PPA Contest Winners + Early 4th of July Features

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HOPE

Here stands man, bold and heavy half-bred
and born in melting pot power; sired
in the international tones and songs
of freedom,
that ancient song
in each of us, spirit and sweat;
darting like Sparrows dancing
a crow away from the nest;

three simple words a catalyst
Uniting the shell-shocked many,
who, nauseated with the ether of democracy, breathe
deep, and stand.

Stand.
Crying out, amorphous yet concrete,
a human rainbow, each ending
their worlds in one adjective:
American.

Storms clouds bubbling on a November
horizon, pennants flapping,
brazen; lightning flees
before us like night from dawn.

Three words can call the dawn –
if we are bold enough to sing them;

“Yes We Can.”


The Soldier

The young man lies
Alone in the mud
Dirty and tired
And covered in blood

Bullets and tracer
Fly past his head
At any moment
He could be dead

This thought of demise
He thinks not of it
And does his duty
With courage and grit

In this unnamed place
Just a spot on a map
A grenade explodes
Like a thunderclap

He lays there in shock
In fear, and in pain
With pieces of shrapnel
Lodged in his brain

Time passes by
The dust-off arrives
They put him aboard
And tell him he’ll survive

A few months later
He returns to his home
Surrounded by friends
But feels all alone

There’s no parade
And no ticker tape
Instead he is treated
With suspicion and hate

They call him a killer
And a hired thug
The nation he fought for
Sweeps him under the rug

He can’t understand
What it is that they fear
He drowns in the comfort
Of whiskey and beer

He fought for these people
Who sweep him aside
He answered the call
With devotion and pride

Thirty years on
Recognition he gets
Thanks due a soldier
A Vietnam Vet


God's Judgment of a Marine

The Marine waited quietly for the judgement of his God,
Which must always come to pass,
He hoped his shoes were shining,
Just as brightly as his brass,

"Well now you DevilDog,
How shall I deal with you?,
Have you always turned the other cheek?,
To my Church have you been true?,"

The Marine squared his shoulders and said,

"No lord I guess I ain't,
Cause those of us who carry guns,
Can't always be a saint,
I've had to work most Sundays,
And at times my talk was rough,
And sometimes I've been violent,
Cause the streets are awfully tough,"

"But I never took a penny,
That wasn't mine to keep,
Though I worked alot of overtime,
When the bills just got too steep,
And I never passed a cry for help,
Though at times I shook with fear,
And sometimes God forgive me,
I've wept unmanly tears,"

"I know I don't deserve a place,
Among the people here,
They never wanted me around,
Except to fight their fears,
But if You've a place for me here lord,
It needn't be so grand,
I never had nor expected to much,
But if you don't I'll understand,"

And there was silence in the throne room,
Where the saints had often trod,
As the Marine waited quietly,
For the judgement of his God,

"Step forward now Marine,
You've borne your burdens well,
Walk peacefully on Heaven's Streets,
You've done your time in hell."


a special kind of waiting

at the airport, she seems
preternaturally calm,
pent up, her emotions
tightly wrapped like
a swaddled baby

but she can’t sit still

she walks to a high
stool at a phone table,
drags it out, sits
awkwardly, her legs
too short for comfort

speaks into her
cell phone, closes it,
gets up, puts the
chair back, paces,
speaks into her
cell again

walks some more

I’m waiting, too,
scanning the
crowd closely for
my young one, but
somehow not
like her

the depth of seriousness,
the almost grim edge
to her watching
as she moves yet again

I can’t figure it out

the plane I’m waiting for
is slightly delayed, so I
can pay closer attention
as she stands at the roped
off entry way, speaking
quietly into her cell
once more

“just follow the crowd,
and it will bring you straight
to me”

she closes her phone
one last time and waits,
her calmness melting
like snow in the
spring when a

taut-faced youth
with closely cut hair
appears at the blind
turn and makes
a bee line for her

I watch as her arm
goes around his neck
and she begins to weep,
great choking sobs
that bring tears to
my eyes

this plain woman,
ordinary in jeans
and a striped shirt,
a universe speaks
in her tears

she holds him
tightly and cries
for a long time
and he allows this,
his arm at her back,
standing quietly,
understanding
her need

this boy with eyes
too old for his
smooth face -
eyes, dark and wary
that glance at me
before I look away,
an intruder on their
reunion

searching for a place
to stash my trespassing
eyes, I light on a lady
who’s been watching
them, too

she smiles, big and warm
and tells me,

“aint nothin’ like a mama
and her soldier boy”

yeah...

Third Place

Second Place
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First Place