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Poems By Poet Bill Grace  11/23/2014 12:33:46 PM
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A Prose Piece as Poetry Eulogizing Dwight Eisenhower

'The death of President Eisenhower takes from our midst a great Ameican, a great statesman and military leader who served our country in peace and war with sound judgment and outstanding courage.' Speaker of the House John McCormack

In Washington tonight the heart of Dwight David Eisenhower is still. He passed gently from us at 12: 25 this afternoon. President, General of the Army, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Supreme Commander of N.A.T.O., author, and former President of Columbia University; all prove an inadequate measure of the man. For Dwight Eisenhower was the embodiment of an American dream.

Only history can judge the ultimate significance of the 'Eisenhower Years'. It will have much to assess; implementation of containment, the peaceful uses of atomic energy, establishment of coexistence, the first enforcements pertaining to civil rights, the ending of the Korean conflict, and the espousal of the Eisenhower Doctrine, but perhaps most the fact that he moderated the fury of our our domestic politics. Only time can validate whatever judgment we hold.

Official Washington, as well as the world, has paid profuse tribute to this great American. Richard Nixon spoke of his 'unique place in American history'. Lyndon Johnson declared him 'A giant of our age'. Truman praised his military acumen, and Hubert Humphrey his international foresight. Ted Kennedy cited his 'quiet dignity' and Earl Warren stated that he felt an illustrious chapter in world history had closed. Everett Dirksen, the Republican Senate Minority Leader, had the most definitive comment: 'The World Liked Ike.'

Yet the significanc of Dwight David Eisenhower lies not in the world of Washington's movers and shakers. It lies in the genuine and sincere affection with which he was held by his fellow citizens. Of all the beautiful tributes paid to this former President the greatest was given by an anonymous negro woman who, when asked, stopped before the local television cameras and said: 'I think he was a nice man. I'm sorry he died, and I hope he goes to heaven.' Dwight Eisenhower's spirit lives in the hearts of those who knew him. There was no facade.
His intense humanity has not been lost upon us.
Bill Grace



Chasing the Ice Cream Truck - a Happy Poem

My friend says to me:
“Write a happy poem.”
Not being sure where they come from
I say
but do not know for sure
that I can keep my word
with even words,
as the case may be.

Walking the dog
in that pleasant end of day time
the merry sound of the ice cream
anoints the evening
with a tin jingle -
from a side street
it careens around the corner
and disappears.

Again, I do not know from where –
I think she had black hair –
slightly buxom
flushed face beauty
and beauty to be
she is running – south
from my north,
“Which way did the ice cream truck go? ”
she demands.

Pell-mell she proceeds in pursuit
to catch and be caught
by her happy prey.

I wonder if
God was listening,
for a happy poem came
as well as a pretty girl
with flowing black hair
on a pleasant evening
I would capture here.
Bill Grace



On a Senior Master Sergeant

Quietly she stands in line
Behind those of clearly lower rank
Her strips of seven noticeable against their three - four
Her face is taught she does not talk or smile
Carries a silent sadness about her
that takes my greeting with good accord
As she gathers food to bag and goes out the door
Captive pilgrim towards an eighth stripe more
Not even lunch allowed to break
The frightful pace of march.
Bill Grace



Two Hype Tales

For years my being a watch nut -
when the great astronaut came to visit -
I asked him
the Omega space watch.
The story he told
was quite simple.
Near launch
felt the astronauts
should have a watch.
So, someone
went down to the base exchange
which just happened to have
three Omegas in stock.


With a dash of Madison Avenue
for leaven
was born.

Witness copy from the box
Of a Fisher Space Pen:
' xxx
the Russians figured out
a pencil could work just fine.

I only know
central inventory
was never able
to fill my order.
Bill Grace
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Poems By Poet Bill Grace