Ruth Carey

Whiting, New Jersey

I grew up in a peaceful, quiet setting in the Hudson valley. I was educated at a private school and attended college but did not graduate. After working for years in the business world as a secretary I attended art school in the evenings, and for years have striven to express myself artistically. I am presently living in a remote area and, not being anywhere near museums or art galleries, my art efforts seem futile. Therefore, in 1996 I turned to writing poetry and free verse as a better means of gaining some recognition for my creative efforts.

meander, meander, where shall it go
across the stream to the rocky flow
over the current, over the wave
over the crest to a watery grave

will I follow it there, and then nevermore
look back to the ghost on the distant shore
as it fades into twilight, most gladly I go
will I follow it there in the evening's glow

will I follow it there at the close of the day
will I meet with a rush the water's fair play
as it rumbles and ripples and babbles it's way
to the miasmal center

Will we meet again, in a time unborn

In a place where that which was and is and will be

Will flow together

Where you and I can be at peace
while all around us thunders and roils
in the undying turmoil of eternity

The flags are flying, the banners waving,
the men are weeping, over by the wall.
They are full of memories,
All the dead soldiers.

The flags are flying, the pennants flowing,
the men are crying, by the parade ground.
O why do they cry;
All the dead soldiers.

Who will cry with them.

All the dead soldiers.

Who will weep for them.

All the dead soldiers.

Who can know their grief.

Only dead solders.

I grew up in Riverdale.  IN the 1930's.

Caves and woods.  Warm spring days, long summer
evenings, crisp autumn, slanted sunlight.

On the radio: "Jack Armstrong, the all-American boy!"
"This is CX-4, calling Control Tower.
Captain Midnight, coming in!"
"What evil lurks in the hearts of men?
The Shadow knows."

The West Indians flew their miniature planes in
Van Cortlandt Park, Saturday and Sunday.
A far off hum.  Late at night, if the wind
was right, you could heart the elevated trains
coming and going.  The hum of the city was
approaching.  I didn't know it then but soon
the city would be in, and I would be out.

I live in New Jersey now, central New Jersey.
Senior citizen land.  The elephant's graveyard.