for C.L.

.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.

Ashore
for C.L.

That lanky boat you sailed
forever and every day
came ashore without you
and we wondered what storm
you’d found that wouldn’t let go,
what pulled you to that deep place
where waking and sleeping and
the beyond and you, even you,
are the same color?
And we wondered what freedom
is that color, too, and what
voice she calls in
to bring landsmen to sea?

What voice allows letting go?
What song?

- Ralph Murre

Shall We Remember?

.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.



In Memoriam

Shall we remember the believers
and forget their beliefs –
the isms and schisms and pledges
and pride, the presidents,
ayatollahs, and chiefs –
which can’t be denied?

Shall we honor only the fallen
and forget those who kneel,
praying to find some way to heal,
forget those who thought
“thou shalt not kill” was for real,
those who, unarmed, have also fought?

Shall we gather at tombs
of the heroic enlisted
as we stand on the graves
of the unsung, who resisted?
Shall we weep for the masters?
Shall we weep for the slaves?

Shall we weep for the meek
as we weep for the braves?

- Ralph Murre

tell me why

if you've never written

of soft things among the the rocks

oh please, tell me why

-arem

going

going sky sliding

airplane riding

may be back to look for you

may be hiding

where a stream runs through

- RM

ink and blood

Black River

This black river flow of nightmare night
like wartime ink and blood –
dark headlines and blind alleys
and allies blinded too –
in their >Yes, George< wet t-shirts
warm as death and prayers
like Now I lay me down
and if I should wake
oh please, if I should wake
let this have been my dream
and make the morning bright
a laughing mountain stream
and end this blackened char of night
where sacrificial lambs
lose sacrificial limbs
and they’re bleeding in the aisles
singing patriotic hymns
and they all are in the headlines
oh please, bring up the light
and stop
this black river flow of nightmare night.

- Ralph Murre

Call of Water

moonless river night

in its darkest murmured flow

one boat still at work

- arem

Laura

Was There a Poem

in her dark hands that milked cows and made lace,
hands that fixed tractors and wiped tears?
A poem in the dark hands
that built houses and kept them, that worked the earth
and folded to a heaven she was sure of ?
Hands that hammered out justice and
handed out calloused caresses;
those hands that labored at the piano,
but changed flat tires with ease?

Was there a song in her dark eyes
that laughed easy, but cried hard;
eyes that saw good wherever it hid?
Eyes that struggled in darkness
to read the verses and read them again
until she saw light in the words?
A song in the dark eyes that bid me welcome,
the colorless eyes that I bid good-bye?

Was there a portrait in her dark face?

- Ralph Murre

Crude Red Boat

Mighty pleased to say that my book of poetry, Crude Red Boat, just out from Cross + Roads Press, is now available. The 2 or 3 of you who regularly read this blog may be interested to know that only a couple of the poems in the book have appeared on the blog, so most will be new to you. I think you'll like the book.

.

For ordering information, email me at littleeaglrpress@gmail.com

- Ralph Murre

So

So this white Anglo-Saxon protestant walks into a bar - and nothing funny happens.

RM

oh, please . . .

Won’t You

send us an image of peace, they say
send us some words of peace

- but I’m only 63 and haven’t seen much

tell us how the fighting will stop
tell us how a father can sleep
how the hawk and dove will fly in love
and how manna, not bombs, will drop

- but I really haven’t seen much

send us an image of peace today
send us some words of peace
surely you know to which gods to pray
to make all the craziness cease

- but I’m only 63 and haven’t seen much

except for the look in a child’s eye
and lovers on river banks in spring
and I think you could melt tanks for ploughshares
and you could teach someone to sing

- but I really haven’t seen much

I guess maybe you find it within
maybe you let the peace out and
maybe it spreads around that way
and you forget what fighting’s about

- but I’m a dreamer and haven’t seen much

- Ralph Murre

drive

There's a hole in the dark

big enough

to drive a dream through.

- arem

godfather of bluegrass

for Bill Jorgenson, gone now

Sing us another

from the bluegrass, Brother

or from the blue sky above

you sang it clearly

and I loved it dearly

when I asked for

"On the Wings of a Dove"

- Ralph Murre

listen

listen to the stream

talking in woodland whispers

to the roaring sea

-arem

SIGN FROM GOD?

"God Has A Big Eraser"

said the sign at the Baptist church,

which surprised me a little,

since I didn't think a Big G

Baptist God would make many mistakes

but o.k., I figured

there might be some,

like if the Big G

really did create the Big W,

that might have been a mistake

you'd want to erase,

and AIDS probably wasn't

such a great idea,

and I wonder if

the level of desire

left in old men

was a miscalculation.

- Ralph Murre

tiger, tiger - yearning - bite!

the drawing was inspired by an entry on the wonderful blog of t.k. splake

http://www.vertinpress.com/index.php?p=blog&id=BLOG

Kurt Vonnegut 1922-2007

cover art, kurt vonnegut

"WE ARE HERE

ON EARTH

TO FART AROUND.

DON'T LET

ANYBODY

TELL YOU

ANY DIFFERENT."

- kurt vonnegut

orange

now this wide highway

where crane danced and turtle slept

orange schneider trucks

- arem

A Celebration of Flight

Crow Ink by Sharon Auberle, 2007

You may be forgiven if you haven’t read Sharon Auberle’s first three books of poetry, (A Green Absolution, Sanctuary, and A Necklace of Birds) because you may not have known what a writer she is, may not even have known of the books’ existence. If, however, you fail to get your hands on a copy of Crow Ink, don’t say you weren’t informed.

Auberle is a poet who divides her time between a green peninsula of Wisconsin and the arid mountains of Arizona, between the teen-ager in her heart and the somewhat more mature body she inhabits, and between having her feet on the ground and taking to her wings, which only the most blind among us cannot see. In all this, she shows us the connectedness we share with the natural world (and, possibly, the supernatural), she floats comfortably in this foggy patch between past and future, and records her heart’s journey in an unashamedly romantic way.

In “Heron In Winter”, we can sense a little of Lucinda Williams’ sentiment as Auberle tells of a great bird stepping out onto thin ice, “. . .

. . .a connection in the season
when bird and woman
must leave safe ground, . . .

. . . it’s what we have to do
sometimes, to survive.
The sky is a mirror

beneath our long legs
but oh, beautiful sister,
where will you sleep tonight?

I mentioned, earlier, that she shows us our connection to nature and time, but it goes far beyond that for Sharon, who appears to be at the very center of it. For instance, in “Today On The Rocks” . . .

. . . listen:

one day you’ll be part of all this
and what binds you now
who makes you weep
will not even be a memory.
What will remain is this:

a flash of déjà vu, perhaps,
between strangers
a vague yearning in them for water
their joy in a river of stars
a rock pattern, the light on a wing
they stop to watch, translucent
as it catches the morning sun.

If you have grown weary of poetry that takes concerted deciphering only to learn that it means nothing at all, I must heartily recommend that you make the switch; go over to Crow Ink. To get your copy, contact Sharon Auberle at sea_poet@msn.com . (that’s sea underdash poet.)

“But, wait a minute,” I hear you saying, “isn’t that YOUR art work on the cover of the book?” Why, yes it is, thank you. “And isn’t Sharon Auberle a friend of yours?” Why, yes she is. “Well then why . . .” I see – why should you believe what I say about the merits of this book? – because it happens to be true.

- Ralph Murre

Another Good Thing

I'm proud to announce that some of my work now appears on-line at Passport Journal, a pretty classy site, if I do say it myself. Go check it out at www.passportjournal.org

and some may