When Will Bodily Death Come

When Will Bodily Death Come

How old will an individual live to be?
To us, this is a mystery.
A Life may be taken early or late.
Only Almighty God knows the specific date!
Many die when elderly,
While many loose life in infancy.
Some die while still within the womb.
What a dreadful place for a tomb!
Only a select few of the living scream. “Pro Choice.”
While womb bound babies have no voice,
Except for their silent, tormented scream!
About which many would-be mothers will dream!
Regardless of your particular stance,
Visit >www.priestsforlife.org<
For enlightenment, it’s well worth a glance.

Richard J. Dillon

September 1, 2003

Revised September 2016

Militia of the Immaculata

three oddities on D-Day beach

It was his respected reputation
that earned Ernie Pyle an invitation
to be in the second wave on D-Day beach
his columns, humanistic and poetic scripts
had brought World War II to the doorsteps
in England, Europe, and a hesitant U.S.
his first observations met his expectations
wicked machinery of war left twisted
in the sea and abandoned on the sand
the beach littered with weapons and gear
shed by men bent on out running bullets
must go low, light, and quick to cover
despite duck and dodge many died on the sand
death’s garden, row on row of blanket-covered men
each blanket end, two vertical markers in combat leather
but reporter Pyle couldn’t reason 3 odd visions
entities without proper places in a post-battle scene
a banjo, a tennis racket, and a little dog lost
the reasons for those oddities we’ll never know
so a writer with conjecture must create scenarios
could it be, a young Pfc. from Tennessee
a five-string musician, aspiring to play the Opry
believed he’d survive the crossfire, entertain
his mates at the high-ground victory fire, but
the first bullet ripped the shoulder strap
the second Nazi shot broke his parents heart
Lt. Smith, captain of his college tennis team
knew it was luck in the racket, so fixed it
like a crucifix to his backpack, a shield
for his squad facing the fury of the devil
a mortar blast stole the pack, a sniper’s serve
too exact, Smitty’s life lost: game, set, match
a Yank, fresh from the farm, lonely in London
missing his dog, Shep, adopted a cokney pup
and on invasion day slipped it into the ship
then, his canine chap, into the landing craft
a debark in 10 ft of water, he not a swimmer
so only half of this friendship reached the beach
thus these logical causes for 3 oddities
a banjo, the tennis racket, an anxious dog
it, greeting wave after wave of men, each face
focused, determined, grim, looking only forward
the pup ready to jump into his loving arms
nuzzled his man scent, bark to his laughter
it still there at sunset, sitting
searching the Sea, watching, waiting
later, like a stone sentry on the sand
while the Moon weeps light into the Sea
the pup watches each wave roll in,
waiting   watching   waiting
By George Tanner

Moon Cycle

Scimitar moon, with light of
cold polished silver
rides the sky in her
endless pattern.
She’s be easy to catch, the gods
say, but for her sharp points.
For a while, being pursued
amuses her, a change from
her role as huntress.
But then she feels sorry
for them. She and her god
Ra chose each other eons ago.
Ra, the powerful god of daylight–
and she, who absorbs his light
and throws it back to him in
pretend pique; looses a special
arrow. Unlike Cupid’s, hers don’t
exactly mean love–but almost.
Ra takes her challenge; they play
peek-a-boo; he tames her, the part
they both like best, unchaste as it is.
As always after such play, her
sharp scimitar shape softens,
rounds out, takes on weight.
She is her most compelling just
before she gives birth.
The perfect roundness of the
belly she carries proudly has
fascinated and hypnotized
learned and ignorant men both.
Birthing, her divine light falls
from her like gossamer lace–
a wedding veil–through which
night is sensed but not clearly
seen, and her milky light trembles
on surfaces of water.
She’s radiant while giving birth.
Her trademark white glow has the
sheen of a pearl. Perhaps a touch
of Ra’s gold–or perhaps not.
When it ends, lucky mother moon starts
immediately to loose her baby weight.
Rebecca A. Logue