Mother's Milk

Our first addiction is to Mother’s milk,

a flow that, every Mother knows, must cease.

And never is the weaning smooth as silk,

and ever does the child fear his release.

As one is  being weaned from perfect meals,

consuming as we are, ourselves, consumed

we learn, to some degree, how dying feels

and realize that paradise is doomed.

Our Mother lost we need to love again

and often search, in vain, for a reflection

of Mother’s love. We choose a mate and then

we imitate the ultimate connection,

The “I-am-you-are-me-is-she-is-we”,

I am the milk, the Mother’s milk is me.

Underway (original)

After a long, distinguished, career, my first ship, USS Oriskany, was eventually retired and stripped to the bare bulkheads and hull,  then towed out  to sea to be sunk as an artficial reef. Always kinda wished I could have been a member of that final crew. 

Imagine a 19 year old Sailor (me) in early June, 1967, less than a year off the farm...fresh and new and just off the bus from boot camp and Navy Radioman school, standing on the pier looking up at this HUGE aircraft carrier in all it's intimidating glory. Then imagine my feelings nearly 50 years later as she was towed to sea for her final voyage...putting to sea, or as a sailor would say...."underway" for the last time. This is a true story.... mostly.

An early morn departure then
her final time to sea.
I’m lost for words to tell you, mate,
just what that means to me.

She wasn’t mother, wasn’t home,
she was a thing to fear
the first time that I saw her from
that Alameda pier.

The likes of Halsey, Doolittle,
had graced the concrete where
I stood in indecision, scared...
half witless with despair.

Though near to fifty years have passed
I can recall it still
as if it happened yesterday.
It took near all my will

to climb the brow, to step aboard
and face that grizzled chief
who took my papers, sized me up
and offered no relief.

“Hold on a minute son, stand fast...
we'll sort this here sh** out”
“I’ll call the watch in radio.
Does Mom know you're about?”

“Come down and get his a**”, he yelled
into the duty phone,
“Ya better hurry, mate, he's much
to young to be alone.”

A Chief was near to God above
to this, my younger self,
but I’d survive, report aboard
and find my rack, a shelf

up near the metal overhead,
with fondness, I recall--
I slept in Sailor heaven twixt
a steam pipe and a wall.

A “bulkhead”, not a wall, I know,
at least I know it now.
I learned this fact and others but
don’t ask me when or how.

The days turned into weeks and years
and salty sailor tales
in ports of call I can’t recall--
or won’t. It never fails

to fill me with amazement that
the lad who felt that grief
would don a khaki suit one day
and be, himself, a Chief.

But I digress, I lose my point,
I only meant to say
I’d give my all, my broken heart,
to join her-- underway.

A Musing

You're better off, a writer, being sad
A lack of hope intensifies the senses.
The muse can be obscure if one is glad,
Embrace your pain, dear poet, build no fences.

A bard’s desire, the quintessential muse,

requires that deep depression be attained.

A genuinely somber tone, the blues,

must permeate the soul and be sustained.

Yet... might the writer be as well advised

to draw his muse from willful deprivation

of sleep? Thus bliss or Hell may be derived,

exhaustion is a path to inspiration.

Exhaustion's good, depression's better still...

if you can manage both you're almost Will.





~ Dean Neighbors ~

I have witnessed a lot of history in my life

I have witnessed a lot of history in my life.

January 31, 1968, 50 years ago today I was a 19 year old Radioman/Seaman serving as one of the 3000 plus crewmen aboard the Aircraft Carrier USS Oriskany (CVA-34). The Oriskany was returning from a 7 ½ month deployment to the western Pacific Ocean.


During this deployment we visited Hong Kong, two different ports in Japan (Sasebo and Yokosuka), Subic Bay in the Philippines and Pearl Harbor in Hawaii (twice). We spent much of the deployment operating in the Tonkin gulf, off the coast of North Vietnam on what we called "Yankee station".


During this deployment we were witness to the tragic fire aboard USS Forrestal that cost the lives of 134 Forrestal crewman. We, along with many other ships on Yankee Station, gave what assistance we could to the Forrestal, during and after the fire.

During this deployment the late Senator John McCain (then Lieutenant commander John McCain) launched his A4 Skyhawk aircraft from one of the catapults on our ship and was shot down over Hanoi. He was captured and began his long imprisonment in North Vietnam. He had been a pilot aboard the USS Forrestal and was involved in the fire there. After the fire he transferred to a squadron on our ship.

During this deployment the USS Pueblo (AGER-2) was attacked and captured by North Korean forces along with her crew. 83 members of the Pueblo crew spent 11 months as prisoners in North Korea. At the time of the capture i was the operator on the ship’s primary Teletype communications channel. I was chatting with the operator on Guam when we told me he had just relayed a flash message to Washington regarding the capture. Thus, I was one of the first people in the world to hear of the incident. I mentioned the Pueblo news to some of my fellow Radiomen as I passed through “Radio Central” on the way to lunch a few minutes later. Before I had finished my lunch, down on the Oriskany mess decks, the rumor mill was already passing around the news.

In some ways these events from 50 years ago seem like they happened just a few months ago….. In other ways they seem like, well, 50 years ago, ...a lifetime ago.

Early on the morning of Jan 31, 1968, we steamed under the Golden Gate bridge and the Bay Bridge and tied up at the pier at Naval Air Station Alameda, CA. The same pier, I might add, where Lieutenant Colonel James Doolittle loaded his B25 bombers aboard USS Hornet (CV-8) for the famous WWII “30 seconds over Tokyo” raid.



A commercial frequently seen on TV in those days claimed that serving in the U.S. Navy was “not just a job...it’s an adventure”.   I couldn’t agree more.









A muse (notes)

Are we better off, dear poet, being sad?

Does lack of hope intensify the senses?

Ones muse can be abstruse if we are glad,

Embrace your pain then poet, build no fences.

A bard’s desire, the quintessential muse,

requires that deep depression be attained.

A genuinely somber tone, the blues,

must permeate the soul and be sustained.

but...

and..

But yet...

and Yet…

Yet...

Yet ... the crafty writer knows he may do well

to draw his muse from willful deprivation

of sleep that he may conjure bliss or Hell,

exhaustion IS a path to inspiration.

Exhaustion's good, depression's better still...

if you can manage both you're almost Will.

The bards desire, a quintessential muse,
requires that deep depression be attained.
A genuinely somber tone, the blues,
must permeate the soul and be sustained.

We're better off, as writers, being sad,
a lack of hope intensifies the senses.
The muse can be abstruse when one is glad...
embrace your pain. Oh poet, build no fences!

A crafty writer may divine a well
and draw his muse from willful deprivation
of sleep that he may conjure bliss or Hell,
exhaustion is a path to inspiration.

Exhaustion's good, depression's better still...
if you can manage both you're almost Will.



© 2002 W.D. Neighbors

Fields

Reflecting on the fields of life he’s sown
in proper furrows, perfect bales of hay,
he turns his mind to troubles that he’s known,
to knowledge lost and found along the way--

to seeds that spawned the crops to feed the years
in fields of every day, in rows of life--
to happiness aplenty, bitter tears,
cherished children, strong and loving wife.

The rhythms yield the lyrics, frank and terse,
in meadows of reflection, rows of time…
a harvest in a journal bound with verse,
a complicated life in simple rhyme--

in fields of thought, in rows of scribbled joy,
the older man, the youth… the little boy.

© 2006 W.D. Neighbors

Danny Boy

Oh, Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling
From glen to glen, and down the mountain side.
The summer's gone, and all the roses falling,
It's you, it's you must go and I must bide.

But come ye back when summer's in the meadow,
Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow,
It's I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow,
Oh, Danny boy, oh Danny boy, I love you so!

But when ye come, and all the flowers are dying,
If I am dead, as dead I well may be,
You'll come and find the place where I am lying,
And kneel and say an Ave there for me.
And I shall hear, though soft you tread above me,
And all my grave will warmer, sweeter be,
For you will bend and tell me that you love me,
And I shall sleep in peace until you come to me!

Source: LyricFind

Songwriters: Frederick E. Weatherly

Danny Boy lyrics © Universal Music Publi

Diz

For Diz… My friend's name was Denise... Denise Gurran. We met in an online poetry group....where, one day, she mis-spelled her own name via a typo.... she was "Dizzy" and then she got shortened to Diz. I never met her but I grew to know her through her poetry and personality. She was a teacher and she lived in New Zealand...never saw her...never heard her  voice...but I heard her "voice" anyway.....through her verse...... rest in peace my friend.

For Diz

We lived a world apart. We didn’t know
that we’d be friends when all was done and said
but friends we were in time …and space, although
you lived a world away,  a day ahead.

I never heard your voice but heard your song
You wrote the part and parcel and the whole
I learned the theme of you, the Lat and Long..
you shared your muse and more, you shared your soul….

They say your song is done, forever mute
I’m told your voice is gone forever... done…
But there’s a legacy death can’t refute.
your verse is living still,  the day is won….

You’re just ahead of me, it never ends
beyond eternity… forever friends.

I Think

Your love completed me. I think
your touch has made me whole.
You etched your mark, with pen and ink,
on my contrary soul.

I think you saw me with your heart.
What better way than that?
You helped me know my better part,
and knowing, wonder at.

Your loving eyes taught mine to see.
Your heart gave mine a voice.
I live for you and you for me...
as if we have a choice.

I think I'll keep you to the end,
I'll weather fair and rain...
and, yes my love, my dearest friend...
I'd do it all again.

~ Dean Neighbors ~

Wildwood Flower

"Wildwood Flower"
Song
Published
1860
Composer(s)
Joseph Philbrick Webster
Lyricist(s)
Maud Irving
History

Wildwood Flower Drive at the Carter Family Fold at Maces Springs, Virginia now Hiltons, Virginia. The Drive is named after the Carter Family hit song.
"Wildwood Flower" is a variant of the song "I'll Twine 'Mid the Ringlets",[1] published in 1860 by composer Joseph Philbrick Webster, who wrote the music, with lyrics attributed to Maud Irving. Other versions of the song have evolved, including "The Pale Amaranthus" (collected in Kentucky and North Carolina, reported in 1911),[2] "Raven Black Hair" and "The Pale Wildwood Flower" (collected 1915–1919), and "The Frail Wildwood Flower".[3]

The original Carter Family first recorded "Wildwood Flower" in 1928 on the Victor label. Maybelle Carter leads a rendition of the song on the 1972 album Will the Circle be Unbroken, and frequently performed the song in concert with Johnny Cash and on his The Johnny Cash Show. The Carter version of the song is considered the premier example of "the Carter Scratch", a form of acoustic guitar playing in which the musician (in the case of the Carters, most notably Maybelle herself) plays both the melody and rhythm lines simultaneously.

Woody Guthrie used the tune of "I'll Twine 'Mid the Ringlets" for the verses of his song "The Sinking of the Reuben James", although he added a chorus to the song.[4]

The original poem (if any) from which the lyrics derived has been lost. Other poems attributed to the reputed author of the lyrics, Maud Irving, may be found in periodicals of the time,[5] including Godey's Lady's Book[6] and Home Monthly. Several of the poems in the latter periodical carry bylines indicating that the Maud Irving of those poems was a pseudonym for poet and spiritualist J. William Van Namee.[5] '

I'll twine mid the ringlets
Of my raven black hair,
The lilies so pale
And the roses so fair,
The myrtle so bright
With an emerald hue,
And the pale aronatus
With eyes of bright blue.

I'll sing, and I'll dance,
My laugh shall be gay,
I'll cease this wild weeping
Drive sorrow away,
Tho' my heart is now breaking,
He never shall know,
That his name made me tremble
And my pale cheek to glow.

I'll think of him never
I'll be wildly gay,
I'll charm ev'ry heart
And the crowd I will sway,
I'll live yet to see him
Regret the dark hour
When he won, then neglected,
The frail wildwood flower.

He told me he loved me,
And promis'd to love,
Through ill and misfortune,
All others above,
Another has won him,
Ah! misery to tell;
He left me in silence
No word of farewell!

He taught me to love him,
He call'd me his flower
That blossom'd for him
All the brighter each hour;
But I woke from my dreaming,
My idol was clay;
My visions of love
Have all faded away.

Memory

Memory

 ( for my Mother, Juanita Fay Austian Neighbors)

You crossed the boundaries of life

to sail in Heaven's sea

and I was left to bridge the gap

between the world and me.

You left a child too young to see

you didn't choose to go,

a child who grew into a man

before he came to know,

that you left too, a legacy--

a memory of love

that God himself would be content

to be the owner of.


~ Dean Neighbors

Prudence

I love the gentle ways of you,

predictable and lovely, stark

simplicity is what you do,

it's sun or shadow, light or dark.

You dance your dance, you take your stand,

the conversation's short and sweet

with friends who, briefly, held your hand,

with wistful dreams, with self deceit.

Memories are in your book,

that time and grace forbid you show.

You know my page but never look

and, like as not, it’s better so.

“Oh, lunch.”, I hear you softly mutter, 

“Jelly, bread and peanut butter."

In a Handbasket

The bike is coasting down the lane the wheels go round and round, why am I in this basket and where is it that I’m bound? I take my chance, a leap of faith, then quickly to the farm to jump into her arms, again I’m safe from further harm. Then off to walk the yellow road, adventures are in store. I think it’s safe to say we aren’t in Kansas anymore. This was inspired by a bumper sticker I saw today.... it read, "Why am I in this hand basket, and where am I going?" and it just wouldn't go away until I wrote it. "If happy little bluebirds fly Beyond the rainbow, Why oh why can't I?"

Interval

I see the truth unfolding in my dreams,
our love exists as interwoven time.
And time is just as simple as it seems,
as basic as the meter in a rhyme.

Our time together doesn't seem to play
into the universe as now defined,
for time's a mere division of the day,
to universal pendulums confined.

But, linear, kinetic, all askew,
arrayed in any manner that may be,
no matter how defined, my love for you
exists in every moment granted me.

And only God himself could grant us this...
the universe began with our first kiss.

Me Alone

Why is it yours to pray for me,
precisely choose the course I set,
to tune the scope that I might see
your plan for me? My friend, I’ve yet

to fathom your intolerance
for those who sow and reap their fate
without your forced benevolence,
advice that won’t abide debate.

The scriptures of the universe
appear before our mortal eyes,
we stretch our minds to read the verse,
to comprehend, to realize

the words are etched on every stone,
for you, my friend-- and me alone.









~WDNeighbors~










“I render infinite thanks to God for being so kind as to make me alone the first observer of marvels kept hidden in obscurity for all previous centuries.”


~Galileo Galilei

Silence!

Can I go, quietly, away?

Let my friend have the final word…

can I control the things I say?

Like some tweetless breed of  bird?

Can I leave well enough alone…

keep my imagination mute…

Can I turn off my smarty phone?

Become a tuneless kind of lute?

You know I am a simple man….

of cotton shirt and levi pant….

Be quiet…..yes…...I think I can!!!!!

But you know better……friend…….

…….

……..

I can’t.

forlorn

-Forlorn 10/05/02 I wrote this on a flight from Albuquerque to Oakland. Best mexican food (or new
mexican food) in my many travels... Sadie's. 4th street, Albuquerque, NM.

Forlorn

Both arrogance and ignorance aside
and un-returned devotion notwithstanding,
I bow before you now devoid of pride
(apparently) but not without demanding

a measure of consistency from you
an evenness, a firmness to your scorn
when daily, with a vengeance, you renew
the attitude that's killing me. Forlorn!

Now there's a word of substance and abuse
a dismal mix of fear and consternation
that SO applies to me. What is the use...
but wait, let's look again at my contention...

a crack has formed in your facade of late
There's hope! You're inconsistent in your hate.

Little

Little hands are making messes.
Little voices making noise.
Dirty shirts and dirty dresses.
Little fingers breaking toys.

Papa pay us some attention.
Little patience from the start.
Papa, don't forget to mention,
Little hands that hold your heart.

~ © Copyright 2001 By: W.D.Neighbors ~

Earth Day

So, earth day is my birthday... but it was not always so. Anyway this little time travel story I am about to tell you isn’t about earth day, per se. It just happens that the story, coincidentally, takes place on the very first Earth day, April 22, 1970. 

I remember the day because April 22, 1970 was my 22nd birthday. Oh, and because it was the day I came home from the 12 months I spent in Cam Ranh Bay, Vietnam. 

Even though my flight wasn’t leaving until about 2 P.M (that’s 1400 in Navy talk), I woke up the morning of April 22, 1970 at 2 a.m. I was so excited to be going home to my wife after 12 months that I couldn't sleep. Several of my fellow Navy Radiomen, who had arrived in Vietnam with me, were scheduled to leave on the same flight and several of them were, like me, up well before dawn.

It was a pretty uneventful day until we boarded our flight. My memory of walking up the ramp to the plane is like a high definition photo….etched in my memory. The flight left on time at about 2 p.m. and we were off. The next 17 hours or so are pretty boring so I will, mostly, skip over that part. We made a refueling stop at Yakota Air Force base in Japan at one point and we flew “the great circle route” because it’s shorter to go over the top of the Earth ... it’s smaller up there, no really (google it, or examine a basketball)

I’m gonna go with military time to make it easier from this point forward in the story. 2:00 p.m Vietnam time is 1400 hours. When it is 1400 hours in vietnam it is 00:00 (midnight the night before) in Seattle. So, that means you cross 14 time zones in the transit from Vietnam to Seattle. Oh, and by the way, you also cross the international date line.

 So, we departed Cam Ranh Bay airport april 22 at 1400 local time or april 21 00:00 Seattle time. One thing I learned, having crossed the international date line several times both on a ship and on an airplane… if you are flying across the dateline and passing through that many time zones it is best if you just take your watch off and put it in your pocket because it is useless.

Since my watch was in my pocket I don’t know what time we were in Yakota, Japan but I remember that it was dark and I was having bacon and eggs in the passenger terminal while we were waiting to refuel, so seeing as how Japan is on the Eastern side of the international date line and we hadn’t yet crossed it (google it) it seems reasonable that when we landed in Yakota, it was past midnight Japan time and we had, therefore, leaked into the morning of the 23rd.. But, not to worry, we were only there long enough to refuel and have breakfast then we departed for Seattle.. a couple hours after we departed Yakota, we crossed the International date line back into the past and it was April 22/my birthday again so no harm done. Although, I have to wonder if the fact that I went forward into April 23rd 1970 and then drifted back into April 22nd 1970 means that I’m now 74 instead of 73. God, I hope not. But it IS true that I visited the day after my birthday (April 23rd) and then traveled backwards in time into April 22nd again by the simple act of crossing the international date line.. Wait, can I apply for an extra year of Social Security pay? 

We finally landed at Mchord Air Force Base near Seattle at about 1700 local time on April 22… if you are keeping score, at this point it is 0700 on April 23rd in Vietnam but I was no longer in vietnam, I'm in Washington state and it's still my birthday. This means my birthday, so far, has lasted for 31 hours. At midnight I was sleeping safely in a Barracks at Naval Station Seattle when my birthday ended after a total of 38 hours. I think that’s right, you can check my math, I don’t care.

So….that’s my time travel story, or one of my time travel stories (I’ve crossed the international date line 12 times so far and I hope to do it at least once more).

Low

-Low - 10/07/02 I was trying to exaggerate beyond my wildest thoughts....get as low as I could go....and then say it was worse last week... so I figured if you could look up and see Hell.. it was pretty bad.

Low

I am just a doormat for your love.
I wipe the mud of life from all your shoes.
I've sunk too low to use the rhyme "above"
If I could reach the notes I'd sing the blues.

Hey wait, what is that light I see on high
and do I now detect some warmth as well?
But no, this place I see is not the sky
Im looking at the bottom side of hell.

But truly, in the past it's been much worse.
Imoved up just this week to bleak from dismal.
And look at all the fodder for my verse
Im finding rhymes for "pity" and "abysmal"

So all in all I think I've raised my station.
I'm positively giddy with elation.

Interval

A simple truth unfolds inside my dreams,

our lives are lived in interwoven time,

and time is just as simple as it seems,

as basic as the rhythm in a rhyme.

It's true, love doesn’t always have to play

into the universe as so defined,

a preassigned division of the day,

to universal pendulums confined.

But llinear, kinetic, all askew,

arrayed in any manner that may be,

no matter how defined, my love for you

exists in every moment granted me.

And only God himself could grant us this...

the universe began with our first kiss.

Sewing Circle

This is for the ladies who donate their time to knit and sew for  the patients in the Pediatric Heart Center at UCSF, San Francisco.  Many years ago, the Doctors in this amazing hospital literally saved the life of a young lady that I know, the daughter of my daughter's best friend. We visited the little one several times at the hospital and learned that all the babies are given free blankets and snuggies, knitted hats and the like.  

Sewing Circle

They don’t require, nor have they kept
a penny for their tender task.
The comfort sewn as tears are wept,
a finer wage they couldn't ask.

As mothers wait and pray aloud
that hope may live forever thus
the quiet artists, shy and proud,
construct, of cloth, a loving truss.

To help support the cause of hope,
their time is spent, compassion sewn,
to soothe the ones who have to cope
with fear that most have never known.

From in the heart and high above,
from nothing asked, a quilt of good—
a sewing circle made of love,
of universal motherhood.

~ Dean Neighbors~