Herbie Mann Comin' Home

Sunday, September 11, 2011

In Two

I followed the news and cried or came close.

Airplanes and buildings made me sick.

I prayed the witness of peace in a book --

but I thrilled at video Gunga Din.

I wrote to a Quaker church:

The silent god, inside me, wanted out -- 

yet I thought I could enlist and man a desk,

and stood when the players sang to my flag.

I shut out all the hate talk,

cringed at the jingo Friday night carhonks --

yet I didn't read the church replies;

my parents lay in a Navy grave.

I swim this purposeful, blind wave,

where I crest with Mohandas Gandhi

and curl with G.I. Joe:  we're one -- but

we're too distant to clasp hands.



  1. Too distant? Hands need not touch when reaching for similar endings. But reaching/touching isn't enough, I fear, if our minds preclude taking action.

    At least I think so.....


  2. Rick,

    Inaction features itself here. The ambiguity within. Whatever resolve one finds may fit into the subliminal snap of the mental fingers.

    A little bit of warrior, a little bit of monk. Most of us most of the time aren't in situations forcing a choice.