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- Fate
his fate
was written on the white caps
of the vast, vast sea,
not blue, not green, not black, not gray,
but
her hue determined by her mood;
not calm, not tempest brewing,
not a fury showing her anger,
but
her emotion displayed reflecting her mood
just like his fate;he did not choose his fate,
the sea chose him;
he answered the call
little realizing
what his choice would require;
what the final result would be:
he left loved ones,
family, friends, women, his home
to ride those waves so far away:
the Atlantic, the Mediterranean,
the Pacific, the Indian Oceans
continued to beckon to him;
he answered
to spend his time there,
a pilgrim converted
until the sea told him
“you are now an old man;
“you have been a good mariner, a good seaman,
but
it is time for you to leave the sea.”the old mariner lives in a cabin
on a hill with a view of the sea;
he often walks to the coast
at the bottom of his hill,
especially when the day
is gun metal steel gray
with an offshore chill wind;
his old, gnarled bare feet
that used to walk those decks
stands in the sand
with the tide
blowing soft white foam
on top of the gray sea
lapping around his legs;
he talks to the sea;
she responds;
he retreats to his cabin
alone
before a large wave
crashes on the beach
before ebbing away. - It Was Close
it was so close one could see
the bloodshot emptiness of their eyes,
one could hear
the rabid screech of their hideous yell:
it was not mad; it was not madness;
it was the wildness of a beast
from the forest from whence they charged.In the village nestled in the hills above,
both nobles and peasantry
peered down on that field of savagery
in fear of the raging hoard
and
in hope their proud boys
standing in their unflawed straight lines
with fine uniforms with perfect gig lines
and
matching visored covers
would prevail.the canon and the line of muskets
lit the early morning
with bolts of fire,
disrupted the silence of the morning
with piercing blasts of canon
and
crackle of musket balls,
cutting those immersed in beastliness
to smithereens,
decimating their ranks
to screaming whimpering piles
of decimated beggars
pleading for aid, mercy,
even merciful death by the blade.
the prince who ordered the maniacal charge,
himself a victim of the carnage,
lay under the carcass of his noble steed,
moaning in the throes of death.the nobles and the peasantry
looked down from the village hills
not with joys of victory
but
in silence,
viewed the bloody field.the generals in their castle high
cheered and toasted with glasses of sherry
for a victory they had not won.The opposition stood
with canon, musket, bayonet,
their weapons at their side,
they were men of military precision,
not a thread harmed;
they did not cheer
but
stood ramrod straight
with tears running down their faces
in silence, perhaps mournful.the bards back then wrote with praise
of the glorious enemy defeat,
of the heroes on their side;
the minstrels sang the same.those men removed their regalia
and
went back home to farms
to work the fields, tend the livestock
but
more silent and reflective
than they had been before.later on, the historians
wrote of gallantry, futility, death,
making the event of legend,
heroes of those that stood and fell
before the writers’ time.dust and rain fell on that field
grass began to grow
with wildflowers sprouting in clusters
and
the earth absorbing the blood.years later, a young lad
frolicked in the field with his dog
chasing butterflies or an occasional bird
when
he stumbled upon a relic,
a worn wooden religious symbol
where one of the wild men fell;
the lad did not know its meaning,
but
something in the breeze struck him then;
he gazed to the wood in silence
wondering what had happened
way back when.No one remembers the whole story
what really happened is obscured
but
then and now, it should have been remembered
there are often those vanquished by war,
yet
there were only those who still stood
by those who fell;
no winning, no victors amongst them,
only those who lost something. - Second Summer Respite
Things have been a might hectic with plethora of ranges for our emotions for about two months for the Jewells in the Southwest corner. That is my excuse for not having many posts. i have at least a half dozen in the hopper, unfinished because…i just flat ran out of gas, both the literal and figurative kind. Now that we are home for a while and things seem to be settling down (as if they ever really settle down), i plan to complete those unfinished posts.
We have had two summer respites thus far, trips to places and people dear to us. The first one had some serious ups and downs. But the one from which we returned Saturday was pure joy and relaxation.
We spent almost a week in Sonoma. Alan and Maren Hicks again were our hosts. As usual, they were phenomenal. The couple and i go back to Vanderbilt days.
This venture to either San Francisco or Sonoma has been an outgoing outing for us. Maren and Maureen are simply amazing together. Their likes, their tastes and their grasp of the world fit perfectly. Alan and i are like…or rather are brothers since we pledged Kappa Sigma at Vanderbilt in 1962.
Their home in Sonoma is my other “briar’s patch.” It is a perfect size with wonderful landscaping and a backyard that faces a Sebastiani vineyard, which we can and do walk through. As usual, the weather was perfect.
The bayside of the Marshal House oyser place on Tomales Bay. This trip included a beautiful drive to Tomales Bay to dine at The Marshall Store featuring fresh, i mean fresh, oysters, and other seafood. Dining is outside, often chilly from the wind off the bay. Incredible place, wonderful views.
The Hicks also took us for a day trip to the De Young Museum in Golden Gate Park where we saw an amazing exhibit on Claude Monet’s Impressionist works. Awed, i was.
But the best part was being with these two folks: just like having 60-plus years roll back.
Friday evening, Alan picked up some barbeque for dinner, rivaled Texas BBQ. Before hand, we retired to a backyard corner and enjoyed each other’s company with a pre-dinner cocktail.
The respite, for us, was much needed. We headed back to the Southwest corner on a great flight, just to make it all as good as it could get. Alaska Airlines flies a non-stop from San Diego to Santa Rosa, a small airport with no jetways. We walked to and then from the plane on the tarmac.
Later tonight after a day of unpacking, i will abscond to my retreat by my chiminea. i will start the fire and reflect on the trip and relax.
It’s even good in my new memories. Thanks, Alan and Maren.
- somewhere there is an island
somewhere there is an island
somewhere in the seas
somewhere
exactly where no one knows
but
somewhere
between here and there
i’ve been there once
wish i could go again
there is no one there now
the sun is ne’er hid
behind the pure white cumulus clouds
until
the dark descends
and
the moon and stars captivate
with their white light
no one knows,
no
no one knows
the longing to return to
this island somewhere
brings me solace
that is all for which i ask
this island
somewhere. - Memorial
i climbed my hill this morning just before eight o’clock. The day thus far was a seaport gray. i felt it was appropriate for this day designated to honor those who had died in defense and support of our country, our constitution. It felt somber:
The top of the hill also was an appropriate place to take time to honor those with whom i served and the others that had passed on due to their military service.
You aren’t likely to be able to see them, but on the coast to the left of Point Loma at the edge of our land, moored along the coast are the ships of the Pacific Fleet, i barely could make them out, but they are there. Appropriate.
i saluted the Ensign as it hung two-blocked on the flagstaff. i paused in the silence, and looked at the vista of homes of the affluent, nearly all with pools in their backyard and wondered if the occupants were also thanking the men and women who had defended their right to live as comfortably as they lived and if they understood what a wonderful government we have because it is governed by the constitution and should not be violated, in law, regulation, or spirit, the document those brave people had given their lives to defend.
At 8:00 a.m. exactly, i lowered the flag to half mast according to the tradition in U.S. Flag regulations. i stood back at saluted. i wore a ball cap worn on my last ship, the USS Yosemite. Although i was not in uniform, i used the cap as my reason for leaving the cap in place and saluting as i had innumerable times while in the Navy (instead of taking it off, holding it in my left hand and placing my hand over my hard, a civilian salute also accoring the the Flag regulations).
i stood in silence remembering military friends i have lost and all of the others with great affection. i especially thought of Commander Al Pavich and Major Marty Linville. They were two of my closest friends while i was in the Navy. Both passed over that bridge too soon, Al in 2022 and Marty in 2024, because what they suffered during Vietnam service.
i descended the hill. i will return at noon to two-block the Ensign, again according to U.S. Flag regulations.
As i descended the hill, i thought about how In the last week or so, my email and social media have been inundated with folks trying to use the day for honoring our lost military members to hawk their goods and services. “Sales” they call it. Sad i call it. i hoped they, at least for a moment today, honoring those folks who gave their lives for them. i hope all of us do.
This is a great country because of the constitution those folks defended. i hope we have the sense not to violate that constitution and the military members that defended it. We owe that to those we honor today.
