Sounds of the Night... a poem by Frank Ellsworth Lockwood

But Whose Are These Children?

A poem about Americans, and  our refugee children

We are the Valiant Ones

We killed, but only 
To ensure truth, liberty, and justice for all.
So we said.

We are the purchasers and guardians of  freedom.
We are the Messiah's, the judges, the deliverers.
We are the good guys.
We are the Americans.
And we are  Babylonians, Assyrians, and Romans
And all the civilized peoples.

Without us, all would be slaves.
Or so they say.

We view the enemy differently:
They are not like us,
For they are evil, and we are good.
And we seek to destroy them,
We kill to bring life and happiness.
We fight wars to bring peace.

They taught us things in school,
And in Boy Scouts
And in Boot Camp.
And these are the thoughts our parents think.
And the politicians on T.V.
So they must be true.

We gather here, dearly beloved,
The men and the women,
The boys and the girls
All home grown.

We are the soldiers and sailors
Mariners, cavalry and airborne crews
And the camera people,
The peoples of the steeples.

And all manner of other occupations,
We are chosen by Destiny,
And now our time has come.
Our time has come.

We sink down low, beside our victims
In the slime and in the dirt, and in the dust of death.
We have given up our alleged "ghosts."
And we have joined the heavenly hosts.

Historian Speaks:
"They were destined for Greatness.
For glory."
But not all. Some did not die.
They are still here, among us. The wars are over ...
For some people, at least.

The noise has faded, and the smoke
And and the dust and the ashes,
And the songs and the dances,
After the far-away destruction,

On cable T.V.,
They still say,
"It was all worth it."

And all the people said, "I sure hope so."

Here we are
In the land of the free.
We water our lawns
And we drive our cars,
And we are the great ones of the earth.
And some of us sleep at night.

With dreams of our former glory.
We have made Our Nations great again.

We refuse to feel,
This sickness inside,
We must march on
In the names of our gods
And in the honor
Those who died.

We plant white crosses
All in nice in rows on bright green lawns.
We look around,
And we behold
What is left of the pawns.

In our spare time,
When we think no one is looking,
Some of us still take out our knives
And we carve "killing sticks,"
Like they taught us to do in the Special Forces.

And some of us,
We still sleep with  loaded guns
Beneath our pillows,
For we are afraid of the sounds of the night.

And yet we say, "The war was good."

But who are these children,
Crossing our borders?
Why can't we send them home?
After all this misery of war,
Why must we endure their dirty, grieving faces?
Why can't they move on
To other places?

We have other things on our mind:

We try to forget the pain and the grief.
We try to deny our guilt.
We even tell ourselves
That we forgive our enemies.

But ourselves,
We cannot forgive,
Some of us,
Though we try.

Nor can we forget,
(For we know not how),
Who we were, in the innocent days,
And what we have now become.

And we hear at night,
Unwelcome sounds,
Though we plug our ears with wax,
And close our eyes real tight.

Still our destiny awaits:
The fruit of our valor.
What is this sad song I hear?
Why no warrior cries?

This ringing in my ears,
What is it? A belligerent veteran's song?
A lonely solo, perhaps. Some muted anthem
From another time and place.

Strange sounds of wars thundering,
Off in the distance: Some mother remembers
Her son.
She is slipping off the earth

We are all slipping, sliding,
Or have already slidden.
Into the same pit
In which our victims lie.

Who are the brilliant ones,
Behind this inhumane scheme?

What evil, unseen hand, if any,
Has already added
Ourselves and our children
To the ranks of the many?

Ruined, slaughtered or killed?

"Oh, but we were brave," they say.
"Oh yes, we were true and faithful."
But faithful to what? Or to whom?

We were human once,
Back in the day.
And we believed.
But then...

What god? Norse, or Roman, Babylonian?
What gods from whence?
Who are the two-legged,
Horrible Monsters
That have perpetuated this myth,
The myth of the Valiant Ones?
And we lie awake and wonder ...

"Whence come these sounds of the night?"


#poetry #poem #war  #grief #death #American #valor #destiny #civilizednations #frankelockwood #lockwood #refugeechildren #makeAmericagreatagain


 .

“Wild-Eyed American”

(A song, lyrics by Frank Ellsworth Lockwood, tune as suggested by the lyrics.)

Verse 1
Yip yip yipee yip yip.
I'm a Wild-eyed American, I ride the bulls all day.
I believe the Truth, and the rest be damned
I'm a wild eyed American, and I wasn't born yesterday.
I'm a wild-eyed American.

Chorus 1:
Take me to the White House;
Place me on the lawn.
Bow me down to the reindeer sleigh
When Christmas cheer is on,
'Cause I'm a wild-eyed American.

Verse 2
I'm still a wild-eyed American
Read my lips, and look into my eyes:
No public schools, no welfare checks,
No taxes for the wise.

This is how it’s done

So join in on the fun, ‘cause we'll
Just saddle up and trickle down,
And watch our boats all rise.

Chorus 2

(Yip Yip Yip)
'Cause I'm a wild-eyed American:
Let's all go for a ride.
(A wild ride.)
Let's all go for a ride


Verse 3
I'm a wild-eyed American:
(Yip yip yip)
I thought I made it clear,
(As clear as Rainier Beer)
That I'm a wild-eyed American.
(All-American steer)

Verse 4
I'm a wild-eyed American:
No new roads, no warming trends,
No tree-hugging hippies.
No government funds no
No more twittering Yuppies.
'Cause I'm a wild-eyed American.
(Yes indeed)

Verse 5
I'm a wild-eyed American:
No refugees or border troubles
Just close your eyes, they'll go away
Along with ugly real-estate bubbles.
'Cause I'm a wild-eyed American.

Verse 6

Pull on your boots

And grab them spurs

We’ll crunch them granola bars

 I’ll make America Great again.

Cause I’m a wild eyed American.

[Author's Note: Parenthesis spoken, chanted or sung by alternate voice.]

Re-edited February 1, 2017

#wildeyedamerican #songs #poems #lockwood #makeamericagreatagain

The Mystery of the White Rose

The Mystery of the White Rose


By F. Ellsworth Lockwood

November 5, 2007

A beautiful woman called today.
In her right hand, she bore a White Rose.
The flower she held was meant for me,
And immediately I wanted to become her lover.

I found no vase to hold her flower,
So I placed her in some water
In a plain old drinking glass.
Perhaps that was my mistake. Who knows?
I should have been more Aware,
Of how a Pure White Flower grows.

Before I knew
She was in my arms, this precious lass.
Our lips met and then
We melded so close together
I felt as if we were One.

But that was not yet to be.
We kissed, and hugged,
And kissed again
And then...

And then she sat up
Straight and tall,
"I should not be here with you like this!
This is something I cannot do at all."

And she turned away
Ran back down the hill
And I was left to stand in the door and watch her.
To watch her and to wonder,
Until I recalled he Mystery, of the White Rose.

I turned to see what remained then,
And there upon my counter,
Except for the bud, the stem was bare.
Without a leaf, not a single one,
Though leaves were still in season.

And as the girl ran down her path
I soon saw the Reason;
The leaves, all edged in black as if by poison,
Had shriveled up and died.
Died right on the stem, then fallen asunder.

Yet the rose still clung to the poisoned vine,
As if wishing to be plundered.
So my hand moved tentatively,
As if searching how best to pick Her.

And just as I gazed upon the rose,
She started to unfurl.

Faster and faster as the girl ran away,
Her petals showed their splendor.
So I sat and I wept,
There in my kitchen,
Watching in amazement,
The miracle of growth before my eyes
As the bud became a flower.

I reached again,
Just to touch the lovely stem.
But then I had to stop,
For first one petal fell to the table
And soon followed another.

So then I retreated to my chair
And I sat and I watched, and I breathed her sweet air,
As I observed her gentle unfolding.
And sitting there, all alone ... as alone as alone could be,
I cried as I pondered ...

The Mystery of The White Rose.
#poem #poetry #rose #love

Safari of the Wandering Lover

Safari of the Wandering Lover

By F. Ellsworth Lockwood (All rights reserved)
October 15, 2007

I listen for her wings at night,
As if at that late hour,
She might just fluff her feathers,
Flap her wings, and take to air,
Might navigate the hidden dangers,
Of an hour when none can be in flight.

I almost fall asleep but then,
A sudden sound the darkness defies.
The exotic call is like her voice,
Yet it’s only some lonesome bird that cries.  

At daybreak now upon the water,
In my trusty green canoe,
I take up a journey, with perhaps no end,
And again my Wandering Lover pursue.

In lieu of her friendly palms, however,
I feel the wayward thrust
Of those tiny waves on the river,
That one can never trust.


They constantly push and pull my canoe,
While a force, like a silent, mossy lust,
Drags me away from the ponds and the rush.
And the birds cry as we sail away

Into the dangers of rocks and brush.
And so I look for her everywhere,
Up on high and way down under,
Even under cover.
What spirit can this be,
That pulls me here and pushes me there,
And threatens to drag me asunder?

And meanwhile my lover fails to appear.
It's enough to make one wonder.
I awaken in the early morning,
And as I rise, I pray,
“Let this be the very day, the long awaited day,
My Wandering Lover comes to me.”

At night again, before the dawn,
Before the sun’s enlightening feature,
I talk to my friends, the owls who listen.
To every forest creature.  

I tell them, “Shh,, I think she’s asleep.
Please sirs, do not wake her.”
When she is ready, she will arise.
When the time is right, she will seek me.

I do not expect her to flee in the night,
Like some common thief or a robber,
So please do not wake her up.
You should not arouse my lover. 

Many years have now come and gone
With neither trace nor indication.
Still I wait, and wonder, and listen,
And hope that she will hasten.

And even now I feel the tug, the pull,
Of her body and of her mind.
I think somehow she feels it too,
And that we must be intertwined.

And so I wait, and I, cry, and I pray,
And I live again, each and every day,
In search of my Wandering Lover.

#wandering #lover #searchformylover #insearchoflove #love #dating #romance

Her Goodby, Our Adieu

Her Goodbye, Our Adieu

Copyright by F. Ellsworth Lockwood, November 28, 2006

I still hold the flowers I had hoped to send
To the woman, the friend, I had come to adore.

What shall I do with this love of mine
When she says I must call no more?
Like a boat at the dock,
Shall I watch her slip?
Just … slip … slip … away,
And hope that she fades from memory?

As if it were just another day.

She keeps disappearing in walks by the beach,
Or swimming away until she’s far out of reach.
I am now becoming a dot on her shore.

Yes. I feel myself floating.
Floating … floating,
Like a log in slow motion.
No rudder, no oar, no map no direction,
With nowhere to go and no place to moor.

Sometimes I turn.
I start rolling in fast, all foaming and bubbling.
But that does no good.
Next thing I know,
I am slowly receding back out to sea,
For though I love her, she does not love me.

Now I mean less to her day by day,
Than the shell she once found
In the sand at the reach.
Looked at briefly, and then tossed away,
No remorse, no regret, just a flip of her hair

At wondrous things that were meant to be?

Ah, once we stood by the ocean-side bare,
There was warmth in our bodies and fire in the air.
But our lips never met.
We just walked away
Not trusting our feelings.
Afraid we strayed.

What shall I do with this love of mine
That never was meant to be?
When looking for lovers,
I at once spied her, and, yes, she too saw me,
But she turned and fled away in a rush,
She could not wait, though I saw her blush.

Perhaps some future, dreary season,
On a detour, dreaded far beyond reason,
Two lost lovers again shall meet,
Shall lift their eyes, with unfeigned delight,
Shall wonder anew with fresh insight.

When through a rift in the skies shall appear,
The Reason, the Wonder, the Compensation.
Forgetting the days of long before,
When we pined alone on some forlorn shore,
We shall embrace, we shall implore,
We shall the heights, the depths, and the shallows explore,
Of our love. And we shall be one
Forevermore.

Yes, we waved goodbye as she started to drift ...
But at the time, I never really believed it. Could not comprehend.

Nor think it was the end.

I am older now, and here I stand

Watching again, this time, from a cold, windblown shore.

In my hand no flowers, in my pockets no gold,

Yet I look and I long. And I feel very, very old.

Oh, I have not forgotten.

I still yearn and I wish,

But without so much hope.

My heart murmers.

Just, a soft beat, a humming, not really a song.

And still I wait by the shore, and I think,

Will today be the day? She will wash up again?

Or, if not her, then another?

Only this time, like a bottle with a message,

With fair words from afar?

Words of love?

Oh ocean, oh sea, please bring to me, just one

Sweet bottle of the life that was meant to be.

With resignation, the cliffs will cave in;

The waves will reduce the rocky shores,

Yet I cannot forget the image of love.

Love, the only far country that men can explore,

Worthy the gaze toward a distant shore.

I turn to leave, and there in the sand

A footprint, and here another,

A trail so faint, a path so light,

Yet in the approaching night,

I know it must be true ... that my path must always, ever lead ...

To you, my Love.

To You.

End

Copyright by F. Ellsworth Lockwood, November 28, 2006

#love #unrequitedlove #poem 

A Winter's Prayer

"Let There be Joy, and Chestnuts and Rum"
By F. Ellsworth Lockwood

When evening's gleam, of golden light,
Fades away and darkness rules the night,
When I cry and my heart feels only despair,
When my ears strain, yet nothing I hear,
And there is a chill that grips the air,
Please Lord, let there be something more ...

Let there be daylight, and a dawn to come.

And let there be chestnuts, oranges, apples and rum.
Let there be happiness.
Let there be friendship, joy, laughter and sun.
A day with smiles. A day with peace.
A day of prancing and joyous release.

Let there be joy. Let there be happiness.
Let there be dancing and singing and chestnuts and Rum.
Yes, peace and prancing, happiness, joy,
Singing and dancing and ... a day of great fun.

#poem #christmaspoem #searchformeaning #meaning #happiness

The Laughter in the Sky

The Laugher in the Sky
By F. Ellsworth Lockwood

Will the clouds go dry,
If laughter shakes the sky?
Will sermons cease,
And warriors make peace?

If God should laugh,
If He says, "Ho ho ho,"
Instead of "Woe to Joe,"
What will happen then?

Will his blushing bride,
Take it in stride?
Or will she fall down,
And rent her gown?

If the Prince of Peace
Appears smiling in the clouds,
Will the world rejoice,
Joy fill the crowds?

With no Simon's sword,
To define The Word,
Who will trust the One,
Though he dwarfs the Sun?

Who is this King,
Who dares to fly,
To reverse the curse,
And to say, "Come nigh"?

Indeed, how should we reply,
To One who appears,
As "The Laugher in the Sky"?

(Laughing Little Wolf, February 2006)

#laughterinthesky #laughter #religion #poem #poems #frankellsworthlockwood #lockwood

Shadow Man

Shadow Man

Who is that Shadow Man,
Standing in the sun?

Who is that Shadow Man?
Guess it's time to run run run.
Eeeee!
Guess it's time to run.

#shadowman #poem #poetry #frankellsworthlockwood #lockwood

Let There be Flowers on the Floor

Let There be Flowers on the Floor.
By F. Ellsworth Lockwood

Throw your flowers on the floor.
Crush the blossoms, everywhere.
This day our love
Perfumes the air.

We break our bread
And share our wine.
In sacred peace
Our lives entwine.


Chorus
Let there be joy.
Let there be happiness.
Let there be coolness in the breeze,
Birds flying through the trees.
Let there be happiness,
And the magic of love.

Let there be flowers on the floor,
Petals in our hair.
For sure,
They'll be ringing at our door,
Just to share the company,
Of our love sweet love, oh love.

Bridge

And I'll be holding, holding your hand,
And they'll be playing, playing with the band,
And we'll be prancing, dancing,
Until we're buried in the sand,
In the sand.

Back to start.


#flowersonthefloor #frankellsworthlockwood #songs #poems #poetry #love #flowers

Carla Anne Come Talk to Me

Carla Anne Come Talk to Me
By F. Ellsworth Lockwood

Carla Anne come talk to me,
Come and hold my hand.
Carla Anne sit close by me,
Help me understand. Anne, Anne.
Help me understand.

Solo Work

I must have seemed so strange to her.
Made her feel dismayed.
So she turned her back on me.
On a lonesome day. Ay, ay.
On a lonesome day.

Please help me find my way.

Solo Work

Now I keep a thousand wives.
Telling them all lies.
Pointing them to Paradise,
For the big surprise, yeah, yeah.
For the big surprise.

Requiem:
(Chanted by priest)

Santo sancto Diem,
Mas poder al podium
Holy Moly Tritium
Santo fe reciben.

Solo Work

Chorus Group Chants: To see the big surprise.

Some day she will appear,
Scarlet goddess of the skies.
Let her violet dress fall down,
Around my alibis. Baby yeah.
Around my alibis.

Maybe then she will talk with me.
Not turn away.
She will sit there patiently,
In her dynasty, yeah, yeah,
Holy dynasty.
Yeah, holy dynasty.

La la, la la la la la. Come company.
La la, la la la la, Come company.
Solo Work

On my barren knee.
Feel my funny bone.
I guess I hardly know you now.
I still feel alone, alone, alone.
I still feel alone.

More Solo Work

I need someone to talk to me,
And to hold my hand.
Carla please sit close to me,
Help me understand. Dear Anne.
Help me understand.

End.

#carlaannecometalkto me #carlaanne  #frankellsworthlockwood #lockwood #thegreatwhore #christianity