America

AMERICA 2017*

 My Country—
According to my TV news
you are totally divided
by two extremist views.
While truth seems to hide
givers taunt takers
on both sides.
But in the fight
I can’t decipher
which is right.
I seek for wisdom, tact,
for verified facts,
for peace makers,
not for haters.

I’m confused
by political ruse;
by tries to control,
by all who interrupt,
determined for their say,
by those who want the world to go
only their own way.

Conflicts come and conflicts go.
Don’t you know your history?
Puritans once hung Mary Dyer
but couldn’t quench her holy fire.

The North and South,
both strong and brave.
sent men to die—
yet more lived on,
still fighting strong
to see all slaves set free,
protect inherent liberties,
insure our nation’s unity.

Oh men and women of America
don’t be divisive;
don’t choose sides against each other,
not where sisters’ hearts entwine
not where brothers still love brothers

Oh, my Country
I’m not blind.
I’ve loved your rolling hills,
your woodlands,
meadows, marshes
your thunder storms, your gentle rain
your winter’s cold and harshness.
I’ve dug your rich black loam
and poor red clay
and planted seeds
of hope beyond my living days.

I’ve watched my land of kitchen convenience,
my land of tweaks, flicks and twitter,
with bellies growing fat
on food that’s fast
and pockets grown slim
on media whims—
not cynically but with despair
that turns my heart to prayer.

My land of shopping malls,
and football stadiums
home of baseball, bubble gum
and religious freedoms,
I care.

My Country—
Under your red, white and blue
You’ve sent out missionaries
and the Marshall Plan,
always giving back
as God has given you
as best you can
and I’m proud to be an American,
to live in the USA today.

Oh my Country,
Land of the free, home of the brave—
across our wide unsettled spaces
with our customary daring speed
with breakneck racehorse paces
our frontiers keep on changing
our policies rearranging
for the tired, homeless, poor.**

Oh my Country
I’m getting old,
I can’t keep up with change:
a lucky clover leaf,
once green, now’s turned to asphalt gray.
My dictionary meaning’s grown
for words like gay and play;
and most of us have never known
a rest-filled Sabbath day.

My Country—
where lotteries inspire greed,
little Johnnys still can’t read,
hungry families wait in need,
and protest cannot guarantee
protection for our liberties.

Lord—Help us not turn off our ears,
or proud, deny our sins.
May all of us rise up within
and truly seek to be
citizens of truth, of faith and honesty,
worthy of our land of hope,
stewards of democracy.

Oh, Americans,
turn to God and pray.
Someday—
Violence will raise a final head.
One day, the final drop
of innocent blood be shed.

Who knows?
If we cry out,
won’t God relent?
Speak tenderly?
Might we live to see
loving-kindness win
against the world’s disruption,
against the consequence of sin?

My Country—
Take courage; be not afraid.
Sweet land, God waits—
No one knows His yardsticks or His dates.
It is clearly written
that His mercy has no end.
It’s written that He loves this world;
He came to save, not to condemn.

My Country,
See His blood torn face
streaked with compassion
full of grace —

Oh, America,
nations will rise,
nations will fall,
in the final end
there is a tree***
whose leaves alone
bring victory.

It flows beside the water of Life
Life that died
to end our strife.
Beside this river grows a tree
with leaves to heal
all countries—
the nations.

 

*I wrote an earlier, shorter, more judgmental version of this poem in 1997 and published it in Places; this version is today’s, February 9, 2017

** from “The New Colossus” by Emma Lazarus engraved on the Statue of Liberty.

***Revelation 22: 1-2 And he showed me a pure river of water of life, clear as crystal, proceeding out of the throne of God and of the Lamb. In the midst of the street of it, and on either side of the river, was there the tree of life, which bare twelve manner of fruits, and yielded her fruit every month: and the leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations. KJV