Three Ringed

Three Ringed

I Stand alone in
The center ring.

Alone?
Alone?
Alone?
No, I am not
Standing alone.

I have company.

In a cage are three demons.
Worse, they call me their master.

I feel the rough, callous being of a whip
In my hand
“MASTER”
But I cannot tell
Verb or Noun

I think, I worry, the circus grows darker,
But the lights are still on.

Master is their song,
But I am still lost in translation

I think, I worry, the circus grows darker
But the lights are still on.
The grip of strong firm hands
Stuns me, as the hands grasp at me
Master is their song,
But I am lost in translation still
The circus is solemn, and dark, and grave
But the lights are still on.

But then, things with feathers fly about
The circus lights go out, but the darkness is lifting.

White feathered things fly about
Crushing the circus lights with their powerful wings
The graveness recedes.

I feel my handAll is light.
The demons are gone.
MASTER I cry

I know what I mean.

Veteran's Day

The warm texas sun glistened off the beautiful statue. I had never seen anything like it. It was mammoth, made out of bronze I believe and fitting in its simplicity. The soldiers raising the flag at Iwo Jima is a powerful sight in itself, but to see it so huge was a truly fitting tribute to those marines who gave everything they had so that we could have everything. Sound trite? These statements get bandied about a good deal, but they carry extreme importance. It's close to impossible to justly capture what these people gave in service of their country.

We were in South Texas on that warm March day. Our vacation was coming to a close, and we could definetely call this trip a sucsess. The birding had been good, the people friendly and the scenery gorgeous.

But we had some time to kill before our plane took off, so my Dad pulled this destination of the thin blue air. I have no idea how he found this place in a state we had never been in before, but find it we did. It was a memorial to the Marines who served in the Pacific, with a special emphasis on Iwo Jima.

The special emphasis came in the form of a huge gold statue in the middle of a field. It is awe inspiring, and I wish I could remember more. I have photos, but they don't seem to do justice to this triumph of sculpture. There was a lot of information about the sculpter, but I can't recall any of it.

But I do recall the gift shop. There were mugs, DVDs, mouse-pads, T-Shirts, you name it, it was probably in there. It also doubled as a museum, where currently a large number of school-children were taking a tour. The noise grated on my nerves, so I moved to a corner where a large number of sweatshirts and hats would muffle the cacophany of giggles and screams.

In the corner of this room was a standard fold up chair. It was empty, but I turned around and heard the soft shuffle of wise feet heading toward it. I glanced behind me and saw a veteran of the USMC working his careful way to the chair.

Then I brokedown.

I had wanted to go up and laud him for his wonderful service to his country. I wanted to tell him all the wonderful things I had experienced because he believed that the "master race" needed to go no further. His actions allowed me to grow up in a christian home, not worrying if I was not living up to a standard. Without him, and others like him, I would not be able to see all the fifty-two birds I had on this trip...

But I brokedown.

Just to see his frail old frame sitting there, lonely, desolate, forgotten by most of the people he worked to keep free, stirred something unmentionable in me. It grabbed my soul and tore down my defenses.

I had grand things to say to him, but I couldn't bring myself to say them.
I shook his hand, stared him directly in the eye, and thanked him. He may not have heard, because my voice was cracking with emotion. Then I went into the map room and cried.

I spent the plane ride reading, catergorizing my life birds, and thinking. Had I said enough? Did I say too much? Did he think me crazy or fruity for crying? I don't know because I was such a wreck of emtions at the time.

Now six or seven months have gone by. Birds have migrated through, graduation has come and gone, girlfriends have come and gone, work, play, college, all these things have had their season in my life and then they left. But I silently hope that honored old man still sits in that museum/gift shop. I hope he sits there as an immutable reminder to us all.

Thank a Veteran any Day.

An Interview with the Man from Indepence

The heavenly aura filled the room, ebbing and flowing like some half forgotten body of water in man's memory. The lights were very bright, but this did not seem to bother the girl at the desk. No, it appeared as if nothing would perturb her. In fact, a fall from Grace could take place right before her eyes and still not one stroke of her filing would be lacking. She sat there, cool and tranquil, chewing her gum.

I on the other hand sat sweaty palm in sweaty palm, staring at the ground. Too scared to move, to scared to speak. The grandfather clock ticked away...something, I'm not sure what the need for a grandfather clock is, but it looked nice.

"Excuse me Gloria?," I said, summoning all the courage I had to speak with. "Could you hurry him up? I've got things to do, and I'm not used to the time zone shift yet. Jet lag is still hanging on."

The secretary looked up at me with the speed of a cow during milking, and said in a most unearthly nasal voice, "Why don't you start walking, by the time you get there, he should be ready."

I agreed.

"When he's ready for you, his door will turn from red to green."

"Like the signs on a airplane bathroom" I offered to lighten the mood. The only light was a lightning bolt and low rumbles of thunder. Nervous chuckles were responded to with demeaning chuckles behind the receptionist's desk.

Two enormous gateways opened their masses toward us, reavealing a grand stairway.

"Is this the...uh..?" I enquired. Two apathetic head nods were the only reply I recieved.

I started up the steps, and simeltaneously began to think. And judging by the size of the stairway, I had plenty of time to think.

How would I approach him? Cordially of course, but with determination. I had to be completely frank in all my motions. Surely he would respond to this. After all, he never let anybody slip under his radar. If I was honest and frank and to the point, this was sure to gain me a more favorable recpetion.

Behave like a gentleman, and be sure to avoid topics like Douglass Macarthur, Frank Lloyd Wright and Joseph McCarthy. These hotpoint should sbe avoided at all cost, or it may cost all...I like that, think I'll tell him that.

To be sure, honesty would be a big part of my succsess. He knew the difference between a truth and a lie. As simple as that may seem, he has it down to an art. There would be no buffaloing this guy.

And number one on my list of things to avoid: autographs! This would screw up everything rather royally. It would show me in an insincere light, which would ruin everthing. This mission is too important for that. No autographs. Ever.

"Man, this taking an eternity!" I bemoaned. At that instant, the stair started to move. "Thanks" I offered the entity in charge of the stairs. I wonder what Led Zeppelin would thinnk of this.

The doors to his office were huge. I stood in amzement and awe at the beautiful engravings. Soon, I was to enter these doors. Was I prepared? What if I goofed up? Woul I get a second.....?

My thoughts were interrupted by the silent creaking of the doors gliding effortessly apart, revealing something beyond all imagination. The room was the oval office, only ten times more grand than anything earth could ever offer. I stood in awe of its beauty, in spite of the fact that my visibility was limited.

Even though it was hard to see, I saw his figure at the desk. Before I knew it, I was greeted by a hand. Not a particularily welcoming hand, but one that assured me I would be honored here.

"I thank you for recieveing me sir, you're very kind." I criticized every word I said, just waiting to mess up.

"What can I do for you" the kindly yet firm voice intoned.

Do for me? Why you've done enough for forty men. You're the one who through your handling of the Macarthur incident, showed me that patience wins out after all. You also showed me that it is essential to stand behind my convictions. Without them, I'm nothing. You showed me how to handle myself when I'm thrown into something I don't want to do. To the best of my ability. You showed me that the Bible is a beautiful book of poetry, because it is the Word of God. You showed us how a vessel to be used by God could give His people back their dignity and their nation. You showed how sometimes things need to end with a bang.....

But these thoughts never materialized in the factory bewteen my brain and my mouth. They just sat there in backstock, waiting....

Silence.

"Can I have your autograph? Sir?"

More silence.