Remembrance/Veterans Day

Dear Friends and Family,

I got up today and listened to CBC Radio's live broadcast of the Remembrance Day Ceremony from Ottawa. Amy caught me honouring the two minutes of silence. I choked and misted when the pipes played and thought that the prayers offered were heartfelt and unsanctimonious.

In contrast, I was in San Jose this afternoon where a parade of pickup trucks filled with veterans holding large flags, (most of them, US flags, others, the US flag with the Mexican flag superimposed), sped through the streets calling out protests and cheering loudly. This country has an unusual way of honouring their dead. It wasn't until last year that a World War II Memorial was erected in Washington D.C. "Lest we forget" takes on new meaning when we consider what Canadian Prime Minister, Steven Harper said, that there remain only three Canadian World War I veterans alive today. We must take time to remember, not only those who died fighting oppressors, but all our dead. 'Enough preaching.

My mother's blog today features an impressionistic photo of the moon rising over the trees in her back yard. I was equally inspired by the full moon this week; at least, enough to write a (very rough) poem about it.


Moon

I have always loved and pitied you.
When I was young,
You thickly filled my room
And my conscious,
Like a guilty tryst
And when I played the great escape
In white clothes,
You smeared my appearance against the
October wheat stubble.
You painted each morning paper I delivered
With your blue gaze,
And spied jealously on each of my
Girlfriend's goodnight kisses.

In your fixed motion
The waves of all passion break upon
Your Tranquil shores;
Yet, equally, when those who wish to hide their evil
Under cover of darkness,
You cannot turn away.
You rival every spy satellite
In your knowledge of nocturnal conspiracy.
Moreover, you are an accomplice to murder,
And know where every jettisoned corpse lies;
Maintaining your alibi that
You are only a rock.

We are told, that you selflessly reflect to us
The light of our star.
You must be happy to look down
On our jeweled globe
And know of your importance
In our sky.
Yet, no scientist could ever explain
The way you moan sadly,
Wiping the obsidian night dome
With your manic tears.

You scream silently.

What was Freud but a brave man
Who looked at mental illness with
Subjectivity?
He, staring into your face,
And knowing your pain,
Would lose his own mind,
But not before falling
Into passion's depths,
Ineffectively swimming
Upstream through eternal melancholy
Only to drown in the oceans
Of your memory.