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Meeting at the Ritz

by Marshall Jamison

The others who were there that day have answered their last page at the glorious old hotel. Your reporter, hopefully, will answer to several more.
To a New Englander born in downtown Boston over three quarters of a century ago, the ancient city grows more appealing in the heart of an old campaigner as the years follow each other in swift, but dwindling, procession.

So many memories; as a little fellow in Cambridge, hitching a ride on the horse-drawn sleigh that delivered blocks of ice to ancient neighborhood ice boxes. With my Dad and little brother seeing Charlie Devens pitch for Harvard with, I think, Herman Fink catching, “Rabbit” Maranville artfully displaying his patented vest pocket catch at old Braves Field in Alston, Clarence De Mar and Johnny Kelley making yet another great run over the Newton Hills to a downtown finish in the Boston Marathon, Evening at Pops, nostalgic rides on the Garden’s swan boats, Christmas caroling around the State House and on Beacon Hill.

Continue reading → Meeting at the Ritz

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April Nineteenth (Part II)

by Marshall Jamison

Our father, as we grew older, included us in the group of his college students who shared, each year on April Nineteenth, a bus ride from Faneuil Hall in downtown Boston to Lexington and Concord where the day was spent with such as Thoreau, Revere, Alcott and Emerson (to drop a name or two.)

The Green at Lexington is the natural first stop on the trail to the magic wrought by those glorious historic fellows. While now surrounded by the traffic of busy city streets, the Green itself retains the atmospheric mystery of the brave Minute Men who stood their ground and fought for the freedom some of them would die for.

But it is “by the rude bridge that arched the flood” in old Concord Town that the spirit of our land and its indomitable founders is most evident. To two awestruck lads, the legend of heroism eulogized by Ralph Waldo Emerson in his epoch verse was unforgettable. It greets the visitor on the path that leads to and over the bridge to the simple heroic statue of the rugged Minute Man. There the bravery and resolution of the “embattled farmers” of the poem are illustrated with artistic integrity and simple dignity.

Now the Concord River flows peacefully through on green fields and quiet farms which epitomize rural America. May it flow thus always.

To those of us who have had the unearned glorious privilege of growing up in this country and calling it our own, the Nineteenth of April is a day of incredible historic significance. But now the celebration of its glory is deeply scarred for all of us by the unforgivable sin of the Oklahoma Massacre.

We pray the future will bring peace and deep solace to our countrymen who have suffered pain, loss and death. May their forefather’s courage serve as a guiding example for their lives.

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Too Late for Thanks: A Partial Recall (Part I)

by Marshall Jamison

As a small boy growing up in historic Cambridge, Massachusetts, my first hero was the old man who lived next door and told me stories. On clear days he would be out early in the morning to watch his son run up the flag on the tall flag pole that stood in his blossom filled garden. His own experiences, real life stories of the Civil War, describing the heroism and glory of his comrades, found me a fascinated listener.

Then when I realized my own grandfather had served in that war as a Marine, could also tell true stories that thrilled my heart and mind, I become a hopeless hero worshiper, stirred by such tales of Valor.

Continue reading → Too Late for Thanks: A Partial Recall (Part I)

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A Promise Kept

by Marshall Jamison

(Publisher’s Note: We are pleased to announce that this poem, after being seen in GO INSIDE Magazine, has been selected for publication in The National Library of Poetry’s book: “The Best Poetry of 1997”)

He held her again as he had when she first told him.
Then she told him again and then he promised
To marry her as soon as he was eighteen
And he did.

At twenty-two after two more babies
And before they could conceive again
He volunteered for the Navy, took basic training in California,
Was assigned to Pacific duty, finally to Hawaii
and the battleship USS Arizona forever.

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A Boy Named Laughter

by Marshall Jamison

Trumpets screamed a triumphant message
In her brain
But she lay quietly as her heart beat
With joy and thankful relief of pain.
Her new son slept beside her, in the peace
Of quiet exhaustion
She called him Isaac because she liked the name –
Her first born son. Her wise nurse then
Told her, according to the Bible, the name
Means laughter.
So there in the dark, she held laughter
To her breast, with Joy.

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These Truths

by Marshall Jamison

We don’t hear their words with true respect
Nor do we honor what they mean,
Those words they wrote and spoke with pride
Before they left the scene.
We Hold These Truths To Be — they are
Only if we make them so!

All Men Are Created Equal says their dream.

Never to be whispered low
But trumpeted boldly on the wind,
Carrying to all this message of
Real worth:
Have respect, for all who honor those words
Fashioned at our Country’s birth,
By the wise men who created and trusted
Their great master plan,
Showing by example, their true belief in
The brotherhood of man.

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High Fliers on Demand

by Marshall Jamison

“Write something about ospreys and eagles,”
My Maine Sister-in-Law says to me.
Never before has she shown that much interest in my poetry
and it gave me pause because she’s extremely
pretty – has a brain to match her looks – so I considered her words carefully.

Then thought back to my boyhood days,
In Summer when I prowled the rocky shore,
Fished for flounders in the bay, dreamed of
Outer islands I’d discover and explore,
So when a lobsterman I knew said he was
setting traps out there,
At four in the morning I got up to go
With him any and everywhere.

Out there on the isles we found the ospreys, nests high
in stunted island pines, buffeted by
Sea winds, apart,
Secure in attitude.

We watched them from afar, understanding
They weren’t being rude
But that they’d learned from their friends,
The Eagles,
The joy, the peace in quiet solitude.