All my angels share the same fate,
leaving their father, once their first date,
soon will return with their own special angels
for me to love and to care

A contented father rejoices and waits,
for I see angels

When love reaches the age of contentment, we settle into a life of joy accentuated by spending the rest of our lives together. Other than losing a child, there is no greater pain than losing the love of your life. Yet, we each continue our journey, remembering the life we spent together. Those who believe are consoled in knowing soon they will be together once again.

I See Her There

I see her there
through the passage of time,
in thought and dream.

I see her there
forcing gloom to remit,
instilling love day and night.

I see her there
as each day does pass,
my companion, my wife.

I see her there,
her smile bright,
opening her arms to hold me tight.

I see her there,
I cried as her death neared,
her loss a burden, I need not have feared.

Though she has traveled away from here,
she remains near.
At my side.
I see her there.

And….

She Looks

She awoke,
he was passed away from her.

Wondering the halls,
searching rooms,
dirty,
unused,
cold and damp,
she looks for him.

Outside,
the grounds are vast courtyards
where many elaborate events
echoed joyous laughter,
echo no more, further frustrate
her search.

She looks for him,
for forty years she conducts
this ritual,
refusing to accept what all
know.

Her mind sees only one vision,
she looks for him,
knows he has passed away from her,
knows he has not gone far,
and soon,
she awoke,
he lay next to her,
she looked no more.

Finally, we come to the “greatest honor” bestowed upon parents.

Greatest Honor

What greater honor,
when they move forward,
they leave behind in each of us,
the best of what they were.

Love is the one constant that survives through the ages. It also, is the constant providing every emotion from pure joy, to hate, to unrelenting remorse. Through all its success and faults, love remains true as the only constant ensuring our future.