November 2016
Robert Walton
dragonlemontree@sbcglobal.net
dragonlemontree@sbcglobal.net
I taught at San Lorenzo Middle School in King City, California for thirty-six years before retiring in June of 2006. Phyllis, my wife of 42 years, and I still reside in King City. I am a life-long rock-climber and mountaineer. I've made numerous ascents in the Sierra Nevada and Yosemite, though my home crags are in Pinnacles National Monument. Many of my climbing stories have been published over the years. One, Three's a Crowd, was produced as a radio play and broadcast on KUSF in 2006 and later made it onto PBS. Please visit my website at: http://chaosgatebook.wordpress.com/
A brew of bolts
And nuts and nails
Stewed in the musty bottom drawer
Of my grandfather’s tool chest.
I stirred them with a finger,
Awakened clinking voices
Of Ford pickups, IH tractors and
Liberty Ships
Bursting through Atlantic waves
Bound for England
Or a U-boat’s torpedo.
America — with a sweaty collar and
Calloused hands —
America, the beautiful.
Veterans Day Villanelle
Our soldiers twitch and writhe in pain —
Though dessicated dusk now hides
A bullet’s gouge, a bandage stain.
At Gettysburg on ripened grain,
At Devil’s Den, beneath peach trees
Our soldiers twitch and writhe in pain —
Ardennes, Bastogne — the mud, the rain
Drown Hitler’s rage and only leave
A bullet’s gouge, a bandage stain.
Viet Nam is Dylan’s refrain —
The answer? Blowin’ in the wind.
Our soldiers twitch and writhe in pain —
Pitiless light on Fallujah’s plain
Reveals black flies on splintered limbs,
A bullet’s gouge, a bandage stain.
Near Kandahar their souls remain
In Afghan dust, in Afghan snow;
Our soldiers twitch and writhe in pain.
At every battle, in every war,
Whatever the cause, less or more,
Our soldiers twitch and writhe in pain
With bullet’s gouge and bandage stain.
A brew of bolts
And nuts and nails
Stewed in the musty bottom drawer
Of my grandfather’s tool chest.
I stirred them with a finger,
Awakened clinking voices
Of Ford pickups, IH tractors and
Liberty Ships
Bursting through Atlantic waves
Bound for England
Or a U-boat’s torpedo.
America — with a sweaty collar and
Calloused hands —
America, the beautiful.
Veterans Day Villanelle
Our soldiers twitch and writhe in pain —
Though dessicated dusk now hides
A bullet’s gouge, a bandage stain.
At Gettysburg on ripened grain,
At Devil’s Den, beneath peach trees
Our soldiers twitch and writhe in pain —
Ardennes, Bastogne — the mud, the rain
Drown Hitler’s rage and only leave
A bullet’s gouge, a bandage stain.
Viet Nam is Dylan’s refrain —
The answer? Blowin’ in the wind.
Our soldiers twitch and writhe in pain —
Pitiless light on Fallujah’s plain
Reveals black flies on splintered limbs,
A bullet’s gouge, a bandage stain.
Near Kandahar their souls remain
In Afghan dust, in Afghan snow;
Our soldiers twitch and writhe in pain.
At every battle, in every war,
Whatever the cause, less or more,
Our soldiers twitch and writhe in pain
With bullet’s gouge and bandage stain.
©2016 Robert Walton
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