The Moderns (with Picture)

I wrote this poem as my first year of Harvard was drawing to a close two years ago.

A couple of months ago a great friend of mine shared some of my poems with his girlfriend. He kept this a secret, and I only found out this past weekend when he told me his girlfriend had actually put several of the poems to sketch form.

Tuesday night he promised to email one of them to me, and so he has.

Below you see the result of what I believe is a marvelous rendition and translation of the original idea.

A great job to J, and a thank you to the Admiral!

I hope you all enjoy it.

Published in: on June 30, 2008 at 2:44 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Hitler Died with a Smile on His Face

As he came into the bunker,
the night in which he died,
Hitler walked into his foyer,
to think about his life.

And pondering the world he made,
the war, the camps, the Jews,
the bureaucrats handing down fate
to the weak and the few,
he brought the pistol to his head,
as cyanide he did taste,
and in a chuckle, he was dead –
with a smile on his face.

Freedom Dies By Suicide! (Obituary on A 2)

Dear Readers,

Freedom died last night,
at the age of three hundred, three.
He left his children and his wife,
with nothing but their dreams.

He was found near a glass of gin,
and books piled to the lights,
(It was a lady friend who found him –
at a quarter past midnight.)

Though details are still to come,
The facts, as they are, imply:
Freedom did not die by the gun.
He died by suicide.

Maps of Hell

In hell, the skies are blue as here,
while the gardens, green and green.
The air is crisp, and cool, and clear,
and no smoke is ever seen.

In hell, no demon eats of meat,
of cow, or of fish, or deer,
though each is known to lust to eat,
the rind of children’s ears.

In hell, men grow old and round,
and tire from the lust and mirth.
They live and pass without a sound,
and leave nothing on hell’s earth.

In hell, each dog evokes a smile –
while in fields the cowbells ring,
and pets dance a mad, and wild,
to the sound of children’s screams.

Near hell, there rests an aged sign –
with words I know, now, too well:
“No children past this line.
You’ve found the road to hell.”

Gravestone Found Near Boston Dated 1920 (“The Last Hero”)

To an American two generations hence,
You, who my face will never see,
Nor my presence nor love sense.
I bid you well and I bid you be.

Like you, I loved a woman’s hand,
And treated each with much respect,
I, too, prayed to God for my land,
And every night and day, He blessed.

And I too knew my faults and flaws,
And writhed long the Scriptured page,
Like you, I stared at Nature’s awe,
And a family held, birthed, and made.

Yes. I must be just like you, my son,
An American, but eighty years removed,
Live your life well – as you have done,
That is all I ask of you.


Oh sons of stars which burn so bright,
who know no truth nor just God,
lead us now amid this gods’ twilight,
to lands ye sages have come to trod.

And when we reach your land’s purlieu,
and hear men killing men, but of dust,
‘twill be no surprise to us who knew,
that it was, and would be ever thus.

The Moderns

My men of Modern means,
Learned, you have always been.
My men of Modern means,
Tell us how to think and dream.

Tell us how your thoughts lend,
Themselves, to every code and creed,
How you’ve learned not to offend,
And so learned not to believe.

My men of Modern means,
Prudent, you have always been,
My men of Modern, please,
Tell us what you have not seen.

Tell us how the world began,
Long before the sea did swim,
Of faith – or the heart of man,
Or the gods you curse and dim.

My men of Modern means,
Sages, you have always been,
My men of Modern, please,
Tell us how the future gleams.

Tell us of your New Earth –
And the glory it will hold,
Where all work is equal worth,
And freedom’s bought and sold.

My men of Modern means,
Triumphant, you will be,
So men of Modern, please,
Begrudge me not this plea:

Moderns, oh so strong and tall,
I have lost and I will bend!
Just tell me how you fooled us all,
Into the madness of this end.

Published in: on June 8, 2007 at 2:27 am  Leave a Comment  

History vs. Socialism

I see we meet again,
and I must stand to protest,
for your melodies will end,
no different than the rest!

Stand aside and let us pass,
“equality” is our only cure!
our ideals will thee surpass,
and the future we’ll secure!

Ten thousand years ago I too,
heard the siren you now sing,
but from your hopes soon grew,
a hate that only fear could bring!

You have no right to judge,
you forget, we know you well!
You hold no lesson but a grudge,
which is why we now rebel!

Fools! you forsake freedom,
for a maniacal charade!
repent now or soon succumb,
to evil in “equality” betrayed!

We need not hear your lecture,
for we know liberty’s faults,
your certainties are mere conjecture,
‘tis “equality” we now exalt!

You fools! in all my many pages,
and in all my complex works,
as I’ve lived throughout the ages,
‘tis no price for freedom’s worth.

Liberty be damned and lost!
‘tis but a small price to pay!
“equality” is never absent of cost,
nor will it be in “our new day”!

Then go with all your longing!
I will once again take a seat,
and see ye mortals dying,
as I pause – and then repeat.