by Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate, 2004-2006
In celebration of Veteran’s Day, here is a telling poem by Gary Dop, a Minnesota poet. The veterans of World War II, now old, are dying by the thousands. Here’s one still with us, standing at Normandy, remembering.
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by Paul Hostovsky
For all his bluster
there was a sweetness
of surrender about him
that rose up like a shrug
when he rested from being right
the way the bulldozers and backhoes
at a construction site at dinnertime
are all finally perfectly still
the tines of their buckets
pointing upward from the ground
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by Francine Marie Tolf
We have lost our ability to name.
We say collateral damage, downsizing, factory farm.
Error in judgment. Extraordinary rendition.
We say sky, but we don’t mean it.
We say antelope, owl,
as if these words had power.
As if the names of animals hadn’t long fled
back into animals,
where they pulse like dark suns.
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by Howie Good
You who stayed up too late last night
get up get up everyone else is already up
the world is an incomplete sentence
without you I know the leaves are yellowing
and it’s cold but get up please get up
and look out the back window there are
emergencies clouds acts of contrition
light-up letters as big as small children
sometimes even bigger
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by Susan Dion
You’ve thrown those dark weary work shoes
before the old cottage’s entrance door. A summer ritual.
Deliberately discarded, the muddied, masculine footwear
conveys an image of carelessness. But these are dual sentries
whose sole mission is to halt any troublemakers,
thieves, attackers, or worse,
remaining on duty both day and night,
providing a silent security system to
protect the indoors from the outdoors
men’s size 12 D, left and right
women’s size 7 vacationing inside.
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