USA

GIDEON'S FLEECE

Searching for his bravery,
Gideon was a skeptic, telling
An angel and the Lord his clan
Was the least in Manasseh and he
The least of his brethren. He asked for a sign,
And the angel waited until he could design
An offering. Gideon's plea
Was answered with fire, so he took his stand
As leader of the nation, felling
Midian and slavery

And giving Israel forty years
Of peace. With, of course, the guidance
Of the Lord, three hundred who
Had not lapped their water like dogs
Chased an army of one hundred-thirty-five thousand,
Took Zalmunna-Zebah captive and
Punished Peniel and Succoth. The logs
Of Peniel's tower toppled, and O
How Succoth suffered for the stridence
Of her unpatriotic jeers!

Before they blew their trumpets, broke
The jars and shouted, "A sword for God
And Gideon!" the leader asked
For signs night after night: to moisten
Fleece and leave the ground dry, then wet
The soil around dry fleece to show the bet
Was on. Forty-three pounds of choicest
Gold were given to the task
In Ophrah of making Gideon's ephod.
Worshipped, it became a yoke

To the patriarch and all his people.
Gideon died at a good old age,
And soon as they had lost their sage,
Baal-Berith was on their steeple.

LIKE FIZZ FROM A DR PEPPER

Desire of blood, spectacle of ideal --
The flood lifts the flame to snowy peaks.
Mountain goats with their sharp little feet
And little pink tongues come down to drink.
Hail pocks the river and they ascend.

The season is beatific and cannot be
Repeated. Streets of anger pull jaws
Masticating the cud of territory.
Whipsawed notions spray out like fizz
From a Dr Pepper on a hot, hot day.

THE WOODS CAN YIELD
THE STRANGEST BIRDS

The woods can yield the strangest birds
With cries and colors heretofore undreamed.
Flowing like a prophet's words,
The furious, cacophonous stream

Expresses an imperative unseen.
Is it supernaturally imbued?
The blurring blends of yellows, greens,
Purples, whites, magentas, blues,

Oranges and reds running
Through the steaks of fading light
Flash out like tarpons thrashing in the sun
Or waves of time retreating to the night.

© All Copyright, 2007, James Robert Campbell
All Rights Reserved. Printed By Permission.