For Labors Unheralded

Heaven bless the working man,
Or woman, as the case may be,
For labors that have built a nation,
Made it strong,
Kept it free.
 
Day by day endures the trek,
Spaghettied byways
Overflowing.
Ceaseless days of repetition,
Watching with frustration growing.
 
Even while complaints may linger
As the endless hours drone,
Though his ire may peak aplenty,
He will never take it home.
 
Home to where his world makes sense,
A different kind of recompense,
Where labors wear a sweeter flavor
Sheltered by a picket fence.
 
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Dear Dad

White knights are hard to come by these days,
So often blemished or misaligned.
But shortsighted memory
Is always forgiving
And the foresight of hindsight so often is blind.
 
So I never flinched as you donned your armor
And rode out to battle with dragon or beast.
Against famine and foe you defended our castle,
Returning the bounty,
Providing the feast.
 
Relentless, tenacious, untiring in effort,
Your fortress impenetrable, or so it seems.
But I see your heart, taste your will,
Touch your feelings,
See through your eyes as you strive toward your dreams.
 
Often profane,
Ready to ire,
Firm when the situations demand,
Yet soft as a feather
And quick as a heartbeat
When favors have need of a helping hand.
 
When I needed a hero
You took the stand.
 
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Remember

On foreign fields to cast their fate,
Prepared to fight,
If needs, to die,
To keep the evil from our door
And halt the plague of tyranny.
 
No need to question or conspire.
Orders firm.
Duty clear.
Against the devil hoards they stand,
Defenders of the proud and free.
 
And fear is not a luxury,
Though danger stalks with every step,
As bravehearts stand and fight and die
To keep a trust,
To save the dream.
 
So we remember what they did.
With reverence we inscribe their names
In stone and steel
And in our hearts
So they shall never be forgotten.
 
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1776

Seeds of oppression sewn from afar
Germinate slowly when thrown in the mix,
Until growing unrest feeds the fodder of cannons.
It happened in 1776.

A king’s heavy hand sent ire through the land.
“What burden of tyranny next he inflicts.”
The voices cried out. In defiance they shouted
And echoed in 1776.

Merchants and farmers and woodsmen alike
With rifles and sabers, pitchforks and sticks
Assembled as one on Lexington Green.
A prequel to 1776.

From Bunker to Breeds
Through marshes and reeds
Until Cornwallis pleads for an end to their tricks.
Through battle scars torn
A nation is born.
It started in 1776.

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Mother

She was
     And is
My most treasured memory,
Instilling all that is decent and good.
Gentle hands
     Gentle soul.
Gliding through life on gossamer wings.
 
Wise in her measure, she
Spoke without judgment,
Softly, quietly, never in anger,
Unless in defense of those she called
Family,
In which case she fought
With the heart of a lion.
 
Always near
     In spite of the distance,
Always dear
     To those she adored,
Playfully childlike
     Without being childish,
Quick with a smile
     Or a soft-spoken word.
 
Mothers are jewels,
Honored and precious.
Keep them forever.
You only get one.
 
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