Loved From Afar

The time was not right,
is it ever, you had
your life, I had mine,
infatuation, maybe, maybe love.

Remembering, we had something,
something very special, though
we dare not act on it, for we
feared reprisal.

The first time I saw you,
I did not know of my
infatuation, that would
come much later.

Our friendship grew, the image
of you made my blood boil,
your aroma quickened my heart,
the curve of your neck filled me
with desire.

I knew you felt it, the touch of
your hand when you came near,
the graze of a hip, the warmth
of your smile.

Spending hours together, when
we could be elsewhere, collecting
images for what would have to sustain
us when we parted, longing to be
together again.

Our ritual continued for
months, never acting, friendship
growing, until that fateful
parting.

Many years latter, I knew
we had given up something
special, a shared moment,
we had loved, loved from afar.

By Dan Hanosh Warriors and Wars


http://www.poemhunter.com/dan-hanosh/

Tags: Poetry The Brave the few writing
Loved From Afar


http://www.poemhunter.com/dan-hanosh/

My Last Moments at the Lake . . .

Standing, gazing,
trying to take in
the lakes beauty,
one last time.

The autumn wind blows,
cold and crisp,
chilling me enough
to put on gloves.

A loon dives
deep in the bay
where the dock used to sit,
natures way of saying, Goodbye.

I stood alone, a special moment,
just me and the lake,
not a sound could be heard,
remembering.

Red, brown, orange foliage,
the vistas of fall, fill
my senses, as I stare
across the bay, wondering.

Soon the bay
would be covered
with ice and
I would not see it.

Where has the time gone,
would I ever be so happy
as I was at the lake,
life can be so very cruel.

With Spring, the ice would thaw,
the wild life
would return and
I would not see it.

The others say Goodbye
in their own special way,
some get angry, some take a
walk or even a boat ride.

I enter the van,
pulling away from the lake,
a tear runs down my cheek, for
the lake is gone, forever.

By Dan Hanosh
Warriors and Wars


http://www.poemhunter.com/dan-hanosh/


Tags: Poetry The Brave the few



http://www.poemhunter.com/dan-hanosh/

Snowflake Warriors

Colors
fly,
governing,
flakes fall,
appearing similar,
yet so very
different.

Slowly,
they wage
a battle, starting
with a small insertion,
dropping, gathering on the
ground, before the chaos of
the major offensive.

Warriors
drop through
the clouds, in numbers
too high to count, falling
to their end, their demise,
landing, to be shoveled into
a pile, forgotten, forever.

By Dan Hanosh
Warriors and Wars


http://www.poemhunter.com/dan-hanosh/

Tags: Poetry The Brave the few

Protesting War

“Man Arrested Protesting War”,
was the headline,
or something,
the story didn’t make
the front page,

Protesters, marched,
against the opening
of a museum, a
display, vandalized,
red paint thrown
on the floor.

The famed Enola Gay,
was on display,
the one that dropped
the Atom bomb.

Then, I saw him,
nearly eighty years of age,
tears streamed down
his face, he was
the one, the vandal,

My thoughts would not stop,
obviously, of Asian descent,
his family or friends
might have been,

disintegrated, with not even a
body or fallen from
the fall out,

still the radiation, the pain,
war is hell and
I cried.

By Dan Hanosh taken from
The World Outside My Window
Warriors and War

Now One Thousand

I sit in wonder what is war but fear
can one escape the torment or does it eat
of your flesh does the wounded hear
the shot that maims does the dying
know which bullet kills are there
regrets or just peace at last once
they trudge that final path

soldier’s must walk with weighted hearts
weapons locked loaded and lethal
sweat beads drop down a dusty brow
too heavy to run too bulky to stop
from door to door silently snaking
through desert streets bullets screeching

pray not to die so close yet so far
our sons our daughters sacrificed
drop down behind oh so holy hills
shifting dunes bullets pierce sand
friends fall never to rise again
tracers light the cloudless sky
tears begin to blind their eyes
sticky hands wipe dried crimson drops
somehow they must get through till dark

Apaches buzz swarming vultures
many have fallen brave soldiers
red white blue blankets
shade our blameless warriors
now one thousand.

by Dan Hanosh