PortFire

Archives from 2011-2025

Author: ellery twining

  • Parade Season

    each spring, as the parades
    approached, many veterans
    would need to update
    their uniforms. a small percentage
    are Vietnam Veterans
    who discarded their awards
    in disgust. an accumulation
    of time altered their original
    conscription, and now wanted to
    participate.
    and represent.

    the veterans of World War II
    did not have to confront
    the decision their Vietnam brethren had to.
    the Greatest Generation watched over decades,
    as their uniforms were desecrated
    by curious grandchildren.

    “i need a belt buckle.”

    “a regular web belt for work?”

    “No, a Goddamn USMC buckle in all it’s glory!”

    my father in law- who owned the Army Navy surplus store
    i found myself working in
    had bought 120 USMC Dress buckles
    at a trade show years earlier.
    there were still a few dozen
    in our attic stockroom.

    “hold on one minute, i’ll be right back.”

    i immediately find a
    boxed USMC belt buckle,
    and head back down the
    rickety stairs from the attic,
    to the retail floor.

    “how much do i owe you, kid?”

    “on the house. it’s the least we can do.”

    “awww, c’mon kid, i can pay you!”

    “hey- didn’t anyone give you something for free today?”

    he raised his head to look directly into my eyes.
    i thought i could hear his train of thought.

    “a free buckle? a free buckle?”

    holding the small
    cardboard box
    he spoke eloquently

    “You are making an old Marine proud.”

    he then exits the store.

    the sound is congruent
    everyone in earshot
    was aware of what we heard.

    i race to the deck outside the store
    as customers are dialing 911
    on their cell phones.
    when i reach his fallen figure, i ask “are you ok?”

    he replied~
    “yes, i am.”

    a moment later, a police officer arrived as
    the first responder.
    he walked across the deck
    that provides access to the store.

    “have you been drinking today?
    “no, no, no, sir…..”

    “Stand Up….”

    the officer plants his hands under
    the arms of the Marine Veteran
    and gradually brings him
    to his feet.

    “have you been drinking today?” the officer repeats his question, with
    an edge of malice.
    i was shocked at the lack of a level of subtlety from the officer.
    perhaps they dealt with this “emergency” everyday.

    and yet, i decided to speak out:

    “hey, take it easy on him….”

    the officer held the Marine in the same position and then
    slowly craned his neck to look directly at me.

    “i’ll let you know when i want you to talk.”

    i thought to myself
    i would oblige,
    and remain silent.

    a gathering of EMT’s, firefighters, and police
    have gathered at the scene.
    they all seem to look at me
    with a coordinated
    disdain.

    “you couldn’t differentiate a heart attack
    from a drunk old man?”

  • October 2001

    October 2001

    i was confronted
    with the dichotomy
    of the internet
    in the late autumn of 2001.

    the attack on America
    had specifically affected the content
    of our culture, and our national identity.
    i attended a concert
    by a prestigious English band
    at the Riverside Church during the
    October of that year.
    in Manhattan, security was
    prominent.

    a week after the show, i found myself in a
    bulletin board forum,
    the early century precursor
    to facebook, and twitter.
    a topic caught my attention- the security
    at the Riverside Church show, which many
    felt was inappropriate.

    i wrote to the forum in response
    to the topic:

    “hey, are you aware that planes flew into the WTC less than
    two months ago? could that be the reason for
    heightened security?”

    member after member of the online group forum
    savaged my interpretation of the situation.

    “those searches were inappropriate!”

    “they negated our personal space!”

    “we are not the terrorists!”

    “we have no stake in violence, why target us?”

    following their compelling statements,
    i continued to howl
    the content of my rebuttal.
    it was an attempt to defend my point of view,
    while simultaneously
    regarding criticism
    as a necessary element.

    the awareness was sudden, and complete.
    i did not want my personal opinion
    validated…

    i wanted to be seen as
    the smartest person in the room.

    i immediately disengaged.

  • Washington, District of Columbia

    memorial d.c.
    20 june 2017

    the Residence Act of 1790
    established the District of Columbia
    as the nation’s capital.
    Philadelphia became relegated
    as a temporary centrifugal point,
    while the District
    was constructed.

    the realization of the national capital
    was ratified by the First Congress
    of our United States.

    I was fortunate enough
    to visit the Martin Luther King Memorial
    during the summer of 2017;
    at the edge of the second year of Trumpism.

    Kevin and I planned on meeting
    at Farragut Square at noon,
    which was the end of his specific
    workday in DC.
    I arrive uncharacteristically early.
    the statue of Farragut catches my attention, its
    stoic commitment toward completion is as obvious
    as the humid component of late June in DC.

    I look him up on my hand held
    computer device,
    while I waited for Kevin’s presence.

    Admiral David Farragut was a
    Tennessean who fought
    against the Confederacy,
    for the Union.
    his efforts as a commander
    were instrumental in the capture of
    New Orleans in 1862,
    and was of the mind that
    Secession equaled Treason.

    the K Street kids buy lunch
    at the food trucks that line
    the periphery of the park.
    Kevin arrives, and greets me with a smile.

    “i think the MLK memorial is over there, past that row of trees.” states Kevin as
    we approach the entrance of the memorial.

    I am initially surprised by
    the inherent deception.
    across a wide plaza sit two massive
    rocks, towering over the people
    that are walking between them.
    In the distance stands
    a third stone, the missing middle section
    of the granite mountain.

    what appeared at first to be inconsequential,
    was immediately and instantly revealed as a lesson
    in the realization of totality:
    the center rock of the split mountain
    contained the sculpture
    of his image.
    conclusions are inherently happenstance,
    and yet I understood that Martin had
    created a path through the mountain
    that did not exist before him.

    his majesty exists beyond containment.

    a large group of Black Americans
    are gathered at the front of the memorial,
    for a lasting impression.
    they appear to be a multi-generational family,
    some smiling; the majority reflecting.

    I look to my right to see
    who is taking the photograph.
    a White woman in shorts and ponytail
    squints to get the focus correct.
    and I am in awe.
    Is this The Dream?

    to my left, about twenty feet away
    sits a White American family of four.
    their teenage son is wearing
    a Make America Great Again red ballcap.

    I turn my head back toward the group taking photographs in front of the Monument.

  • 21 august 2018 : this is the third act

  • what are we fighting for?

  • A Prophecy

    the old systems are being destroyed
    right in front of our eyes-
    refrain from shielding your sight…

    we exist within the hidden nature
    of a heedless epoch.
    a severance of our accepted
    deference toward divinity.

    our examination of
    behavioral traits
    stretches decades.
    was it all part of the plan?
    we participated, subscribed, and invested wholly
    in the disruption of the anticipated outcome.

    perhaps, the convincing argument
    articulates a recollection,
    not an institutional
    creationism that
    may protect the possible
    consideration of the
    work.

    the evidence is everywhere.
    a collation of failed firewalls,
    as reckless malware
    creates a composite portfolio
    of corruption.

    is the mirror image an exercise of divisive involvement?

    we are being asked to
    define formality.
    a curious reclamation
    of a previous reality.

  • context of my last post


    reminiscence

    “I have to cancel our scheduled practice for the next Thursday night, as one of the regulars at the Palace
    died suddenly on a camping trip with his college roommates. GaryU2 was a long serving city
    representative in Norwich, Connecticut’s local government. He changed the lives of so many people
    through his compassionate politics, that it was hilarious to reconcile his love of heavy metal, as well as
    his fastidious commitment to U2. Anne and I went to the wake; and you could sense how hard this
    sudden shock had wounded his kids. I knew the three of them empirically from the Palace; but this was
    new territory. They were in a place I had been many times before.

    “Long day, huh?” I said quietly to his oldest son, a teenager.
    “Oh, yeah…” he replied. But there was a sense of relief, that maybe I had lessened his burden by recognizing it.
    “Your dad was a great man, always remember that.”
    “Thanks for coming.”

    an excerpt from “THIS IS NOT SLANDER”

  • reminiscence

    i recently perused the CD
    you gave me
    of photographs of the U2 show
    at foxboro.

    and now you cannot speak for yourself
    the tidal wave that took your life and forced us to ask
    is there really a God?
    who could believe this circumstance?
    the depth of a recognizance
    we were tasked to come to terms with

    begat an avalanche of an inescapable reality.
    as witnesses, we were then
    asked to confront the fact that

    death is always at the door.
    living is within every door,
    and you taught me that.

  • IN THE VILLAGE

    i walk toward
    work in downtown mystic,
    amidst our recent heat wave.
    the pavement dissolves into
    a blur of recognizance.

    the sidewalk is dry.
    however, my footsteps raise
    no dust.

    a car pulls into
    the parking spot
    in front of the local
    health food store.
    a window slowly unrolls,
    defining the progress
    of electronic sensors.

    “could you tell me how to get to Mystic Seaport?”
    “Eric Bogosian!”
    “Yes…..”
    “Cool. Ok, take the first left after the Drawbridge, at the flagpole.”

    “and next?”

    “take the left turn at the next stop sign at Route 27. The Seaport lot will be up on your right about two blocks.”
    “thanks, kid…”
    his wife smiled at me, and turned toward the windshield.

  • 2018

    i have witnessed
    a compromised nation
    intentionally conceal
    the inherent cohesion
    of equality

    experiencing
    a regulation of normality
    requires resolve
    as a survival
    tactic

    this is the division

    opposition
    prevents a codification of the
    present tense.
    a reliable sense of repetition.
    an immunization
    forcing expiration,
    within common sense.

    a threat of extinction
    a lack of firewood
    a pretense of generations
    whose valor
    shall render
    their quest for dominion
    a trivial iteration.