DOUGLAS J. LANZO - POEMS

An award-winning and featured poet recently published in Vita Brevis' best-selling poetry anthology Brought to Sight & Swept Away, since 2020 Doug’ poetry has found homes in 33 literary publications across the U.S., Canada, England, Wales, Austria, Mauritius, Australia and The Caribbean.   Doug resides in Chevy Chase, Maryland with his wife and 12-year old identical twin sons Alex and Gregory, enjoying nature, different cultures, traveling, biking, tennis and chess.

“Two Horses and a Bridge”
​

​Two black horses, regal and unbowed,
pulled his caisson solemnly across a bridge
forever stained by the blood of peaceful marchers
led by a rising star in the Civil Rights movement
affectionately nicknamed the “boy from Troy”
by his dear friend and mentor, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

A humble man and ordained Baptist minister
steeped in Scripture and the exemplary life
of Mahatma Gandhi, John Lewis
preached and exemplified non-violence
and redemptive suffering at great personal sacrifice.
The price included a skull fractured and never fully healed,
a body beaten unconscious and left in its own pool of blood,
and wounds and scars of every stripe inflicted
in dozens of hate-filled beatings
as he led freedom riders and
chaired the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee
riding buses and marching in the Deep South
for a righteous cause.

Staring death in its face
on more than one occasion, he stood tall --
ready to make the ultimate sacrifice, if required,
in a compelling struggle to create
a more just and holy nation,
one true to its founding principles of
liberty, equality and justice.

On March 5, 1965, the nation felt righteous indignation
as they witnessed the anguish and suffering
of John Lewis and his fellow marchers,
brutally beaten but morally unbowed,
just as two majestic horses
bore the casket of a man too humble
to rename the bridge in his honor.

On this day of remembrance, rose petals
lay scattered across the bridge,
vivid reminders of the
drops of blood shed that Bloody Sunday
in the searing face of racism
and senseless hate in a futile attempt
to thwart the historic march
of Doctor King and his followers
from Selma to the steps of Alabama’s capitol 
as Doctor King, John Lewis and their fellow marchers
blazed the trail of voting freedom
marching 54 blood-stained miles.
John Lewis’ words about
the many bridges we still have to cross
echoed in my mind with the footsteps of
each mounted horse as
they pulled the beloved Civil Rights icon across
the notorious Edmund Pettus Bridge,
 trailed by his family and chief of staff
and watched in adulation by a nation
marching with him in spirit and in truth, together,
one bridge closer to the Promised Land.
 

“Haiku Realization of the Day

Armed with bass fishing lures
guaranteed to work or
be re-shipped from China
and visions of largemouth bass
swimming in our heads,
my 11-year old identical twin sons
and I headed for Little Seneca Lake.
We were brimming with confidence
that we would land the big one:
the Lock Ness Monster-sized bass
with perhaps a pickerel to boot,
rivaling the size of the mighty
Arkansas River catfish
we had watched Jeremy Wade noodle
bare-handed on River Monsters.
Hours later, we emerged with a small arsenal
of bucketed fish that we released back into the Lake
and memories of other sundry captures
enhanced by a fish tale of the giant bass that,
fortunate for itself, had managed to bite
its way through Gregory’s fishing line to freedom,
thus narrowing escaping
an otherwise certain pan-fried death.

This mighty arsenal consisted
of a tiny Green Perch
hand-caught by my other son, Alex,
while hiding safely, or so it thought,
beneath a late summer leaf,
a three inch iridescent Green Sunfish and
four-inch black speckled Crappie,
each caught with a fishing net
hovering beneath a chicken-baited line.

Not to be outdone, my personal exploits
notching my hunting and fishing belt that day
consisted of a hand-caught and released
Yellow Swallowtail that, much to its chagrin,
had been caught entranced in a mating dance
with its would-be lover along a creek
and a near-sighted Morning Glory
net-caught along the lakeshore
while refueling for its fluttering travels.
Haiku highlights of the day included:
approaching within forty feet
of a preening Belted Kingfisher
restoring its royal feathers
and blue crown to regal glory,
truly the crowning achievement of the day;

witnessing a Great Blue Heron
displaced by a paddle boat
squawking and croaking in protest as
it flew to the opposite lakeshore;

observing pairs of swallows
playfully criss-cross,
weaving paths hot in pursuit
of doomed and frenzied mosquitoes
along the sun-drenched lake;

noting wood ducks blissfully
paddle their way more slowly
than the reeling of my fishing line,
and even a tad bit more leisurely than
the people-powered paddle boats along the lake;

watching keen-eared painted turtles
prematurely slide off logs into the water
as I meandered over thirty feet away
along trails in a secluded marshy area
fed by the trickling waters
of a modest tributary creek;

inspecting a beaver-hewed birch tree stump
partially chewed through and surrounded by
myriad pieces of wood clippings
marked with souvenirs of beaver teeth
fit for ornamental display;
viewing a twenty-odd V-formation of
honking Canadian Geese
noisily hydroplane onto the placid surface
of an otherwise serene lake; and

last but not least,
beholding a bright green grasshopper
steadily plodding along the pebbles
of a rocky embankment near the dock house,
only to realize that it was being propelled forward,
not by its own energies, but by a tiny ant hoisting
its lifeless body along an arduous path
all the way to a mound of dirt
housing its awaiting colony.
And so, we left that Lake,
likely teeming with giant bass
that had lived to roam free and wild another day,
but bearing a most valuable realization.
This true haiku moment was our appreciation
that  Mother Nature has a remarkable sense of humor which,
if properly appreciated and nourished with humility,
brings wonder and enchantment, transforming
ordinary moments into extraordinary experiences. 


FIRST PUBLISHED IN LITERARY YARD 

 “Tears of Supernova Eyes”

Supernova eyes
forged from billions of star years
beautify my sky
radiating elements
blinking tears of cosmic death