Poets and Poems: Mike Bond and “The Drum That Beats Within Us”

Reading the poetry collection The Drum That Beats Within Us by Mike Bond brings to mind the concept of “warrior poet.” The phrase came unbidden to mind, and then I had to go searching around for why it did and what the common understanding might be.

I found a definition at Urban Dictionary. Like others, it cites words at the ending of the 1995 movie Braveheart, which told the story of Scottish nationalist and hero William Wallace: "In the Year of our Lord 1314, patriots of Scotland - starving and outnumbered - charged the fields of Bannockburn. They fought like warrior poets; they fought like Scotsmen and won their freedom."

The two terms seem almost contradictory. A warrior poet is simultaneously tough and tender. He can lead other warriors into battle and be a ferocious opponent, giving no quarter, and return to the campfire after battle and recite both epic poems and love poems.

To continue reading, please see my post today at Tweetspeak Poetry.

Surrounded by Thieves

Why curse a den of thieves

doing what is normal/expected/

allowed/encouraged/aided –

did the priests get their cut?

Thieves cluster like cancer

out of remission, devouring

the desire for worship, abetted

by those entrusted with worship.

Coins jangle through booths

and stalls, the unholy marriage

of faith and commerce, children

of greed and deception.

Driving them away today,

standing between them Friday.

This poem is supported for the Warrior Poets Circle, hosted by Jason Stasyszen at Connecting to Impact. To see more poems submitted, please visit the site.

Painting: Jesus Cleanses the Temple by Cecco del Caravaggio (Francesco Buoneri), 1610-1620, via Ad Libitum.

It is the way

Garden: tears of blood, cup

of bitterness; the taking and

the trial; beating; scourging;

the stabbing of thorns; the weight

carried; the heaviness bearing

down to the knees; the hammer

sound: metal striking spikes;

the tearing of flesh; the sponge

of gall; the darkness.

And so

the prison, the arena, the torture,

the death, the human torches;

the death amid jeers, laughter

and spit.

It is the way.

The cost is counted.

It is the way.

The cost is counted,

and accepted.

Today is another edition of Warrior Poet Circle hosted by Jason Stasyszen at Connecting to Impact. To see more poems submitted for the prompt “Count the Cost,” please visit Jason’s site.

Photograph: Jesus on the Cross by Jan Prikryl via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.

As he made me

As he made me, knitted,

constructed, assembled

all the disparate parts

with wondrous skill;

as he made me

in secret, in those

earthen depths, those

deep and hidden places;

as he touched my face

with light and felt

the contours of my cheeks

and chin, and sculpted

my hands and feet;

as he saw me and what

he had made me to be,

a song was sung,

a song of unspeakable joy.

Light breaks through

stained glass, shining

on my face.

This poem is submitted for the Warrior Poets Circle hosted by Jason Stasyszen at Connecting to Impact. To see more poems submitted on the theme of “unspeakable joy,” please visit Jason’s site.

Photograph: Underwater Light by Petr Kratochvil via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.

The visionary

A line of sight cracks

through darkness, finding

openings of light, fractions

of reality streaming amid

a gloom of brokenness.

Folded and tied,

the gathered curtain

pulls back for a brief

shining moment,

a morning star

in a night sky,

sufficient for hope.

This poem is submitted for the Warrior Poet Circle, hosted by Jason Stasyszen at Connecting to Impact.

It is also submitted for Open Link Night at dVerse Poets. The links will be live at 2 p.m. Central time today.

Photograph: Sunset Between Trees by Alice Birkin via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.

Tender Times Two

There are two of them,

two headstrong bulls

raging around that china shop,

leaving lots of pieces, fragments

in their wakes. Headstrong,

did I say headstrong? As calves

they took us on wild rides and

never stopped, not once, we

sort of held on to their ears

as we bucked and bumped

through those years.

Strong-willed, did I mention

strong-willed? Their way or

the highway. Rein ‘em in

when you’re left standing

with broken reins? But I

didn’t say tenderhearted, did I,

and I should have said that,

two raging bulls with hearts

bruise-able and hurt-able

and tender-able. And how do I

know that, you say? Because

I know how to read a mirror.

For Travis and Andrew

This poem is submitted to the Warrior Poet Circle hosted by Jason Stasyszen at Connecting to Impact. To see more poems submitted for the prompt “tenderhearted,” please visit Jason’s site.

Beneath a surface

A placid surface

an expressionless face

a perfunctory smile (Sunday smile)

a drawn curtain

an ebb tide

a portrait, idealized

a shallow conversation

to disguise, to hide

hurt, pain, destruction

anguish, panic, fear

the difficulties that are

this world we know

this life we live

each day

alone

This poem is submitted to the Warrior Poet Circle hosted by Jason Stasyszen. Today’s prompt is “difficulties.” To see more poems submitted, please visit Connecting to Impact.

Photograph: Sunrise by the lake by Bora Bora via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.

A Covenant of Water

Begins as a presence, a hovering

over the waters, a breaking open

of the deep, it becomes a promise

ratified by a rainbow of remembrance

set in the sky’s white vapors,

a remembrance not to the mist

that rises for a time above the lake,

nor the wisps of mists,

but a remembrance to the presence,

to the hovering, of what

it has promised, a covenant

of water everlasting.

This poem is submitted to the Warrior Poet Circle, hosted by Jason Stasyszen. To see more poems prompted by the word “covenant,” please visit Connecting to Impact.

Photograph: Sundog by Petr Kratockvil via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.

A covenant of water by Glynn2

We met a stranger

We met a stranger as

we walked along the road,

our sandaled feet covered

in dust, speaking of what

happened in the city.

He walked with us, silent.

When he spoke, this stranger,

he shocked with ignorance,

then shocked us with knowledge.

When he joined us to eat,

it was the bread he broke,

the bread, the life of bread,

that told us who he was.

He left only the bread.

This poem is submitted to the Warrior Poet Circle hosted by Jason Stasyszen at Connecting to Impact. To see more poems, please visit Jason’s site.

I’ve recorded the poem for the Voices and Prayers links at A Little Somethin’, hosted by Nancy Rosback. To hear more recorded poems, please visit Nancy's site.

Painting: Road to Emmaus by John Dunne.

We met a stranger by Glynn2

Candle lit

Candles lit

tiny flames begin

to travel a road filled

     with rocks and snares

                     thieves and robbers

                                snakes and other con men

     shouting enticements

                     clanging temptations

                                jangling inducements

Candle burns

flame passes dancing

     on heads

focusing attention on a few

     hearts a few

               minds a few

                        souls a few

remnants, always remnants

The candle selects

     where to hover

                       where to inhabit

the flame chooses

     where to plant

                      where to grow

This poem is submitted to the Warrior Poet Circle, hosted by Jason Stasyszen. To see more poems prompted by the word “faithfulness,” please visit Connecting to Impact. The links will be live Monday morning.

Photograph: Candle lighting by Petr Kratochvil via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission. 

Comfortable

Old shoes, thick laces:
toes scuffed, soles worn;
belt, braided:
waist-stretched,
sometimes shrunken;
t-shirt: yellow leaning
to white, Birmingham
Sweet Home Alabama;
Bible, tan leather cover:
hand-imprint faded,
sweat-stained,
pages smudged, marked.

This poem is submitted to the Warrior Poet Circle hosted by Jason Stasyszen. To see other poems based on the prompt “comfortable,” please visit Connecting to Impact.

Photograph: Old book by Anna Cervova via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.

The waters were gathered

An Egyptian night of beetles and hyenas,
scarabs and jackals, devouring:
the spirit hovered over the surface
of the deep, the waters;
a staff rose and held to gather
the waters, walled on each side.
And it was so.
And it was good.
A staff rose and held to gather
the armies, walled on each side
by a pillar of cloud and fire,
gathering the darkness and light.
The waters were gathered, flowing
to create a dry baptism of faith.

This poem is submitted for the Warrior Poet Society, hosting by Jason Stasyszen at Connecting to Impact. To see more poems based on Exodus 14 – the crossing of the Red Sea, please visit Jason’s site.

Photograph: Orange Sea Sunset by Petr Kratochvil via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.

Freedom

Flags flown
barbeque pits fired up
fireworks exploded
parades watched
picnics planned
food consumed
work holidayed

because

a doctor left his patients
for certain inalienable rights

a farmer set aside his plow
to fight at Bunker Hill

a hale good fellow had
only one life to give

words spoken
words written
words believed

words more than words

and blood spilled

freedom’s not
just another word

This poem is submitted for One Shot Sunday hosted by One Stop Poetry. To see other poems, please visit the site.

This poem is also submitted for the Warrior Poet Circle, hosted by Jason Stasyszen. To see other poems submitted for the prompt of “freedom,” please visit Connecting to Impact. The links be live on Monday morning, July 4.

Photograph: American Flag by Petr Kratochvil via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.

The Voice of God

The cries of the abused
child, beaten

the pangs of hunger
in the Bombay slum

the blood of the machete
couple in Rwanda

the shock of the mother
whose child dies
in Japan, Joplin

the gospel dirge
for the young girl shot
in the head as she
plays in the park

the body thuds of the Copt
beaten to death

the silence of the Bosnia
girl left raped after
her family is murdered

the fear of the family,
homeless

Darfur, Congo, Guernica,
Ekaterinburg, Nanking,
Bataan, the Marne,
Dresden, Twin Towers…

the whisper you will be
martyred for my name’s sake

in all of these


This poem is submitted for the Warrior Poets Circle hosted by Jason Stasyszen. To see more poems submitted, please visit Connecting to Impact.

Photograph: Bible Text by Petr Kratochvil via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.

How I Spent

Stream-side cabins
twenty-five dollars a night
but then:

Smoke in the mountains
road signs resembling snakes
(curves ahead) (only curves ahead)
my father shifts to low.
Cool blanket evenings
in July, August, hiking
up trails designed for tourists
not hikers (but I could pretend),
to ascend, to see, finally
the valley below,
the land below.
I always feel closer to God
here, my mother says.
I like the black salamanders
in the streams.

This poem is submitted to the Warrior Poet Society, hosted by Jason Stasyszen, where the current prompt is “vacation.” To see more poems based on the prompt, please visit Connecting to Impact.

Photograph: Stream in the Smoky Mountains by Neal Floyd via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.

Another Psalm

I always considered it
something rather formal,
something supplicated
from low to high, and
it is that but it is
also a conversation
of hearts transcending
so we talk or perhaps
I walk and hope to hear.

At first it seems useless
because you know,
don’t you, you know
before words spoken,
before thoughts formed
but that’s the point,
you say, don’t you know
I want to hear
the heart speak.

I walk this bridge,
the only connection
between then and
soon to be, spanning
a river roiling,
destruction below,
the bridge you built,
the only link possible,
the only link walkable.

Lord Jesus Christ,
Son of God,
have mercy
on me
a sinner.
Selah

*Dedicated to Karin Fendick

This poem is submitted to the Warrior Poet Circle, hosted by Jason Stasyszen at Connecting to Impact. To see more poems submitted on “a prayer in the form of a poem,” please visit the site.

*This poem is dedicated to Karen Fendick. If you make a donation to The High Calling during the month of May, I’ve committed to dedicate a poem to you. Just let me know via the comment box or an email that you made a donation (not the amount).

Photograph: Diver from Beneath by Petr Kratochvil via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.

Interior Conversation

An interior conversation
in my head, my heart,
sometimes a conscious
stream of thoughts, words
but often a simple solitude
bookended by silence.
It is enough, it is sufficient
to direct the words above,
aming at an ascendant light,
a snowcapped peak or
an eagle soaring but
above all else above.

The dictionary in use
is joy or pain
is thankfulness or fear
is abundance or need
but always rising.
The thesaurus
is comfort or distress
is deliverance or captivity
is success or failure
but always ascendant.
It seems one-sided,
an utterance into a void,
except when it’s not.

Dedicated to Maureen Doallas*

This poem is submitted for the Warrior Poet Society, hosting by Jason Stasyszen at Connecting to Impact. To seem more poems based on the prompt of “prayer,” please visit the site.

*The poem is dedicated to Maureen Doallas. If you make a donation to The High Calling during the month of May, I've committed to dedicate a poem to you. Just let me know via the comment box or an email that you made a donation (not the amount).


Painting: St. Francis of Assisi at Prayer by Bartolome Esteban Murillo (1650), Cathedral of Our Lady, Antwerp, Belgium.

At the stroke of...

A curious combination
of ending and beginning:
old, dying in darkness,
new, birthing in darkness
also
a shade of light implying
neither good nor bad,
only a change of time,
or perception, the night
ending, the day beginning
in night, yet no discernible
difference except we change
and the glass slipper
remains the same.

This poem is submitted for the Warrior Poet Society hosted by Jason Stasyszen at Connecting to Impact. To see more poems based on the prompt “Midnight,” please visit the site.

Photograph: Moonlight Landscape by Petr Kratochvil via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.

City of Refuge

 

I wander in a city
of refuge, a city affording
a certain security,
a certain protection
one of the three in Canaan
Hebron, Shechem, Kedesh
One of the three outside
Golan Bezer Ramoth
Only six, I thought,
why not 12, I thought,
one for each tribe?

This city, one of six
is cold, chill creeping
around houses, corners.
It offers refuge, yes,
but it does not provide hope.
It provides safety, yes,
but offers no sustenance.
It provides a bulwark
against death, yes,
but it does not provide
life, or beauty.

This city’s name breathes
hard, unkind consonants.
The prudent live here;
the simple stay here.

This poem is submitted for the Warrior Poet Circle hosted by Jason Stayszen at Connecting to Impact. Today’s prompt is Proverbs 22: 3: A prudent man sees danger and takes refuge, but the simple keep going and suffer for it (New International Version). To see more poems, please visit the site.

Striving

Chaucer hears it emerging
from the French or Germanic or both,
recognizing a common root,
the Latin perhaps, it has
a Roman flavor to it.

Shakespeare writes it
into the literary canon
as the committee of King James
codifies it into the Biblical canon,
at least for a few hundred years.

Milton lives it, intimately:
civil war, triumph,
imprisonment, blindness,
a kind of Paradise Agonistes,
literature and life.

It’s disappearing with our bare notice,
a rather quant word, an oddity really,
losing its being in the diversity,
the diffusion of contemporary
meaning and definition.

The most important thing,
the critical and vital thing,
about the verb is not the verb
but the adverb attached by Paul:
together.

This poem is submitted for the Warrior Poet circle, hosted by Jason Stasyszen at Connecting to Impact. This week’s prompt is “striving.”

The word “strive” emerged in its recognizable form (“striven”) in the Middle English period, between 1175 and 1225, related to similar words in French (“estrivber”) and Germanic (“streben”).

I became rather fascinated with this when I looked in Young’s Concordance and found 42 references to strive and striving (in the King James version of the Bible) but only eight when I checked the concordance to the New International Version of the Bible. The NIV replaces “strive” with words like struggle, compete and contend.

Around such musings a poem happens.

Photograph: Strive Tirana.