Bedrock Blues
I
The mind of winter
Issues from a winter
So long
So endured
That the shivering to the bone
And the wearying of the dark
And the eating of the bark
Seems normal
And remembrance
Of summer
A myth.
II
So you break to me that Captain Jones and his company fell booty to our foe.
I reply that Captain Jones defected. His choice stands observed and honored.
Not a mishap! A choice, Colonel, that must be decked with garlands. Noted!
That certain soldiers in the company were dragged along I do not doubt.
Others chose with Jones.
Ah, our enemy offers terms—exchanges—stipulations for release. Fine.
We shall bob and scrape to their sneer—after we are dead.
Our answer is our worth and their defeat.
We will yield them nothing but what rebels deserve—
Defeat.
So—after victory we take the company back? Take? Back?
So shallow? My anger spires to the sky and soars unabated.
There arises and remains a matter of justice.
What right? I have allowed you boldness in my presence,
Keeping me foursquare. I command this army. I equip this army.
I own this army.
I loathe betrayal. Its offense lodges in my core.
The betrayal will not be forgiven. Rebels merit their new home.
Those dragged along by obedience to their Captain
but not embracing betrayal will be bought back.
Bought—not taken. Do you presume justice has no price?
They owe me a Captain who is true. Jones was true—while he served.
A Captain was stolen from me—Jones—stolen by his choice.
“I’m sorry” is not enough. Trinkets and spoils and groveling make me sick.
Not a Major—not a Lieutenant—They owe me a Captain.
Does not a father’s debt fall to his sons? A generation’s pollution cleaned by the next?
Is not the stalwart obliged to show his moral fiber?
I esteem people who guard their virtue. I love what is fair.
I have been dishonored—not by recompense—yet I will have my honor.
I will not admit return until I have my Captain—not a traitor, but a Captain.
Of course I know this way is not the way—of the military man.
The military man wins the war. The man of vision wins the people.
The military man revels in the war. The man of wisdom lays groundwork
for a mature mode.
Yes, Colonel, I know well that our missing ones have no Captain who is true,
As I know well what you think. Do you know the word? I mean really know it?
Ambivalent.
Strong both ways. Stuck—between justice and love.
I demand the Captain I am owed. And I demand the recovery of my faithful men.
I do not abandon my own.
Why a smirk? You doubt I may have both? You see they have no way to pay.
Cannot wisdom defy the fallacy of the horns of the dilemma?
Dare you think that justice and love are not in their essence the same?
I ascertain as I rummage through my integrity a design I will sanction.
I have strength to pay a price. It is no insult. It endorses my integrity.
Those who know me and love themselves rightly love me.
Those who love their pleasure, their empowerment, and their independence
love me not. I will be honored. Many are true.
Consider—
Captain Smith has served without flaw.
Yes, in command of the vanguard—
Were he to be dispatched to the lost company in the midst of our foe
Those who would receive and benefit him would have their Captain—
Their ransom to tender in satisfaction of my justice—
Smith being the quittance I am owed.
I surrender him out of my honor, and thus may receive him back freely and anew.
It pains me to press this upon him, as it pains me to fathom his durance.
It shall, however, be done.
So serve as you must. Call Captain Smith to my presence.
III
I do love a tale!
Not the House of Usher
But the noble House of Moses fell
Overrun by dominance within
But for its worthy seed rescued
By the Israel of God overrun in turn
By usurpers from within waxing cruel
Checked at the sixth-century schedule
Till the worthy seed was rescued
At a double-sixth-century allowance.
IV
The done—
The arrow flying amiss—The exuberance running riot—
The heaviness hedging hope—The confusion choosing the foul—
The ignorance blinding the vote—The blunder—
My troubled soul hears music—
V
The smaller tree, the one bent as a sapling by the newspaper boy,
Is dropping its last leaf. The larger, stronger tree is holding back.
Father is raking; Mother bagging; Molly wiggling a stuffed animal
But all Mocha will do is bark. A neighbor walks by—that neighbor—
And throws a treat to Mocha, who gobbles it while Molly is shouting “no!”
The neighbor bends with a second treat which Mocha runs for,
Silencing Molly with surprise. The neighbor walks. Mocha follows,
And is never seen again.
The End.
VI
The Ransom the Bane of Power-Dreamers, the Bringer to the Knees,
The Basis of Salvation denying what we would be
—Expressed by Cases in Point—
King Arthur, Spiderman, or Wonderwoman.
Imagination makes the hero an Infusion into Us—or heroine—
Popped kernels of corn remind us who we are.
As the Story twists within the Realm of Pedagogy
And soars when the Bedlam hits the Breeze
So the Struggle to auscultate the Susurrus of Paradise
Plops to the Snuggle in the Story of the Squeeze—
Zoroastrianism!—the holdfast of the modern World
Driven by the Image on the Screen—can Words compete?
Eschew Sesquipedalianism says the Hypocrite!
Embrace Sesquipedalianism says the Nerd!
VII
The Ransom to complete the measure of transgression and of sin,
To expiate iniquity and see eternal righteousness ushered in,
To ratify prophetic vision and to anoint the Holy of Holies
By decree of seventy weeks which begin where sticks the pin.
You must know and understand that the pin marks not a hem
But the issuance of the word to restore and rebuild Jerusalem
From which the anointed leader is seven weeks and sixty-two.
Is she rebuilt in seven, or does he tease who merits the diadem?
When pass the seven and sixty-two he is baptized and anointed
To continue the life of integrity to which he was appointed.
At half the seventieth he puts a stop to sacrifice and offering
To complete the measure promised through a life disjointed.
Ransom complete by sacrifice of final worth,
The measure of expiation in fit to troubled girth,
The return to the true Holy of Holies causing vanish
With acceptance of the sacrifice restoring proper berth.
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