BOSTON MARATHON POETRY TRIBUTE
ORIGINALLY POSTED IN MAY, 2013, THE ISSUE WILL BE RE-POSTED FOR THIS WEEK IN APRIL, 2014.
Intro.:
This Special Edition # 3 pays tribute to the spirit of the Boston Marathon by honoring the people killed or harmed on April 15, 2013.
Boston Strong!
Mignon Ariel King
Umphatic Editor
Chad Parenteau
Guest Editor
Boston, Massachusetts, May 2013
@@@@@@@@@@
SPRING, INTERRUPTED (for Boston)
Blue glass high rises reflect the clouds
and maples wave like dancers
near the fountain.
Children skip along,
women carry groceries
past bright red tulips
Not long ago,
two brothers dropped bombs
at the Marathon,
killing and maiming many.
Runners wheeled the bleeding
into ambulances,
pulled tourniquets
around ruined knees.
Now the children sing
and play near girls
strutting in spring dresses.
Do they remember
a river of blood once flowed
beneath their dancing feet?
SUNLIGHT AND BOMBS
All the nations run here
on a long course,
flags waving, folks cheering
till bags drop bombs
full of ball bearings and shrapnel
blowing up bodies,
a river of fresh blood
churning from the city’s jugular.
When bells toll for the dead,
tulips open with thick red clots
under the ironic sun.
--Carolyn Gregory
@@@@@@@@@@
Man (Boy) Hunt
It was the post titled
Photo Of A Dead Terrorist
that pushed me over-capacity.
Melting into a make-it-stop
puddle, mixed with the mud
of what-have-we-doneness,
I backed away from the screen,
caught the gaze of ten-years-
until-nineteen, and wept.
To Boston, With Love
As City Folk made the
ultimate sacrifice;
Mayor Menino knows--
hazardous Life.
Blasts are still smoldering;
City’s Integrity--
Humanitarians
in darkest times.
Patriot's Day
Left them for dead,
Pressure-cooked at the finish line;
Left them for dead,
As Paul Revere mem’rably said--
They’re coming! It’s by their design!
Count your dead. Your broken. This time--
Left them for dead.
--Marian Kent
@@@@@@@@@@
I'll Be a Better Poet Next Week
"Between Dartmouth and Exeter" they said on ABC News,
but I had just switched back from the don't-ask-me-what
movie I was watching as background noise for writing work.
Two hours in the cold on Sunday watching the Patriots' Day
parade down Mass Ave - on the other side of the Charles -
was enough standing for this old girl. So I didn't hop the T
"home" on Monday. Didn't stand cheering. Didn't mimic
the athletes minutes later by running from the first-blast sound
straight toward the second boom! on Boylston Street.
Oh, beautiful for spacious skies. For amber waves of grain…
I only watched: smoke pouring up in front of the Copley library;
called: Brian in Chicago, my message unintelligible...I could
tell from the sound of his very calm yet obviously concerned
voice. Talking is generally one of my strong suits. Monday,
however, I thought for a minute from the camera angle that
they'd blown up the library. My library. My home city.
Where hundreds of us poets flocked just over a week ago
for the "Boston Poetry Marathon." Then I slowly exhaled,
with the realization it had happened over 30 minutes ago.
For purple mountain majesties. Above the fruited plain...
And the robust reporter was standing there, warm and healthy,
the library behind him. Brian was at work. It's only a holiday
here. "Air traffic suspended over Back Bay...." God, where's
Dan? At the airport, of course, but texting back that he's okay.
America. America! God shed his grace on thee...
People who don't live here call us self-absorbed, writing as if
it were all about us. Well, yeah, if I'd been there, I usually
stand on Hereford, where I once watched Katherine the Great
round the corner on her way to win. I blew out my rock-volume-
voice cheering for her. Today, all I can do is not think about him.
Eight years old. From Dorchester...where I went to high school.
Just enjoying the state holiday. Played ball himself. I didn't know
him, but I'm taking his loss personally. Bostonians are like that.
...And crown thy good with brotherhood. From sea to shining sea!
[*Lyrics from “America the Beautiful". The Ray Charles version is the one I hear in my head.]
--Mignon Ariel King, April 16, 2013
@@@@@@@@@@
Boston Marathon
4/15/13
23,000 runners
96 countries
26 miles
2 bombs
Again the threads
in our blanket of comfort fray
with the violence
spinning around us
in the movie theatre in Colorado
the shopping mall in Oregon
the Wisconsin Sikh Temple
in the Newtown Elementary School
and today
the bombs in Boston.
A reporter asks the doctor caring for victims
what do you need?
He answers
we need for nothing else to happen.
--Janet Leahy
@@@@@@@@@@
Praying for Boston
Dear heavenly
Father, please
hear my words
running 26
miles is bad
enough, but
getting the
fuck blown
out of you by
some dumb
ass terrorists
at the finish
line sucks even
worse, come on
God cut us some
slack, in Your
name we pray,
amen.
--Catfish McDaris
@@@@@@@@@@
marathon
I wore my white hat against the sun
just wanted a smoke and nothing more
but the cooling spring breeze on the roof
below the streets were full of people
the heat of the day a pressure cooker
below everything was smoke and fire
I went back across the roof and down
back to work after my smoke was done
turned on the radio for the news
--Bob Mackenzie
@@@@@@@@@@
Mom at the Marathon
She says she will go back next year.
This amidst the rush away from
Arlington, a wave of smoke,
onlookers’ tales of shooting glass.
This amidst the rush away to
trains not checked for bombs.
Onlookers’ tales of shooting glass
say explosions must have come from inside.
The trains not checked for bombs,
she makes her way back to Bellingham,
says explosions must have come from inside,
the phone crackling like a fuse.
She makes her way back to Bellingham,
from Arlington, a wave of smoke.
The phone crackling like a fuse,
Mom says she will go back next year.
--Chad Parenteau
@@@@@@@@@@
Terror: a tanka sequence
broken images,
fragments of Boston
coil inside...
on a crowded street
my thoughts stream ahead of me
black on gray clouds:
when trees are wounded
by a waxing moon
how then can I tell you
the story of men who kill?
it begins to rain nails
when the grenade explodes
a few feet away
from the belly of death...
I lie alone in my body
quiet cortège
moving slowly along the street…
this spring
everything looks frail,
half-dim in sorrow
--Sergio Ortiz
@@@@@@@@@@
Bomber
The bomber has done his
damage and faded into
the crowd
sat down at home
to dinner
while others weep and mourn
he will have a self-satisfied
smile as he enters his bed
he will not pray to the lord
his soul to keep
because he does not believe
there is a lord
nor does he have a soul
--Zvi A. Sesling
@@@@@@@@@@
617
Standing before the starting line
of this historic race.
The question is,
did I train enough
to finish this emotional
chase?
Hoping to see my friends there.
What kind of shape will I be
in after this? We'll see.
Twenty-six miles,
the elation of seeing
the finish line tape
pushing me all the
while.
A united city.
Shakable but unbreakable
even with two pressure cooker
bombs. The first responders
held it together and kept
calm
helping with the wounded.
And doctors running the
race ran straight to the
nearest hospital to give
blood
while others were there to
tend and comfort.
The world sits and watches
our little corner of the globe.
The act was cowardly
designed to get attention
with the injured and dead
a bonus. You will not
escape this city.
Being tracked down.
Don't believe it? Watch us.
You will face your mistake
and receive justice.
The world is on guard once again,
the performance was calculated
an cold. But you will not break us.
the United States, my friend.
Just remember this corner
of the globe can get "Wicked"
pissed. Your life is over as you know it.
Our drive to defend our country and
city will never end.
We as a city as well as
a country are truly
one of a kind.
--Sean C. Theall
@@@@@@@@@@
Boston Strong
Morning dawns
with a new promise.
He stretches in his sleep,
as I watch the rain
dancing on my window.
I inhale coffee from a tall cup.
I wake him with a gentle touch
and tender words.
A week ago,
the world shattered for so many.
He has watched and listened
to images of terror,
sadness seeping into his big
brown eyes.
He felt compassion for
the lives lost,
for the lives injured.
He felt pride that his brother
is a doctor in this wonderful city.
A week ago our world changed,
the rhythm of the city silenced,
our flags pressed against our chest.
Our land sighed,
our land ached.
We remember the victims,
smiling from old photographs.
Children kneeling by a candlelight vigil,
mothers holding hands tighter.
We remember the injured,
runners shoes and messages
hang by Boylston Street.
We are broken yet strong,
hurt but not defeated.
I hold my son,
I whisper words about goodness,
dark moments that inspire light.
I hold him closer and give him wings of
hope
and love,
wanting my words to shelter him from
the storm,
wanting them to warm his soul.
In An Instant-My Heart Is In Boston
I have no
answers.
I can't explain the
brutal,
incomprehensible,
deliberate,
cowardly
act.
Words that
attempt to capture
an instant when blue skies,
became forever grey.
An iconic race swept away,
turned into blood stained streets.
In an
instant,
innocence stolen,
innocence lost.
In an instant,
a perfect day unfolding
into a nightmare.
In an instant lives changed,
families
shattered,
a heartbreak
that scars
our
souls.
A perfect spring day turned into
bloody chaos,
Humanity at it's worst,
humanity at it's best.
This is
America,
we bleed red white and blue.
This is America,
Americans doing
what we do best.
strangers reaching to lend a helping
hand,
opening their hearts.
I have no answers,
but rage and raw pain,
speechless,
I hurt,
for the city I love.
--Ayala Zarfjian
{Editor's Note: The poet centered her poems. Weebly had other ideas.}
@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@
Boston Marathon 2013 Tribute Issue Copyright 2013 U.M.Ph.! Prose. All rights revert back to authors in 6 months.
Intro.:
This Special Edition # 3 pays tribute to the spirit of the Boston Marathon by honoring the people killed or harmed on April 15, 2013.
Boston Strong!
Mignon Ariel King
Umphatic Editor
Chad Parenteau
Guest Editor
Boston, Massachusetts, May 2013
@@@@@@@@@@
SPRING, INTERRUPTED (for Boston)
Blue glass high rises reflect the clouds
and maples wave like dancers
near the fountain.
Children skip along,
women carry groceries
past bright red tulips
Not long ago,
two brothers dropped bombs
at the Marathon,
killing and maiming many.
Runners wheeled the bleeding
into ambulances,
pulled tourniquets
around ruined knees.
Now the children sing
and play near girls
strutting in spring dresses.
Do they remember
a river of blood once flowed
beneath their dancing feet?
SUNLIGHT AND BOMBS
All the nations run here
on a long course,
flags waving, folks cheering
till bags drop bombs
full of ball bearings and shrapnel
blowing up bodies,
a river of fresh blood
churning from the city’s jugular.
When bells toll for the dead,
tulips open with thick red clots
under the ironic sun.
--Carolyn Gregory
@@@@@@@@@@
Man (Boy) Hunt
It was the post titled
Photo Of A Dead Terrorist
that pushed me over-capacity.
Melting into a make-it-stop
puddle, mixed with the mud
of what-have-we-doneness,
I backed away from the screen,
caught the gaze of ten-years-
until-nineteen, and wept.
To Boston, With Love
As City Folk made the
ultimate sacrifice;
Mayor Menino knows--
hazardous Life.
Blasts are still smoldering;
City’s Integrity--
Humanitarians
in darkest times.
Patriot's Day
Left them for dead,
Pressure-cooked at the finish line;
Left them for dead,
As Paul Revere mem’rably said--
They’re coming! It’s by their design!
Count your dead. Your broken. This time--
Left them for dead.
--Marian Kent
@@@@@@@@@@
I'll Be a Better Poet Next Week
"Between Dartmouth and Exeter" they said on ABC News,
but I had just switched back from the don't-ask-me-what
movie I was watching as background noise for writing work.
Two hours in the cold on Sunday watching the Patriots' Day
parade down Mass Ave - on the other side of the Charles -
was enough standing for this old girl. So I didn't hop the T
"home" on Monday. Didn't stand cheering. Didn't mimic
the athletes minutes later by running from the first-blast sound
straight toward the second boom! on Boylston Street.
Oh, beautiful for spacious skies. For amber waves of grain…
I only watched: smoke pouring up in front of the Copley library;
called: Brian in Chicago, my message unintelligible...I could
tell from the sound of his very calm yet obviously concerned
voice. Talking is generally one of my strong suits. Monday,
however, I thought for a minute from the camera angle that
they'd blown up the library. My library. My home city.
Where hundreds of us poets flocked just over a week ago
for the "Boston Poetry Marathon." Then I slowly exhaled,
with the realization it had happened over 30 minutes ago.
For purple mountain majesties. Above the fruited plain...
And the robust reporter was standing there, warm and healthy,
the library behind him. Brian was at work. It's only a holiday
here. "Air traffic suspended over Back Bay...." God, where's
Dan? At the airport, of course, but texting back that he's okay.
America. America! God shed his grace on thee...
People who don't live here call us self-absorbed, writing as if
it were all about us. Well, yeah, if I'd been there, I usually
stand on Hereford, where I once watched Katherine the Great
round the corner on her way to win. I blew out my rock-volume-
voice cheering for her. Today, all I can do is not think about him.
Eight years old. From Dorchester...where I went to high school.
Just enjoying the state holiday. Played ball himself. I didn't know
him, but I'm taking his loss personally. Bostonians are like that.
...And crown thy good with brotherhood. From sea to shining sea!
[*Lyrics from “America the Beautiful". The Ray Charles version is the one I hear in my head.]
--Mignon Ariel King, April 16, 2013
@@@@@@@@@@
Boston Marathon
4/15/13
23,000 runners
96 countries
26 miles
2 bombs
Again the threads
in our blanket of comfort fray
with the violence
spinning around us
in the movie theatre in Colorado
the shopping mall in Oregon
the Wisconsin Sikh Temple
in the Newtown Elementary School
and today
the bombs in Boston.
A reporter asks the doctor caring for victims
what do you need?
He answers
we need for nothing else to happen.
--Janet Leahy
@@@@@@@@@@
Praying for Boston
Dear heavenly
Father, please
hear my words
running 26
miles is bad
enough, but
getting the
fuck blown
out of you by
some dumb
ass terrorists
at the finish
line sucks even
worse, come on
God cut us some
slack, in Your
name we pray,
amen.
--Catfish McDaris
@@@@@@@@@@
marathon
I wore my white hat against the sun
just wanted a smoke and nothing more
but the cooling spring breeze on the roof
below the streets were full of people
the heat of the day a pressure cooker
below everything was smoke and fire
I went back across the roof and down
back to work after my smoke was done
turned on the radio for the news
--Bob Mackenzie
@@@@@@@@@@
Mom at the Marathon
She says she will go back next year.
This amidst the rush away from
Arlington, a wave of smoke,
onlookers’ tales of shooting glass.
This amidst the rush away to
trains not checked for bombs.
Onlookers’ tales of shooting glass
say explosions must have come from inside.
The trains not checked for bombs,
she makes her way back to Bellingham,
says explosions must have come from inside,
the phone crackling like a fuse.
She makes her way back to Bellingham,
from Arlington, a wave of smoke.
The phone crackling like a fuse,
Mom says she will go back next year.
--Chad Parenteau
@@@@@@@@@@
Terror: a tanka sequence
broken images,
fragments of Boston
coil inside...
on a crowded street
my thoughts stream ahead of me
black on gray clouds:
when trees are wounded
by a waxing moon
how then can I tell you
the story of men who kill?
it begins to rain nails
when the grenade explodes
a few feet away
from the belly of death...
I lie alone in my body
quiet cortège
moving slowly along the street…
this spring
everything looks frail,
half-dim in sorrow
--Sergio Ortiz
@@@@@@@@@@
Bomber
The bomber has done his
damage and faded into
the crowd
sat down at home
to dinner
while others weep and mourn
he will have a self-satisfied
smile as he enters his bed
he will not pray to the lord
his soul to keep
because he does not believe
there is a lord
nor does he have a soul
--Zvi A. Sesling
@@@@@@@@@@
617
Standing before the starting line
of this historic race.
The question is,
did I train enough
to finish this emotional
chase?
Hoping to see my friends there.
What kind of shape will I be
in after this? We'll see.
Twenty-six miles,
the elation of seeing
the finish line tape
pushing me all the
while.
A united city.
Shakable but unbreakable
even with two pressure cooker
bombs. The first responders
held it together and kept
calm
helping with the wounded.
And doctors running the
race ran straight to the
nearest hospital to give
blood
while others were there to
tend and comfort.
The world sits and watches
our little corner of the globe.
The act was cowardly
designed to get attention
with the injured and dead
a bonus. You will not
escape this city.
Being tracked down.
Don't believe it? Watch us.
You will face your mistake
and receive justice.
The world is on guard once again,
the performance was calculated
an cold. But you will not break us.
the United States, my friend.
Just remember this corner
of the globe can get "Wicked"
pissed. Your life is over as you know it.
Our drive to defend our country and
city will never end.
We as a city as well as
a country are truly
one of a kind.
--Sean C. Theall
@@@@@@@@@@
Boston Strong
Morning dawns
with a new promise.
He stretches in his sleep,
as I watch the rain
dancing on my window.
I inhale coffee from a tall cup.
I wake him with a gentle touch
and tender words.
A week ago,
the world shattered for so many.
He has watched and listened
to images of terror,
sadness seeping into his big
brown eyes.
He felt compassion for
the lives lost,
for the lives injured.
He felt pride that his brother
is a doctor in this wonderful city.
A week ago our world changed,
the rhythm of the city silenced,
our flags pressed against our chest.
Our land sighed,
our land ached.
We remember the victims,
smiling from old photographs.
Children kneeling by a candlelight vigil,
mothers holding hands tighter.
We remember the injured,
runners shoes and messages
hang by Boylston Street.
We are broken yet strong,
hurt but not defeated.
I hold my son,
I whisper words about goodness,
dark moments that inspire light.
I hold him closer and give him wings of
hope
and love,
wanting my words to shelter him from
the storm,
wanting them to warm his soul.
In An Instant-My Heart Is In Boston
I have no
answers.
I can't explain the
brutal,
incomprehensible,
deliberate,
cowardly
act.
Words that
attempt to capture
an instant when blue skies,
became forever grey.
An iconic race swept away,
turned into blood stained streets.
In an
instant,
innocence stolen,
innocence lost.
In an instant,
a perfect day unfolding
into a nightmare.
In an instant lives changed,
families
shattered,
a heartbreak
that scars
our
souls.
A perfect spring day turned into
bloody chaos,
Humanity at it's worst,
humanity at it's best.
This is
America,
we bleed red white and blue.
This is America,
Americans doing
what we do best.
strangers reaching to lend a helping
hand,
opening their hearts.
I have no answers,
but rage and raw pain,
speechless,
I hurt,
for the city I love.
--Ayala Zarfjian
{Editor's Note: The poet centered her poems. Weebly had other ideas.}
@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@
Boston Marathon 2013 Tribute Issue Copyright 2013 U.M.Ph.! Prose. All rights revert back to authors in 6 months.
