Embarassed In Patriotic Prayer: Improv Free Verse

Today,
as I prayed,
and thanked God
for the Liberties that we have,
in this free and blessed land,
suddenly,
in my mind,
I saw all these Patriots,
young men and young women:
D-Day,
Korea,
the Revolutionary War,
the Civil War,
Vietnam,
the World Wars,
Iraq,
Afghanistan,
all the wars;
men and women
with body parts
blown apart,
some of them
disintegrating
into pink clouds,
laying down their lives
for the freedom
which we enjoy.

I realized,
at that moment,
how rarely I thank God
for their sacrifices.

I was ashamed to know
I did not,
have not,
and sometimes still
do not
bend my knees
and bow my head
every morning
and every evening
in gratitude for them
and their sacrifices,
and from the bottom of my soul
thank Him for them,
these young men and young women
who don’t even know me,
who died just because
they were doing their Duty.

In shame and anguish
I wept,
and I wished to God
that He could call a great convention
of those Heroes,
gather them all together
and announce,
in a voice of thunder,
from His Holy Throne:
“Dave Kuhns is sorry
that he was a schmuck,
that he had forgotten
to thank them.”

I don’t know
that they will ever know,
from the depths of my heart,
how much honor
and respect
and appreciation
that I have for them,
as I look out on my land,
my free land,
and for the liberties
and the bounties
that I have here.

I have never said
“Thank you!”
to that vast and gallant throng,
but now,
weeping in shame and gratitude
I bow my head,
and beg forgiveness
for me overlooking them,
and tell those valiant Patriots:
“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you!”

Too Late Understanding Howl: Romantic ImproVerse Free Verse Poetic Lament

Tonight I howled at the moon,
where I had once gathered firewood
for us,
for s’mores,
but now there will be
no more.

Howling and
screaming and
yelling
until
I couldn’t see
through my tears.

Then I pulled off
the road and howled
some more as I watched
my dreams
and visions
and hopes
and the waxing moon
disappear behind a giant cottonwood tree,
until the Union Pacific’s
long,
low moaning whistle
drowned out my own howling
at the moon
and the dreams
that had disappeared.

And when I was done,
when my howling had ended,
I drove long and slow
down that old swamp path,
eye and eye nearly swollen shut,
caked with dust
that had dried up
in these desert fields,
dried up and blown away,
not like a dream deferred,
but like a vision
and a hope
sacrificed on an altar
of obedience
I wasn’t quite ready
nor prepared
to kneel at.