Four-Four-Twenty-Oh-Four

Four-Four-Twenty-Oh-Four

This is the time of year
when spring arrives and trees leaf out
the grass begins to grow and blossoms open
and the yard needs attention and I want to be outside
enjoying the pleasant weather after a hard winter
and I’d rather not spend time at my computer
writing poems and stories about war
and then I remember…

You weren’t in Kansas anymore
on four-four-twenty-oh-four..

Sometimes I feel a chill
running up and down along my spine
remembering those numbers did you harm
and all the flowers look back at me and understand
I have to go inside and try to write some words
from my heart on an otherwise empty page
it is the very least I can do for you
and then I remember…

You were twenty-four years old
on four-four-twenty-oh-four…

I stare at the keyboard
dust and the sound of gunshots rise
before my frightened eyes when you depart
in an overcrowded truck, so tight no one can move
and the driver heads toward Sadr City with you
and a group of other soldiers like sardines
crushed together, arms at your sides
and then I remember…

There were at least twenty-four
on four-four-twenty-oh-four…



My fingers grow weak
as I start to think of what it was like
to head into a pitched battle already raging
in that overheated and embittered Baghdad slum
your arms at your side unable to raise the gun
as snipers took cheap shots from a rooftop
and that bullet hit your collarbone
and then I remember…

That bullet severed your spine
on four-four-twenty-oh-four…

You slid down silently
among standing soldiers to the floor
knowing that you were paralyzed forever
before anyone else knew and the medics swore
to do their very best to save the rest of you
and give you some kind of future
and then I remember…

That you’ve never ever given up
since four-four-twenty-oh-four…

So I begin to write again
because you were and always are
my most important source of inspiration
as well as a real hero and a friend I won’t forget
no matter what happens far off in the future
and even when we met in Chicago
and then I remember…

I should never be silent anymore
about four-four-twenty-oh-four.




_ _ _ _ _




Written for my friend, Tomas Vincent Young
and all the many casualties of the Iraq War.
Four-four-twenty-oh-four

will forever be the bloodiest day of the war

Twenty Ten came in...

Twenty Ten came in quietly at the beach without much fanfare. Unlike some previous New Years Eves, we heard very few fireworks celebrating the start of a new year and a decade as well. The fact that it was windy and raining probably put a damper on most celebrations around here.


I wish I could be more optomistic, like we would all arise on the morning of 1/1/10 to a brand new beginning. Instead the same problems arise with us as usual: war drums and actual wars, ever more unemployment, grinding poverty, drug abuse, and a vast population concerned mostly with just getting by. And how could anyone blame the general public for not paying close attention to everything going on around them when our leaders seem to take the attitude... "we would rather not listen to the people who elected us because we know better than they do."


Ok - Enough of my internal discomfort in print. I made a vow not to sit and stare at the ceiling all winter like I did a few years ago... and here I've almost talked myself into doing just that.


Maybe this will change my mood and yours as well:



















Cranberry Sky

Night is come, another cloudy day is done
stormy skies of rain and wind are gone
across the coast to eastern slopes of quiet hills
to dance among the mist in emerald wilderness
beneath one single precious promise
in an endless universe.

Some trillion billion ancient points of light
adorn a silent night amid a tarnished sky
spinning far and wide sweeping dregs of gray
obscure the Sun, a glowing star of average size
circling on a sure and certain course
to warm a stormy earth.

Behold a brilliant canvas; one touch reveals
blessed gifts for those who pause to gaze
beyond dark shuttered eyes and lives indoors
wipe away a dreary day of gray in life restored
as spirits spent rush home amid a flash
of fiery cranberry sky.



Peace, Mary Ann

Poet on the Edge of the Back of Beyond...

December 14, 2009

“Poet on the Edge of the Back of Beyond” is a collection of poems, short stories and photographs of life along the shoreline of the Pacific coast. The author journeys along with the reader leaving colorful tidbits of local knowledge throughout, gleaned from years of experience enjoying the ambiance of nature. Poet on the Edge of the Back of Beyond is now available on Amazon.com. For more information about the book or to order a copy, please Click Here .

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About the Author:

Mary Ann Schallert is a poet and short story writer originally from Astoria, Oregon.

This compilation of thoughtful poetry and short stories is inspired by living and working on the Pacific Coast from Oregon to Alaska. As Mary Ann describes, snapshots of life lived along the shoreline.

An avid sailor, she explored waterways along the coast as time and work allowed, enjoying the ambiance of harbors and small towns along the way. She lived aboard the trawler, Miramar, on San Francisco Bay and Puget Sound. Later on she brought the Islander Freeport ketch, Solitude, up the west coast from San Diego. Washington’s San Juan Islands and the waters of southern British Columbia became a favorite cruising paradise.

In the early spring of 1994, Mary Ann and her family traveled up the Inside Passage aboard their sailboat, Solitude. She describes the twenty-eight day voyage as the experience of a lifetime. Along the way they explored every nook and cranny, village and inlet that seemed promising. This became a marvelous set of memories drenched in sunshine and showers, filled to the brim with waterfalls and rainbows.

Although planned as a summer trip to meet friends on another boat to explore northern waters, they found Ketchikan so friendly and inviting they settled down in Alaska for over fourteen years. She and her family kept up their boating lifestyle; fishing and exploring coves and inlets from Dixon Entrance to the northern tip of Prince of Wales Island, as well as more adventurous trips to interior Alaska from time to time.

Mary Ann and her family relocated to Ocean Shores, Washington in 2007. She continues to enjoy the outdoors along the Pacific Coast, photographing and writing of the many wonders she finds around every bend in the road.

Mary Ann is a regular contributor to GotPoetry.com under her poet name “maryanns”.

When the wind blows...

When the wind blows right through downtown Ocean Shores I always wonder how the IGA still has enough shopping carts for all of us. I imagine all the shiny blue carts running east toward Duck Lake, perhaps some of them peeling off into the trees to hide in thickets before they go off a bank and get dunked.

The wind blows hard at the IGA... why do I buy groceries on windy days? The answer is...
it blows harder in town than it does out at our house. I don't realize how windy it is in town until it's too late.

Today was still - a great day to buy groceries, except... it was twenty-two degrees. Bright sunshine without a breath of warmth, the canal froze... mallards swam right up to the icy edge and stopped short. Eventually they disappeared back the way they came. I suspect mallards have no use for ice or very cold sunny days.

--------------------------------------------

When the Wind Blows

An eerie twilight falls, I step outside
quietly observing hazy shapes
grazing in the yard…

soft brown bodies browse among the weeds
stripping green from waving moss and leaves
moving in the midst of swaying willow trees
some prance and dance among themselves
then some begin to scent a changing breeze.

Strong gusts of wind sweep leaves
across my sandy tennis shoes
leaving empty space…

concern descends in breaths of salt and surf
cascading off the tossing tops in drizzle drops
of streaming rain that chills them to the bone
then hazy grazing shades of brown move on
as shadows blend into a murky underground.

Lost in isolation beneath the eaves
chilled and shivering in silence
my apparitions vanish…

in twisted brush through tangled overgrowth
to sticky thickets choked in purple berry bush
entangled vines that wind and twine beneath
chilly hooves of wilted ghosts in velvet coats
with gentle violet eyes that glisten in the mist.

My mind is overwhelmed by shadows
blending in and out of busy lives
banished in the haze.



Everyone stay warm now.

Peace, Mary Ann

Autumn on the coast...

Autumn has arrived on the Pacific coast with a flourish of blustery storms and downpours.

I am making a valiant effort to experience the beauty of the season in brightly colored trees and fallen leaves. Yet steel gray skies and rain intrude on my psyche. I yearn to write of endings instead of cheerful copper creations peeking out among the hemlock.

I sense myself turning into a hermit. I seldom leave my six mile long by two mile wide sand spit out on the coast ... Autumn draws me inward.

Before I go down the rabbit hole entirely, I offer readers a brief respite:

Pantomime

She’s changing clothes, shifting wilted camisoles
thrown off exposing youthful skin and bone.
Her fashion once concealed bare naked innocence
revealed among her neighbors stately forms.

She’s blushed and flushed though still she stands
desire to fade and hide rooted to the ground.
Her laundry list is deep discarded at her chilly feet
showers wet her crown, shivering she frowns.

She’s safely kept her shapely place amid the rest
never spread nor shed a seedling underneath.
Her pose is spare though purposeful in due respect
can’t a limb react to shield her from neglect?

She’s numb with frost, turned to inward thoughts
of careless growth in showy summer frocks.
Her brittle frozen skin begins to sense a tiny brush
of clever sister cedar’s gentle warming touch.

I offer you one more quick glimpse of the beauty of south-central Washington from my rainy rearview mirror:

Oh, Take My Picture Please

Dreamland settles in around the bend,
I pass through upland hills as fall expands
among a wonderland of gleaming gems.
Skipping beats, my eager heart stands still;
indeed my eyes deny the glimpse I see
of autumn clothed in gold amid the green.

A treasure trove of shiny copper coin,
alight in graduated beams of warming sun
on glowing statues cast in gilded bronze.
Fairies in our midst; my imagination twists
and turns in swirls to revel in them all.
Bright red maples blaze beside a waterfall.

A drive in dreams I want to never end.
I slow as passing strangers leave the scene
they may have never even known before.
Along my way a mix of yellow hued arrays
of wily willows caught in passion plays
escape cascades of blushing poplar leaves.

Visions fade away as rural roads divide
to shoo us through with scalding overdrive.
One parting burst survives; cherry limbs
wave gaily in a crèche of concrete medians
sweet sugar kisses dancing on a breeze
flying after me. Oh, take my picture please.


Ok - Readers cannot say they haven't been warned. My next post may arrive from among slimy rocks and roots shivering below ground. Perhaps we should migrate, strive to follow the sun to the southern hemisphere.

For those who share my malady, stay strong! Don't let "Seattle gray" get you down.

Letter From IVAW...

Letter from Seth Manzel,

Iraq Veterans Against the War Board of Directors

Dear Friends,

Since the election of Obama the public perception has been that the wars are winding down and that the objectives of the peace movement are now being embodied in the Administration's policies. A common myth that is being perpetuated by the media is that we are preparing to withdraw from Iraq.

These lies that Americans are telling themselves may make them feel better about the Obama Administration, but they are of little consequence to the Soldiers who are being deployed at a rate not seen since the surge. The lies mean nothing to the families left behind by soldiers going to spend a year deployed in the most dangerous period of the conflict yet. They mean even less to the widows who will never see their partners again.

We have forgotten the people of Iraq who have to live under the corrupt and dangerous puppet government that Obama is supporting, and we are all to quick to look the other way at the dead bodies piling up in Afghanistan and Pakistan.

Iraq Veterans Against the War has not forgotten these things and we are one of the few groups out there who are still speaking out on these issues. One only needs to open major publications like the New York Times, The Army Times or the Stars and Stripes to see that we are getting the word out.

But we aren't just talking about the problems. Recently, IVAW sent a delegation to Iraq to help bolster Iraqi oil unions fighting back against corrupt and exploitive oil companies. Our members were participating in direct action in the latest round of G20 protests. Some members are actively involved in pressuring politicians to end these ruinous conflicts.

IVAW needs your support to continue our work. Without continuing help from the Peace Community we could not continue our work. Please, become a sustaining donor for IVAW and help us bring about an end to these wars by clicking on this link

https://org2.democracyinaction.org/o/5966/t/7584/shop/custom.jsp?donate_page_KEY=1131.

Thank you for your support,
Seth Manzel, IVAW Board of Directors

P.S.
Please repost this and spread it far and wide. Your help is appreciated.

On Obama's Nobel Peace Prize...

I, for one, have not given up
on him earning his place in history
but trust and patience is wearing thin.

^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^

Carousel

Earth spins on an axis of horses
transformed into clouds on the wind
hearts pounding and screaming in voices
that tremble in terror and pain.

as the animals cry
as our carousel dies
it turns on its side
it rolls and it flips
the calliope tilts
the music dissolves
in chattels of gold
in pieces and parts
as riders fly off
as dust drifts aloft
it trembles and sparks
it grinds to a halt…

Peace spins on an axis of promise
transformed into clouds on the wind
dues pounding and screaming in voices
the audacity of hope never paid.



When Obama gets our service members out of Iraq and Afghanistan he will have earned the admiration of a grateful nation as well as any Nobel Prize or other treasure that may be showered upon him. When... that is the trillion dollar question.

Peace, Mary Ann