Lamar Howell's Weblog

HEY, I’M A BELIEVER NOW

 

I’ll believe in global warming when hell freezes over

When I blindly pick up a four-leaf clover

And white turns black on the cliffs of Dover

That’s when I’ll believe

 

I’ll fall for the right to spew internet porn

When I hear if from the mouth of a unicorn

And when a more righteous Messiah is born

That’s when I’ll give in

 

I’ll say abortion is a woman’s right

When I see Europe get the nerve to fight

And Mt. Rushmore’s Presidents receive their sight

That’s when I’ll fall for that

 

I’ll promote the fallacy of evolution

When Castro renounces revolution

And Hitler’s forgiven his “final solution”

That’s when I’ll give my okay

 

I’ll condone a man marrying a man

When molten lava is held in the hand

And chlorine and alcohol mix in a pan

That’s when I’ll approve

 

I’ll wink at the idea of no absolutes

When seeds grow rhinos instead of roots

And paratroopers jump without parachutes

That’s when I’ll come around

 

I’ll consider the notion that God doesn’t exist

When angry atheists stop sounding so pissed

While looking at heaven and shaking their fists

That would make me stop and think

 

I’d weigh ideas that are even stupider

When China lays claim to the red spot of Jupiter

And I find something else that rhymes with stupider

That’s when I’ll believe

 

 

 

 

 

I could just stare at this image

And I do

Often, and long

Alone

Mezmerized by a secret enchantment

I hide from family and friends—

My escape to this

singular island of contemplation.

What is it that so captures my eyes

Holds them fast

Makes me a hostage to such raw beauty?

After all,

it is only a distant rockpile,

unsteady and deformed.

But it is intoxicatingly bewitching.

I pose before this image,

trying to look my best

as nature, and nature’s God

take my picture.

I feel privileged,

just this band of soldiers

and me

Frozen in time,

locked in eternity’s gaze.

Simply analyzed,

It is a small band of soldiers

frantic to find a gap.

Pushing, jamming, urging

a mound of destruction to yield

They are all looking down,

working together —

too many, really, for the task.

I know this scene was staged

and I’ve seen the first one —

less dramatic for sure.

But this false hope, so honestly inspired,

so seizes my heart

that I throw myself into it

like a fanatic into a pagan religion.

God, I’m weeping!

Is it for these men, long dead?

For this war, long over?

I remember another Son

near the end of a cosmic battle,

lifting a rustic pole,

turned to the mourners:

“Do not weep for me.

Weep for yourselves

And for your children.”

So I obey HIm and

I weep for myself

For loving without feeling

For longing without depth

For sacrificing without hurt

For my silence

And for the shame to so cheaply live

in the shadow of this black silhouette

And I weep for our children,

Our sons  who fight under no clear banner

No standard-bearer’s majesty comes to them

rising up to their hope over a distant rise

No flag to hoist, no glory to wave

No pledge to echo from their brown voices

But, oh! The sands of Nineveh would easily

give way to a wooden shaft

Just as they did on Golgotha’s hill

My mind drifts, wind-blown,

To the One sacrifice

that makes Iwo Jima

Iwo Jima