BJZ Poems and Musings

I remember our last “big” US anniversary – the bicentennial in 1976. I was a graduating high school senior, and we were proud to be the bicentennial class. I’ve been thinking a lot about how our nation has changed in the past 50 years. There are many advances, many positives, but also some aspects of our lives that do not seem as good or rich as they were in 1976. I wrote this poem over the past few days in reflection of the then and now – bicentennial to semi-quincentennial. I studied and pulled in references to our nation’s famous patriotic songs. It’s a longer, narrative poem, unlike most of the others I have posted. But, I share it with you as a fellow countryman! Happy Birthday America.

Our Country ‘Tis of We

Semiquincentennial –
Is that an insect? No, America’s birthday – our 250 years;
Described in words and song, great and ghastly, all along.
My Country ‘Tis of Thee, Samuel Francis Smith, 1831,
Our original anthem – freedom, liberty –
No more shall tyrants tread.

I. America the Beautiful

By Katherine Lee Bates – her poem, 1893. Inspired by a prairie wagon ride
Up Pike’s Peak, so beautiful; And then there was me –
Summer of 1976, a fresh high school graduate, age 17.
We were the bicentennial class set loose to disco beats;
Buying a 50-cent glass of Genessee beer with my fake ID;
We were in between gas crises; you could get a summer job.

Gerry Ford as the amiable, calming, post-Watergate President;
A few World War I vets still alive, mostly silent on that savagery.
The World War II vets set the tone, held the power, mostly showed virtue,
And the message was sparser, clearer, controlled, kinder, if less inclusive;
There was time to think your own thoughts.

Yes, rancor existed, and dramatic tabloid headlines, but ill will
Didn’t seem to permeate the soul of America.
We had righteous pride – had set Europe free,
Started the Peace Corps, installed civil rights;
Racing and leading with science, in medicine, and to the Moon.
Oh, there was shame, mostly hidden – the indigenous ablation; slavery,
Jim Crow, women suppressed, equality as a fib, many lacking a voice;
Yet Ms. Bates, a woman academic, could write a poem that evolved
To that sweet song of continental vistas – a way for us to rejoice.

Our ’76 4th of July family reunion in was multi-generational,
Robust with cousins, savory barbeque chicken, Grandma’s cinnamon rolls,
Joking, catching up with aunts and uncles, the post feast football game;
We were seemingly happy, despair mostly distant- a USA family.
And all descended from immigrants to America the Beautiful.

II. God Bless America

By Irving Berlin, final version, 1938.
Who can resist tying God to country in a tenuous time;
Each powerful line a plea, a command to action, an appeal to the divine.

Back to ’76, USA at 200 – we were yet together, sea to shining sea,
Wearing peasant blouses, leisure suits, platform shoes, trying to ‘tis our thees,
Walter Cronkite told it like it was, a bit whitewashed, but there seemed to be truth,
And promise. You could love, chat, joke, with your neighbor,
Even your crazy uncle; elephants and donkeys in the melting pot zoo.

Fast forward 50 years, 2026, to a different speed of fast,
E-maggots of information crawling into every little seam;
Molding our minds, channeling thoughts, designating our demons.
Exclamations and decibels abound. A point not a point unless screamed.
The good, the kind, the ethical, the virtuous, dressed in drab brown,
While red or blue steadfast colors flash across our screens.

III. This Land Is Your Land
Woody Guthrie, lyrics 1940, revised 1944 and beyond, toned down;
Dust Bowl survivor, called a communist, joked that he was “always in the red”,
Had seen and lived America the Ugly; was sour on Irving’s God ‘a blessing;
To protest, he wrote this most beautiful song.

I can’t remember when I first heard it, but thought it celebratory,
As the lyrics had been changed, tamed over time; yet endured
The message that we all own this land – except that we stole it
From people who lived with the land, not on the land – foul deeds.

In ’76 I was set on being a doctor, from humble roots, but infused
With nutrients and support for my weak branches.
Hopeful, eager to grab opportunities in a country crawling with them;
Now to USA 250 – when the graduates look up from their screens, blank stares,
Heads shaking, sour as Woody was back then, what do they see?
This land, this land. A simmering rage,

Because now as always, but worse,
Wealth reigns; guile and greed birthing another gilded age.
The gap not only money, but understanding, caring, empathy.
A country where people who work hard may not afford a dwelling;
Where food costs pummel an honest paycheck,
Where a vacation might never materialize;
While the rich get richer with mysterious selling.

IV. Epilogue

How do we celebrate when we fear for our fate?
In ’76 it didn’t occur to my emerging mind that this America
Might not be durable, not built to last. That our progeny,
Searching for harmony and community do not find hope eternal.
Focusing inward, controlling what they might;
Wanting to be blessed in a world that feels infernal.

For the ‘76ers, the beauty of these decades under the belt, many miles on the feet,
Is knowing that a year, a life, a country, a government, has cycles.
The pendulum swings, and as Abe said, “our better nature”
Can bring us back to a place where we can believe,
And behave as the founders hoped,
Knowing that they, we, and our kind are flawed,
But have the power to seek and create peace;
To find beauty, purpose, to live together
In freedom and love for each other and our country.

Brian J. Zink July 2, 2026 Copyright rules apply