.
Band of Brothers
A picture of two soldiers in their prime.
A scribbled note in cursive on the back.
“My Dearest Son, if ever comes a time
When I am gone, whatever you may lack
Or need, just phone this number. When you do,
Just tell the man who answers who you are,
And he will be as like myself to you.
For he and I were brothers in the war.”
Today I got a phone call from a teen
Who asked if I would buy him a new bike.
When I found out what he had read and seen,
And heard his name, I told him I would like
To do that very much. From that day on
I cared for him as if he was my son.
.
.
Good Neighbors
I knocked, he answered. “’Morning, Phil,” I said.
“I hate to bother you but would you mind
If I could use your mower? Mine’s gone dead.”
As neighbors go, Phil is the generous kind.
“Of course,” he said. “And here’s my edger, too.
And if there’s something else, just let me know.”
In winter I have done what I could do
To keep Phil’s walk and driveway clear of snow.
A cup of sugar or two cups of flour
Are often passed between his house and mine.
Some days a cup of coffee and an hour
Or two to chew the fat will blur the line
Between what’s “his” and “mine.” Our very lives—
We share it all, except, of course, our wives!
.
.
What the Good Samaritan Knew
The car in front of me pulled right
And to the side, its rear lights flashing red.
In front, what had been hidden from my sight,
The carcass of a deer lay limp and dead.
Another car was lying on its side,
Its front end crumpled where it had just struck
The doe that suddenly appeared, and died.
The driver was unhurt, by grace or luck.
I pulled up, too, and talked but mostly stood
Until a sheriff’s deputy arrived
To call a tow. I asked him if I should
Have stopped or passed on by, and he replied,
“To stop is good, I guess, but not if you
Have no idea what you’re going to do.”
.
.
James A. Tweedie is a retired pastor living in Long Beach, Washington. He has written and published six novels, one collection of short stories, and four collections of poetry including Sidekicks, Mostly Sonnets, and Laughing Matters, all with Dunecrest Press. His poems have been published nationally and internationally in both print and online media. He was honored with being chosen as the winner of the 2021 SCP International Poetry Competition.
All three poems reflect in some way the “milk of human kindness” including the third one that portrayed the desire to be of service. Not sharing wives was a funny line and ending to the second poem. I cannot help but wonder if all three are based on personal experiences or at least some of the stories shared by your parishioners. Each one could provide the basis for a sermon.
By the way, my uncle, Reverend Aaron Backus, founded a Southern Baptist Church in Lynnwood, Washington, around 1960.
One of my cousins lives in Lynnwood but, sadly, does not attend a church even though his father was a Pastor. By the way, thanks for the positive comment.
I agree with Roy that these could all be sermons. I think church attendance would increase dramatically if all sermons were delivered in sonnet form. It would certainly force pastors to fit their messages into much shorter and easier-to-remember sermons. Well done.
Lol, Warren! One of my favorite comics is a drawing of a pastor who has fallen asleep in the middle of his sermon! Brevity, they say, is the soul of wit—as well as wisdom, perhaps . .
“Good Neighbors” ends with a nicely done humorous twist. My late grandfather often used that expression, ‘to chew the fat’. Wonder where that comes from?
Lol, Warren! One of my favorite comics is a drawing of a pastor who has fallen asleep in the middle of his sermon! Brevity, they say, is the soul of wit—as well as wisdom, perhaps . . .
Oops, wrong place. I’ll repost it correctly.
Cheryl, I’m glad you liked the punch line. Fat, like on a steak where there is a bit of gristle, can be chewed a long time. That’s my guess as to the origin of the phrase.
“Band of Brothers” is extremely moving, at least partly because it’s so well-told. I enjoyed “Good Neighbors”, also, which is also very well and succinctly told. It seems like a throwback to an older time, when everyone spent time getting to know their neighbors. “Good Samaritan” made me smile, because it is such an interesting and unexpected parallel to the Bible story. Thanks for a great read, James.
You are very welcome, Cynthia
Band of brothers reminds me of years ago recording the backs of photographs from an album of old-boys from a village school who had served in WWI. The schoolmaster recorded their names on the backs of the photographs, and the dates of passing for those who died. I recall one in eight died, changing the demographics of the village forever. Of course, there’s no record of the kindnesses and kindly realignment of relationships that must have occurred after the war, such as you mention in your poem.
You seem to have (and be yourself) an old school neighbour. I noticed on my last sojourn to the UK that most garden fences are around head height, not chest height as they were years back so you could have a good chinwag with your neighbour.
As for your good Samaritan sonnet, it’s always good to stop and give reassurance to someone who’s experienced a trauma.
Thanks for the reads, James.
Paul, a year ago May, while in Oxford I stopped by the New College chapel to revisit Joseph Epstein’s notable and (to me, at least) deeply moving statue of “Lazarus.” On a wall close nearby is a very large memorial plaque bearing the names of approximately 250 “. . . men of this college who died serving their country during five years of war—1914-1919.” Multiply that by all the other colleges and universities in the British Empire and every other nation that suffered during the Great War and one finds the loss of nearly an entire generation of the world’s brightest and most talented minds to be as devastating as it is incomprehensible. Even when it purports to save us in the present, war, by its nature, also and always kills off a large share of our future along with it.