Tribute Poems and Essays for Matt

Contents

Foreword

Thoughts Inspired by Thoreau
In Loving Memory of Matthew
Farewell to Matthew
Dear Matthew (revised)
Vignette of NYC Rally and March
What I Saw
Pristine Palace
An Epitaph, after Swift
Wyoming Wind
     (published song lyrics)
A Timely Newman Verse
     (from THE DREAM OF GERONTIUS)
Farewell Duet
     (from Act V, Scene 2, of
     Giuseppe Verdi's DON CARLO)

Submissions

Foreword

ON FRIDAY, OCTOBER 23, 1998, I returned home from a ten-day road trip and was finally able to join the Internet discussions about Matt. One of the first things I did after logging on was to type "Matthew Shepard" for a Net search. As I recall, about 400 results came up — just one week after his funeral.

     Right away I found some poems and short essays for Matt, plus a couple of early message boards that I spent some time on — at first just reading but then, later the same day, posting a note or two. My tear layer was still high, which made it hard to read the screen at times; but through such efforts over the coming months, I made several lasting friendships on line.

     Many of the texts reprinted here came my way after my open invitations in two different Net forums in 1999 and 2001. The first item, "Thoughts Inspired by Thoreau," is one that I saw on my first day back home, October 23, 1998, and knew I wanted to use. It was on the "Remembering Matthew Shepard" message board, one of the earliest forums. It was originally untitled, and I gave it the title it bears here. The second piece, "Farewell to Matthew," is one that I found on its author's own tribute site a short time later and also wanted to include.

     I would like to thank the following authors for their willingness to work with me, agreeing to a few minor concessions, when I wanted to include their material:

Mike Daviston and Karen Deal Robinson, for allowing me to make a few minor adaptations in their poems so that they would mesh with the tone of my site.

Walter, for consenting to my request to transpose the order of the two stanzas of his poem — for much the same reason.

Jeff R., for allowing me to make considerable trims in his true-life account of the New York vigil so that we could focus on the portions having to do with Matt.

     Please note: The contributions below appear with the knowledge and consent of the writers, and they remain the property of their respective authors. Those wishing to use them elsewhere will first need to obtain the authors' knowledge and permission. You may send me an e-mail, and I will be in touch with them. Of course, if you are already able to contact any of them directly, then I won't get involved.

J. H.

Thoughts Inspired by Thoreau

In his journal Thoreau wrote:

On the death of a friend,
we should consider
that the fates through confidence
have devolved on us
the task of a double living,
that we have henceforth to fulfill the promise of our friend's life also,
in our own, to the world.

Matthew, though we never met, you are my friend: may those of us whom the fates have given this task be made worthy to fulfill so great a promise.

See you in the Morning, Matt!

Bob S.

In Loving Memory of Matthew

A life cut short, but he is now in his Creator's loving, accepting arms. God bless Matthew, his family, his friends, and all who do not accept.

David Prince

[From the author:] For Matthew Shepard, a gentle heart and spirit that touched so many. It isn't much, but it comes from the heart.

Somewhere beyond the farthest sky
a soul has found its home
A young and shining heart that will
no longer with us roam

Embraced in loving arms you've found
the Love that does not end
Where hopes and dreams eternal dwell
where hurts unearned can mend

Yet still your light shines brightly here
and flames of silver mark
The gentle glow of heart and soul
that guides us through the dark

No evil will can ever mar
the love that holds you near
Nor hate or shadows ever dim
your light that shines so clear

Rest easy now in angels' arms
as songs of light unfold
And know that we will not forget
nor memory grow cold

For you the journey's ended now
in Love's eternal home
Though in our hearts and in our souls
will you forever roam

Rick Hutchings
October 1998

Dear Matthew . . . (revised)

Though I did not know you personally,
I am disturbed by this tragedy.
Vibrant youth is so hard to find
In body, in soul, and in mind.

A sensitive spirit, uniquely sublime,
Nurturing, caring, and ever so kind,
In life, you brought joy to so many.
Now, without you, how can there be any?

Every night, when I go to bed,
I replay that incident in my head.
I can feel your unimaginable terror,
And it's an injustice this soul can't bear.

What did you think about before you let go?
That is a mystery only you know.
Did you call for help? Did you think of your mother,
Your father, your cousins, family, your brother?

If I'd been there with your attackers,
I would have defended you from such slackers.
I would like to think, had we met,
That you and I would have been best friends; yet —

Your persona deems so much more;
It shakes me to the very core.
Your compassion, end to end,
Your presence and love were a godsend.

Now the country mourns a friend we did not know;
Down the city blocks to vigils we go
To remember and try to make sense
Of you, a gun, and a lonely fence.

I shed tears with the nation
At an act of utter devastation.
Left in a field in the dead of night —
To you, to us, it's an awful, awful fright.

Before anyone knew it was time,
You were taken before your prime.
In complete despair, we are left with grief,
A bitter legacy of those who played the thief.

We must now go on without you, dear brother,
And do what we must do to be kind to one another.
Your exuberant life, to others out we must get,
That your passing be one we will never forget.

I love you, Matthew, dear friend;
I pray for strength for this broken heart to mend.
I will remember you every time I hear Bette Midler sing;
For you truly are the "Wind Beneath My Wings."

Your death made me rise up and shout,
And made me realize: I must come out.
In honor of you, we will be heard;
Rest In Peace, Matthew Shepard.

Mike Daviston

Vignette of the New York City Rally and March

I ARRIVED at the Plaza Hotel at around 5:00 p.m. on Monday, October 19, 1998, to attend a memorial march for a young gay Wyoming man named Matthew Shepard. The day was quite warm for October, but by early evening, it was beginning to cool down substantially.

     There were a dozen or so people milling around. I perceived them to be participants. Between 5:00 and 6:00, the crowd seemed to grow exponentially. I struck up friendly conversations with total strangers, and we shared our thoughts as to why we were there.

     Our lives crossed that day because we had gathered to honor the memory of a gay man, murdered simply for who he was. We were there to speak out against the rise in homophobic attacks nationwide and, in particular, in New York City.

     By 6:00, there must have been a few thousand people there. I could not imagine where they all came from. Memorial candles were handed out. Posters were now appearing with Matt's photo. There were shouts of "MATTHEW SHEPARD LIVES" and "WHOSE STREETS? OUR STREETS."

     I am proud that I and EVERYONE else who came to the memorial/rally were counted among those who want to stand up against hatred. My agenda was not to be a hero. I am proud of who I am! If what we all did that evening will succeed in preventing one more injury, then call that my agenda.

Jeff R.

Note: The full text of this story was on a page titled 'The Police Response' on the author's Web site. On October 10, 2008, the link was not active. I will leave it in place for the time being, in case the author might restore it at a later date.

J. H.

What I Saw

Scarecrow, they said.
You looked like a scarecrow,
Your arms outstretched, the wind blowing your hair.
A thing in human form, but somehow less than human.
Am I the only one?
I can't be the only one
Who looked at you and saw Jesus.

Karen Deal Robinson

Note: The author wrote the above poem on the morning of Monday, October 12, 1998, the day of Matt's decease, before actually learning of his passing. At that time, details of his position on the fence were not yet known.

For some interesting background — plus the author's personal reminiscences of that period — see her essay, written for this memorial Web site, titled My Memories of October 1998. Her experience of going through the grieving process over Matt, someone she didn't know, has elements in common with my experience.

See also the author's poetry page on her own Web site. It contains the above poem and a number of others.

J. H.

Pristine Palace

I want to come up where you are,
rest in your pristine palace;
but I must continue —
a soldier of light
down here . . .
in hatred's darkness.

I can see your star blazing
from the darkness of my world.
I long to be where you are.
Sitting on my windowsill,
thoughts retrace your steps in love.
I will lay new ones,
starting where you left off.
You're safe where you are;
rest in your pristine palace
in the Father's arms,
comforted by angels,
thinking of all you love.

Walter

An Epitaph, after Swift
Adiit ubi tristitia saeva Cor ulterius lacerare nequit. Abi, salutatare, Et imitare, si poteris, Strenuum pro humanitatis Dignitatis defensionem.		He has gone where cruel sorrow Can tear his heart no more. Go, visitor, And imitate, if you can, His strenuous defense Of human dignity. John Patrick Day

Wyoming Wind

[From the lyricist:] Jim TC, I just thought I'd submit my tribute to Matt, "Wyoming Wind."

Actually, this was included in Matthew's Place's tribute section for a while. It took this brutal murder to rip me out of the closet, and the following was basically my reaction to the crime.

So, if you want to use this, feel free.

Richard Webster

I had a friend I never knew,
just a shadow in the night.
He asked me, "Are you in or out,
and will you join the fight?"

So I listened through my deafness
to the sweetness of his song.
When I turned around to answer him,
I discovered he was gone.

Chorus:

But the song drifts along
on a soft Wyoming wind.
It's a lullabye of love and hope
and a yearning to begin
that quest for understanding
in the darkness of our souls.
No, I won't forget the melody
on the soft Wyoming Wind.

So I went back to the drawing board
with a modicum of shame.
Ripped the bandage from the sores
and administered the blame.

Yes, I've lived a lie of silence
with a blind eye towards the truth.
And a fear of ever facing
what I knew to be the truth.

[Chorus.]

I have seen the face of hatred;
it wears a thousand different masks.
Heard the voice of the self-righteous
preaching prejudice as fact.

Will I ever find the courage
to live completely free?
You need a guiding spirit
to find your inner peace.

Sometimes when it's late at night
I can almost see my friend.
A gentle smile upon his face
where the bloody tears had been.

And he reaches out to comfort me
saying, "It will be all right."
And he beckons me to follow him
from the shadows to the light.

[Chorus.]

Lyrics: Richard Webster
Music and Vocals: Rick Sirota

A Timely Newman Verse

[Note from contributor John Patrick Day: "I posted this last year. These lines by John Henry Newman seemed appropriate to Matthew's last full day of life. The soul's guardian angel is speaking."]

Softly and gently, dearly ransom'd soul,
In my most loving arms I now enfold thee,
And o'er the penal waters, as they roll,
I poise thee, and I lower thee and hold thee.

And carefully I dip thee in the lake,
And thou, without a sob or resistance,
Dost through the flood thy rapid passage take,
Sinking deep, deeper, into the dim distance.

Angels, to whom the willing task is given,
Shall tend, and nurse, and lull thee, as thou liest;
And masses on earth, and prayers in heaven,
Shall aid thee at the Throne of the Most, Highest.

Farewell, but not forever, brother dear!
Be brave and patient on thy bed of sorrow;
Swiftly shall pass thy night of trial here,
And I will come and wake thee on the morrow.

John Henry Newman
(From The Dream of Gerontius)

Submissions

     Poems and essays for this page are welcome. They should be heartfelt tributes to Matt, pieces of good quality, not too long — without invectives, political agendas, or graphic replays. I am happy to see your work. You may e-mail it directly to me. See the e-mail and other links at the bottom of this page.

     There is also now a section for full-length essays. Each of these will have its own separate page.

     Please put the text directly into the e-mail message instead of using attachments. Thanks so much.

J. H.

Pink rose photo and pink camellia graphic by Deborah Simpson

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