Monday, September 28, 2015

Do Not Disturb So Easily

Do not disturb so easily
The dead who lay beneath the sod;
Unknown to those who live and breathe,
Forgotten by all is the life they trod.

Stroll reverently among the graves;
This no place for light frolic or jest.
Remember soon will come the day,
You will too lay there among the dead.

Do not disturb so easily,
Those, who in rest, await the Day.
While you walk so blithely,
Giving no thought about your way.

Do not disturb so easily
The dead who lay beneath the sod.
The day will come when you too,
Will also go to meet your God.

J. William Newcomer
September 28, 2015 © All rights reserved.

Tuesday, December 23, 2014


They battled…
Flashes lit up the darkness of the night…
Howls and shrieks and the blaring trumpets shattered the stillness,
Though scarcely heard so far below.

No room or place for tactics or strategy;
No flanking movements…
No lovely high ground,
No field of advantage,
Straight out head on clash, weapon upon weapon,
Brutal frontal assault…
One upon another…

Slowly the thrust of battle shifted…
Higher, higher, higher the warring armies ascended…
The clash of and flash of light faded,
And the darkness again ruled the night.
Until dawn broke across the eastern sky…

J. William Newcomer Copyright © December, 2014

Wednesday, January 22, 2014


 I sit there idly in the van
As it slowly moves through the brushes
And water and rub-a-dubs and soap.
So as we come off the rinse
Into the fiercely blowing drying blasts of air,
I look to my left into the wall sized mirror
In which van and I are reflected. 

Startled I am to see myself there
As if in some philotic reflection of
 Myself in another universe,
 Or non-dimension outside of any universe.
I nod greeting to myself and
Wonder in our nodding to ourself,
If we could reach across the separation,
What would we do to one another?

 Copyright © 2014 by J. William Newcomer;  All rights reserved.

Saturday, November 2, 2013

Relative Time

We see time as linear;
That being how we experience time,
Though we know it is relative;
Being realized in the relation of objects
In their relative motion one to another.

We say God is outside of time,
As He would have to be; being creator of these objects
And their relative motion in relation one to another
By which time we see…

So for us who are finite, time will always be,
For only He can encompass eternity…
So be careful how you speak of time;
Of ages past or yet to come.
For one is as a thousand,
And a thousand is as one.

J. William Newcomer, November 2013, Copyright © November 2013, all rights reserved.

Sunday, September 8, 2013

Why Poetry?

"Why do we have to read poetry? Why "II Penseroso"? Read it and you will know why. If you still don't know, read it again. And again. Some of them took the things she said to heart, as she had done once when they were said to her. She was helping them assume their humanity. People have always made poetry, she told them. Trust that it will matter to you..."

~ "Home" by Marilynne Robinson

Monday, December 24, 2012

"O God, our help in ages past,
our hope for years to come,
our shelter from the stormy blast,
and our eternal home.

Under the shadow of thy throne,
still may we dwell secure;
sufficient is thine arm alone,
and our defense is sure.

Before the hills in order stood,
or earth received her frame,
from everlasting, thou art God,
to endless years the same.

A thousand ages, in thy sight,
are like an evening gone;
short as the watch that ends the night,
before the rising sun.

Time, like an ever rolling stream,
bears all who breathe away;
they fly forgotten, as a dream
dies at the opening day.

O God, our help in ages past,
our hope for years to come;
be thou our guide while life shall last,
and our eternal home. "

~ Isaac Watts

This past month (December 2012) we have had occassion to bury both my mother and my father. Dad passed away two weeks and one day after mom did. As I contemplated what a major change this is going to be in my life, the above words of Isaac Watts came to mind.

(Cross posted to The Billy Goat Blog.)

Wednesday, November 21, 2012

HUSH’D be the camps to-day,

HUSH’D be the camps to-day,
And soldiers let us drape our war-worn weapons,
And each with musing soul retire to celebrate,
Our dear commander’s death.

No more for him life’s stormy conflicts,
Nor victory, nor defeat- no more time’s dark events,
Charging like ceaseless clouds across the sky.
But sing poet in our name,

Sing of the love we bore him- because you, dweller in camps, know it truly.

As they invault the coffin there,
Sing- as they close the doors of earth upon him- one verse,
For the heavy hearts of soldiers.

Walt Whitman – May, 1865

(Acknowledgement to Cosmic America.)