*GRANDMA WAITS IN THE GARDEN*
Hi grandpa it's me again!
Your dentures sit in an open glass
Do you remember the tears grandma sang before she passed?
The way she looked into your eyes,
Moments before she said her goodbyes
Grandpa, I found a note from grandma, she doesn't want you to cry.
Hi grandpa, it’s me again!
The rocking chair is old and dusty
Do you remember the way grandma sat me on her lap?
Read many stories before I took a nap
How she enjoyed brushing my hair with her hands
Love the way she rocked me to sleep every night until I grew.
I stored your hearing aid away
Do you remember that special musical box in grandma's drawer?
I opened it last night, to watch the ballerina dance
I wish you could hear the tiny chimes grandma lived in
I hope you don’t mind, I’m keeping grandmothers favorite scarf.
I'm caressing grandma’s picture frame
Do you like the way she looked in that pretty sundress?
Grandpa, I miss the things grandmother did for you
I like the walking stick she handcrafted, the day your needed support
It kept you in balance every time we took long hikes in the woods.
Hello grandpa, it's me again!
Here I sit holding your hand
I have no more tears
Soon you will see grandma
Please tell her hi, and I know you will be there the day I die
Give grandma a kiss, and tell her I miss her
Sitting here, on these old porch steps, that I have always known
A weathered stoop, with gray-painted floorboards
The creaks and groans, the flaws and chips, so familiar to my hand
I've come to some conclusion,
and I'm surprised to understand,
how well I know each board, each slat,
the shape, the size, the warps, the cracks
each rusty nail, ....
but not the facts of you.
Oh yes, ........I've seen a glimpse or two,
in photographs, I have a few...
I see a robust man, in yellowed hues, of vintage stock...
There's a house, a barn, where land is strewn with stones to move.
You stand behind a horse and plow, in coveralls,... a mustache too .
I do recall, so vaguely gray, as gray as slats beneath my hand...
a jolly man, your wrinkled face,
with a smile, a laugh, a loving way
A dream I have, or is it real?
Is that me when I was two? Sitting here, beside you then?
Or is it just my wish to know... more than just a trace of you?
I never knew the man you were, your hopes your dreams...
the thousand schemes that brought you to these rocky slopes
so far from where your hopes began
Where those steep cliffs rose and the seas were blue.
Here, I look beyond these furrowed rows,...
where grasses grow in amber waves
and I ponder how it came to be....
that I am me,....
who came from you;
a man I never knew.
(To watch the youtube video recitation:)
A little girl full of life
With so much love for her papa
It was love at first sight when papa laid eyes on her at her birth
Being her nanny papa never laid her down but cradled her in his arms until it was time to leave
He was mama until she was two
When he would say “No, “Papa”
She would say, “No,” Mama”
He taught her to ride her first tricycle
He taught her to throw her first ball
He helped her with her homework when she started school
Once in a while she calls and asks “Papa would you come to school today and have lunch with me.”
And of course Papa cannot say no to his little girl
Her first baseball game was a t-ball team of all boys and one girl of course she out shined them all and took home the winning game ball
The next few years she’s made the all –star softball team
At eight years old now coaches are watching her to get her on their team
By Eve Roper
He was always so happy
strong and bold.
He'd give you the shirt off of his back.
He had a rough life
growing up through the depression,
but like he always does,
he got through it.
He has two boys, of whom he is so proud.
Moved from Regina, to Victoria.
He had the best life anyone his age could have wanted.
But ever since his wife died,
he has not been the same.
But like he has always done,
he got through it.
just a little forgetful.
That's how it always starts out...
But like always, he powered through it,
He is not the same person that I used to know.
He been sentenced to the prison in his own mind.
Possessed by the thoughts of his dogs ashes.
He likes to play the blame game,
but we know he doesn't remember that it was him.
He wakes up in the night
shaking with pain,
tears streaming down his face.
There is nothing we can do,
Two more tylenol.
Hold on to hope
for as long as you can,
It's only a matter of time now.
He gets vocal, a very loud tone.
He'll block you in your room
and make false accusations
But we know that it's the pain induced monster in him.
Tick tock, tick tock...
You can't handle the stress anymore
you have to leave.
Just hope for the best,
maybe it will get better.
Surprise, it doesn't.
Your denial is foolish, everyone knows
what happens next.
All results of
They fought the tide to own this land
A fight I did not understand
They fought the plow, they fought the drought, they fought the debt
But yet,…by God,……they owned the pride
In retrospect, I'm still ashamed
It was, my flippant pilgrimage
I had come a stranger to this place
About to step upon the moon,
A cratered space of rocks and sage
Of rolling hills, with no escape
She saw it differently, of course
Although her body weary, worn
Her eyes were strong, ...she saw a home
Her age was then, what mine is now
It had been her home, and it had been her vow
To come again, just one more time.
I was thirteen, and dragged along
I overlooked the great attraction
I could not see the satisfaction
I missed the light upon her face
She saw the youth she left behind
Her gray eyes drinking up the sun,
I saw the dust, I saw the bones,
Where she saw beauty, I saw none .....
Nothing more than a sea of weeds, the crumbling brick,
A place to shuffle my restless feet
But stories came, and they sunk in….
And now I view with wiser eyes…
She told me all these things back then…but now, I smile,… remembering.
They had to fight to own this piece of land
They fought the plow, they fought the drought, they fought the debt
And yet,…oh yes,…….they owned the pride
Recited on youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kAchI2nu9yY
For Deb's Contest:....2nd Option..(With age comes wisdom, understanding and
appreciation. I am never too old to keep learning
and value those who came before and made me
who I am.)
Wise Grandfather Shaman,
I am pure of Heart,
I bathe beneath the Moon,
and dry beneath the Sun,
I listen to the Wind,
I run with the Deer,
I hunt with the Wolves,
I fish with the Eagles and Hawks,
I ride with the Wild Paints,
And roam with the Buffalo,
I grow with Grandmother Tree,
Ever learning from her Wisdom,
I am skilled in Warrior Ways,
A strong Hunter,
A compassionate Listener,
A patient Tracker,
I have gathered with the other women,
Contributing to our tribes growth and strength,
I leave no tracks of moccasins in the soft clay,
My heart is pure,
And I wish to continue my journy,
Wise Grandfather Shaman,
Allow me to enter your lodge,
I will smoke from the sacred pipe,
My heart is pure.
Cranking that old wore-out handle on that ice cream maker, until I thought my
arms were going to fall off. Having a big smile on my face, as I turned and
turned, pushed and pulled on that old crank begging my big brother, the whole
time to “Spell me!” so I could set on an old rag on top of the ice, using my weight
(as it was) to hold that ice cream maker in place.
I remember my grandfather coming out of the house, out on the back porch. To
make sure my big brother and I was “Doing it right.” as if, there was a wrong way!
He made sure that we
had plenty of ice, plenty of rock salt. I can still see him sticking his little finger in
the weep-hole to make sure it didn’t get stopped-up. That was most important to
him, as he
always got the first bowl. I don’t know why? He clamed, he would get the first
bowl, to make sure that salt didn’t get into the mix. Funny to me, he never made a
salty face as he was eating that first bowl.
I remember, watching my grandmother making that “mix” she picked the
freshest eggs, measured just the right amount of vanillin extract, I loved the way
her kitchen smelled. I watched her chop the bananas peal the peanuts, stir it up
with the cream and sugar. She hummed “Old Rugged Cross” as she made that
sweet ice cream mix, it was as if she was having fun; like the turning of the crank
for us boys, work for sure but still fun!
I would eat light, as that banana-peanut ice cream cured while we had supper,
waiting for grandfather to finish his third helping, we had to wait, he always got
the first bowl, I don’t know why?
I wish I could look at a flower through your eyes
and discover why you are so fascinated by it.
I wonder why your eyes glisten
when you look at the stars,
and why you smile at the moon.
I wish I could find out what triggers you
to jump and skip, or giggle with glee
and I strain my ears to hear the silent melody
which causes you to break out in song.
I wish I could embrace someone so firmly
as you do when you jump up to greet me.
I wish I were like you when I was a child.
Dancing all around
Frolicking through fields
Just like you!
I just found out that you visited here
while I was away at work -
and that you left a few minutes before my arrival!
Ah! Your sweet presence
would have been such a balm
for my tired and aching body -
having traveled by bus, and train, another bus,
and then dragged for a thousand metres
through blustering winds.
And now I must find consolation
in the traces of your absent presence -
the imprints of your feet on the bathroom tiles,
and the faint lingering echoes of your laughter,
and the fading silhouette where you sat watching cartoons.
Although you live in my heart, I still miss you, sweet child!
He sits down in an ordinary chair
Painted a powder blue
The rounded back feels familiar
Much like his grandpa
Grandpa had sat on this same chair
Bounced him on his knee
Read him stories
It does not seem so very long ago
Time has a way of sneaking up on you
Now he's grandpa
Sitting in his favorite chair
This is really quite extrordinary
The Ordinary Contest
Sponsored by: Black Eyed Susan
Your first smile
wiped away the dust and mold
from the canvas of my soul
and your first laughter
splashed its bright colours
over dark and somber tones
and then you framed it
with a rainbow
created by the refracted light
of your transparent being.
You are the newest thread
in the tapestry of my life -
but now criss-crossed
with the vibrant strands
of your sister.
You, too, will be interwoven
into the fabric of my life
and be interlaced through
its brightness and hues
and be intricately entwined
and securely knotted
with one golden thread -
You are here!
And my heart rejoices -
For when you're near
Sweeter are all nature's voices.
Morning's glow seems brighter
While evening's shade has a softer hue.
Even life's burdens appear to be lighter
All because, sweet child, of you...
Hell hath no replete replica like an Ohiohell
memom memoboys dispelled with lovelessloss lorn laments
measured in misgiven gravid neutral grautities of cool compromised cruel
capsid cascades of dreary demented drowsy dump deep demented deny desires
with wilfull wallowing in unsupposed not to be here
herein two boys born to a numbnuts army husbodad and a
WTF what is happening in/outside this family 50's acircle
what comes next in the uneducated female nonintuition of a
deaddad accidential with a pity piss payoff and a whatdoIdo anal attitude
totally in reverse of an arkansas hope of upheaveal. GDMFSOB, who could I/we haVE
BeeN in the assinine scheme of things with someone in an intersomewhateducated semistate of minimal MFconsciousness. We play the hand we are dealt in the vast unscheme of unness.
WTF, and where/why does God take part and lessen a small boy's dream of donated dadhood by taking it away and leave him left to faulterflounder in a boyhood abyss. Dead, devoid, denied to the manmale circumstance of what the future folds to be delivered to doting descendents, like my three sons. with whom I struggled to
shower, impart, enable, enbibe, instill, foster, enliven, and all that I did not experience yet faux provide with an inner soulsense to a measured milestone of mannered man manufactured love and tendered texture of all mine to give with that that is mustered macro from a micro counteanace of humocapped coperal deliverance. All's fair they say unless u have been there and then it's every man for himself---and then, I dare u to get in my way---------no holds barred, look out for I am a survivor, all the way.
Hi, my name is Dave, and according to my grandparents, I wasn't supposed to live to be raised. Go figure.
Let another sun set,
Let another flower wilt,
Let another autumn cast its gloom,
Let another tear role,
As ye part, and bid
The final adieu.
St. Stephen’s college
The Old Salt was a special man who came along in a time
when he was needed most.
A time that is now gone forever.
When men believed and sacrificed, when hero’s walked the earth in mass.
When patriotism was not just a word
by what men lived and judged the worth of each,
a man who lived a life most of us cannot comprehend.
An era now gone as this warriors tour of duty ends at this station,
and begins anew in the heavenly fleet.
Sail on Sailor into your unaccompanied tour,
we salute you.
What greater honor, that when a man moves forward,
he leaves behind in each of us the best of what he was.
A defender, protector, supporter, victor, a warrior,
the last of the breed from an era when ships were made of wood
and men were made of steel.
The Old Salt has reported for duty that takes him away from us for now.
Those of us who remain behind,
remember, and will continue to remember,
because he now resides forever in our hearts.
As I look up at night, I envision The Old Salt,
a beret draped just above the eye,
as he draws upon his pipe,
quietly he waits.
The guardian of heaven’s gate.
If I Could Have Gotten Your Embryo
Before You Were Born
I Would Have Sheltered You Safely
and Protected Your Form ...
I'd Have Put You In My Womb
& Flowed You Knowledge Like In A Tubric
& Patted My Expanding Belly
As I Played You Music
And As You Got Ready
To Arrive From The Birth Canal
You Would've Known My Breasts
Would Be Ringing Like Welcome Bells! ...
Eager To Suckle You
Breast Feed My Own Flesh & Nourish
So You Could Grow Strong
... In Love's Encourage
I Would've Held You In Wonder
& So Close Tenderly
Amazed At This Little Bundle,
Breathing, Piece of Me ...
And When You Turned One
Or As You Sucked Your Thumb
Or Eating Baby Food Jars of Plums
... I'd Have Given You Trumpets & Drums
... And Building Alphabet Blocks
& Superman Capes
& Stuffed Teddy Bears
& Oatmeal Cookies & Grapes
I'd Have Read You Stories
From Capt. Adventure Books
You'd Have Known You Were Loved
By My Proud Mama Looks
I'd Have Spent Time With You
Showing You How To Tie Your Shoe
Rocked You If You Caught The Flu
or Any Sniffles You Went Through ...
I Would Have Played With You
& Prayed With You
From Crawling To Walking
Paved The Way For You
Yeah, I Would Have Fussed At You
& When Needed Even Spanked You Too
& I'd Meant: This Hurts Me More Than You
'Cause You're The Little Symbiot, Mama Grew
So, You Would Have Known
You Were Loved & Treasured
You Would Have Known
Your Worth Couldn't Be Measured
Nor Compared To Anyone Else
At Any Point In Time
'Cause You Are The Best
Because You Were "Mine"
* * * * * * *
But I Never Knew You
But Believe Me If I Had ...
I'd A Made Sure You Had
A Loving Mom & Dad
And You Would've Never Been Abused
Or Treated Bad ...
But From Now On Find Your Joy
To Replace What's Sad
Written & Copyrighted ©: 9/12/2013
by: MoonBee Canady
Spread your wings, dear child, and fly
to where the green sea meets blue sky;
run on the crests of gentle waves
and grab the sunlight as it raves
about the brightness of the day;
float with the sea gulls as they sway
upon the friendly winds, and dive
with playful dolphins as they jive
in the cool waters of the bay.
When i was about 5 i was put in to a SRS. I was there tell i was 7 and when i got out i move to my grandma and grandpa. When i was 9 my older brother started to beet me up every day and all day long and then when the beating he was giving me stop working he started doing other thing to me. When i was 12 i losted my grandma and then my grandpa didn't want nothing to do with use and still don't. i took my brother *****tell i was 15 then started to beat on him. My brother put me in jail for a few year because if the *****he made me do now i am 21 and have losted and got back the girl that i love and care about her name is Holli Sczenski. Her family don't want use together so they are making her choose between them or me she dues not want to have to choose between use she loves use both and i know it and her family know it but there still doing it. On top of all that my own family is going throw somethings as while my mom is not doing vary good and we may or may not lost her in the next few years.
Grandpa’s collage holds beloved memories.
Black-and-white photographs of long ago
strewn with tape and paste amid the glossy
snapshots, shaping a man's love of family.
At first glance, one would think he created
his patchwork of pictures in haste. But come,
look closer; no image is placed by chance.
Each scene shares a story his hands retraced -
a joke, a kiss, a tear. See the toothless grins
of growing grandchildren with playful eyes,
the knowing looks of elders and the effortless
laughter of generations, dear faces missed.
All familiar faces except for only one -
the intruder with graceful features. Head held high,
she wears her smile unfazed. I search her dark eyes
for words unsaid, dazed. She is the grandmother
I never knew. Her portraits are puzzle pieces
that will never fit, but ones I cannot unglue
or ignore; my grandpa’s attempt of tying us
to a stranger. I love him more for trying…
For Craig Cornish's A Collage Held Dear Contest,
Upon his grandfather's rocking chair
on the porch in the cool crisp air
sits a man with a special gift.
For he can see the soul of a tree
within a piece of wood upon his knee.
His pile of cedar gives off a sweet smell.
He picks through the pieces, eyes closed,
his touch feels what is enclosed.
As if he were to reach within the wood
by pulling it apart from its protective bark
and removing what’s inside from the dark.
The Whittler will release this soul from its cage!
Each meticulous movement of the knife in hand
is meant to bring out something so grand.
After hours of work, fingers cramping into knots
the soul held within in this piece arose
to be a magnificent fully blossomed rose.
Beautiful just like the ones his gram
planted beneath her father's old cedar tree, by hand.
Adam Hapworth, With These Hands, 12/13/2013, Image #3
Written by Gail DeBole on January 26, 2013
Whiskers and wisdom all in one.
Generously and gently protecting us.
Every grandchild thought they were your favorite.
You in your long johns at night.
Joking during the day like Groucho Marx.
Sleeping in your favorite chair.
Smoking smelly cigars that callously killed you.
And yet I treasure one of the boxes left from those smelly cigars.
The farm was not the same without you.
We were not the same without you.
I was too young to know.
Just down the road there is a cemetery
for World War One vets and for them only.
It is not quite full and it never will be.
They are all dead now, everyone who served;
those who died young and those who survived.
My gramps is buried there; he survived the war
and lived to the ripe old age of ninety-five.
Gramps was wounded twice while he was there
by those he called “them damn stinking krauts”.
I still miss my gramps to this very day
and every now and then I will visit his grave
at the cemetery just down the road;
but not very often because each time I do
I break down and cry for he was not only gramps,
he was also my very very bestest friend.
It was a tin-roof wooden house standing
Across the red brick cobblestone street
Adjacent to a wide open field full
Of shady live oak and sweet smelling tangerine trees where
My father’s boyhood home was nestled
Quietly in his home town.
Often times we’d travel to visit
The grandparents still living there
In that Americana corner of our lives.
We didn’t know much of anything at all except
The sky was blue, love was true and we
Youngsters were the apples of the old folk’s eyes.
We’d sit for hours in white wicker rocking chairs
I helped paint one time with newspaper on the floor
And a horsehair brush grandma gave me
To teach me that painting needn’t be a lesson
In staying between the lines. “Sometimes,” she’d say,
“It’s better to let the paint flow
And speak for itself in time.”
And granddad liked to watch the sky – especially at night
When stars were burning bright and would point towards Polaris and say:
“Heaven’s over that a-way.” And during daylight hours
When storm clouds appeared and we could hear
Thunder and lightning all around, he’d laugh and dance
As if the circus were coming to town.
We watched mocking birds and blue jays flying in and out
Of all the tree top branches and leaves singing
Their love making lullabies to us and one another and then
As quickly as they arrived,
Disappeared into the wind.
It seems we’re not much different
Rather family, foe or friend.
Accordingly, the old house still stands today
But the dear old folks have slipped away.
Perhaps to the place once pointed to
High above that night sky view
Where comets roam and grandpa liked to call “Up yonder,”
Leaving me with thoughts of gold
And memories made to ponder.
A family sitting in a living room; the living room made of sofas and chairs
The sofas told a tale of antiques; never a complexion, even to the brain’s follicles of hair
Her grandfather, and other members of the family sat there;
laughing; nourishing the air
There she sat, opposite to her grandfather’s left side
She looked at him, at his laugh, and smiled
Everyone around them seemed to be damped with fog;
nothing was seen except; herself, her grandfather, and a picture that seemed unprepared to
Her grandfather held that picture and saw his grandson
Immédiatement*, he smiled and admired the photo’s photon
She then spoke and told her grandfather that his grandson has now grown;
thus calling his grandson to come; to be shown
There, his grandson arrived, and his grandfather held him in his hands and placed him on his
It was a beautiful scene without any empty gaps
But then, she noticed her grandfather didn’t look at her;
it was as if she was out of the picture…
It was then she realized like she was talking to him, but he didn't hear her...
It was then she noticed that it was a dream within a dream...
She had seen her grandfather when she was three
But now, she misses him a great deal…
‘May you rest in peace’
Hands, aged with sun
Rings grown too tight
Feet, wrinkled by walk
Eyes drooped with tire
Hair stringed with dye
Teeth yellowed with coffee
Each grey hair
Filled with experience
If I were a boy, even just in a dream.
I'll give my girl flowers everyday.
I'd let her know how much she's loved
and assure no tears fall from her eyes.
If I were a boy one day I wake up,
I'll kiss her eyes 'til she drops.
I'll lay her down in a bed of roses.
I'll carry her 'til we reach the heaven's door.
If I were a boy even for an hour.
I'll tell her exactly who I am.
I will not cave in the shadow of my past.
I'll give her the happiness that lasts.
If I were a boy,
I'd keep the love on fire.
I'll respect my mom, sisters, and wife.
I'll be my kid's greatest model dad.
If I were a boy,
I would be a real man.
Who knows exactly what makes a man,
who can't be moved by other woman.
I fell, I fell hard...when i lost you..I cant catch my breath like i used too. Lost and confused, angry that you left. It wasn't your choice, I understand that. I didn't only lose you that dreadful day i also lost myself, my mind and my entire life cause it hasn't been the same. you loved me unconditionally how do i function without that now. My body still here but I'm dead inside from all the pain and sorrow i feel cause i will never see you or talk to you again. My mind likes to wonder now all on its on it's scary sometimes..I'm worried everyone will leave me all alone. I think of you alot, and smile cause you always made me laugh..I cant stand it..its not right...i feel like where in a dream all the time. You were the best grandfather, wasn't fair how you suffered up to your very last breath..you held on so long day after day cause u couldn't stand how you had to leave us that day. I remember talking to you and you would try to tell me something back..don't worry i know what is was I love you but i have to leave you i need u to know i will be watching you don't let yourself go....I know i told you its okay for you to go,,,but I'm sorry grandpa i lied,,,, I didn't want you to leave me i still needed you around, call me selfish I don't care, you belong here with me not away so far. I cant accept it or handle it the way I should cause my mind and my heart stopped doing thier work. everyone tells me snap out of it, act right, but i cant I don't know how i lost the one who guided me through life...I feel like a burden, all needy, like I'm in the way..so why do i stay? I need you to tell me that your okay...cause i cant move on like this i just cant, there is no way.
He sits on top a dusty shelf;
his care when he showed none.
I think you gave me your
And yet this
the only thing
you gave my family,
better than a beating.
I forgive you because
you are a fellow human,
but I hate you.
I hate how you remind me
that my family is jealous.
I hate how I have to hold
onto you; I don't want you.
You old, dusty,
boxed race truck;
I don't want you.
They are maidens of the wolf people
They are loved with no end
With a smile
They take away the pain of the day
My heart is glad
Watching them play and hear their laughter
Music to my ears
The sound as they call to me
Their hugs are medicine to an aching body
I will never leave them
For I live in their hearts
Their magic keeps me alive to watch over them
Thank you Lord for these gifts
My Wild hair and Skinny girl
I cry, I hold it in, I cry.
I hate the way I saw you tonight,
Wrapped up in wires,
Sleeping beneath the shut off lights,
But this is no sleep your in,
Its just a moment before your passing.
I will forever hold the memory,
Of slick juice upon my face,
Sweet clementines dripping down my cheeks,
And long stripped socks at Christmas.
I will look back and dream,
Of slim jims and chocolate milk,
Sitting at the bar,
The lights dimmed,
And Barbie stamps covering my pale skin.
When I was less than five years old.
I will never forget,
Sitting on your black leather couch,
And watching Mulan for the first time,
Or the love and surprise I felt,
When you bought it for me,
Because I loved it so much.
I will always remember,
Walking the small trail down from your house,
To go look at your Harleys,
And feed the little ducks,
Crumbs of bread,
Or a whole damn loaf if I really begged.
I will never forget the time,
When you handed me one hundred bucks,
Just for Graduating, not even at the top of my class.
When I tried to return it,
You insisted that you wanted me to keep it,
And I cried, I hugged you hard and felt your love,
Deep in the nether regions of my heart.
I will strive to remember,
The smell of beer and whiskey and cigars on your breath,
What a sweet smell that now seems,
And oh how I wish, you would have stayed for that bottle of wine,
Just stayed a little longer for all of your visits.
I will never forget how I felt when Grandma told me,
You served in the marines,
And I could not believe,
That those Santa Clause eyes,
Could be that strong and brutal,
When you were always so nice,
And I found for you a new respect.
I miss you so much,
As you lay in your bed,
Strung up with wires, and tubes and struggling,
To find your last breath.
I am crying, I cant hold it in.
The moon shines so beautifully in her misery
Grace the world with thousand ribbons of silver rays.
There was a young man,
A pleasure slumber seeker
Eyes bares love and faith
The hands grip the dreams and expectations
Steppin definitely in spirit
To the unknown life ahead
Forty years have passed
Two young men sit together
One with gray hair and wrinkled face
Other, a fresh and naive young soul
A bond of flesh and blood
Talking about life and living
And the moon..? A loyal companion in solitude
For the happiness of every soul, she craves.
just as everything is in its place
the cracked pitcher in the cellar’s window
the maize porridge pot amid the verandah flowers
the knife sharpener in the kitchen table’s drawer
the squared clock hung slanting on the wall
day after day the old man
takes off the straw hat from its hook even if it’s cloudy
pulls it down on his head with both hands
opens the street gate till it hits the wall
upright like a thistle he looks down the road
under the hat colored like an autumn sun
it gets warmer
his face furrows overturn a smile
as if the moist earth sliced by the old times plough
under the steps of sons grandsons and great-grandsons
My heritage is a mixture
Of backgrounds. Let's start on
My Dad's side of the family.
My Dad's mom is Irish and English.
My Dad's dad is Irish and German.
My Mom's mom is Scottish and Irish.
My Mom's dad is blood Hungarian.
So in other words,
I'm a mutt! or as others say,
Like us than
You will ever know.
Not of stone
But of fear.
Beneath the deep furrows
and the facial lines
cheeky little girls
''Many a time when I have talked to old people who I love, about their childhood, suddenly
something magical happens. Their eyes sparkle, and they become children again.''
Peter Dome.copyright.2013. Dec.
See problems they no worry Timothy
He was raised by his Great Grandmother
One day she taught him
Miho you can make life beautiful or ugly
Work hard, find a woman who has a strong back
Beauty fades it doesn’t last long
Now let me tell you
A woman with a strong back may not be your perfect companion
Times are changing, I think Faith is more important these days
I say okay Grandma, can I have the horachata now that you made me
No hush up! You can have it when I’m finished talking
Timothy come your poor Grandfather wanted you to have this
It is his Journal and I have never read out of it
She hands it to me
I am struck by it’s cover, it is brown and plain
Yet it spoke to me by it’s elegant style
These words were printed on the cover “Blanco Vendetta”
I was drawn and pulled in untill I was covered by the spell
The first page I open too it says “My first Mil Besos”
The Temptess that blew my heart away
I turn to page 33
It says “The story of an Apache Warrior”
There are no rules to an Apache Warrior when it comes to fighting
He says if you are my enemy I don’t care how but I’m gonna kill you
Page 41 is like a fist full of words thrown across the page
Barrio boxing, The protection of the Shield of Faith
Brokenhearted for my careless speech has left her heartbroken
Strengthened by Love “Amor”
Nourished by the sunshine in her hand
There is healing in its beams
Blessed by her presence Del Dios I am Greatful
I’m like Grandpa what did you say wrong
Then these words come to me
Give her your full attention when she speaks to you
Because the Heart of the Wise studies how to answer
So I close it and my finger brushes a bookmark
It’s the Last page
It says To: “Timothy my son who is as mighty as an army”
I Thank you for the Greatest Gift
For the Greatest Gifts are as small as your small hand that touched me
I plant these seeds and they will take root and grow because you are good ground
Timothy let me say That without you I would of never found my Faith in GOD
Listen for it is your Grandfather who is dead and speechless
Timothy you see the good in everything
And I know you will understand my words clearly
If a man gives you his word
Promise me not to plan your future on it
And if you give your word my son
Do everything in your Power to fulfill it
AND NEVER Promise more than you can deliver
For it is better to put out more than you promised
Everyman is considered unwise when he appears foolish
I wish I could give you some insight about women
But your Great Grandmother may help you better than I can
But never timothy, Never be quick to fall in Love
Or give your heart to a woman
Listen carefully to her words when she speaks to you
Cherish Her give her your full undue attention
Because the Heart of the Wise studies how to answer
Love your neighbors as yourself
And do not strive against another man
If he has done nothing wrong to offend you
AS much as it is possible live peacefully with all men
And it is okay for you to speak these things with your Great Grandmother
She is a very wise and God-fearing woman
Amor take the greatest care of her, I Love you Son
Timothy when the time comes to avenge my death
Hit harder then you ever have before
But not in a Duel son, not like an open Vendetta
Marry his daughter Maria
The one who is pretty and Two years younger than you
Oh! He will suffer greatly!
And it will kill him to know that I chose this way to repay him
And remember son to be ready to fight any man at the drop of a hat
Just down the road, before that first hill
is where I learned to ride my bike
and took my first spill
Just down the road the old dusty school bus
picked me up, where Billy pulled my pig-tails
and made me blush
Just down the road in that field of clover,
under that big old oak
is where we buried my dog, that got ran over,
just down the road
Just down the road on that old wooden bridge,
Is the place my grandpa took me to fish
It wriggled it's way off my hook - I told Grandpa,
"I didn't want to look," as it swam away
Just down the road, late at night, is the place
my friends and I caught fire flies,
as they lit our walk back to our house,
where we opened our jars and let them out
Just down the road past old man Squire's
Is where my car broke down with a flat tire
Old Man Squire helped me jack it up,
loaned me a spare - filled with air
Just down the road near that clear water creek
is the quiet spot where I would sit and think -
think about times like today - things, I wish
I could say, wish I could be... that lay hidden
just down the road
When I Was Young
When I was young
I walked 30 miles in the snow to school
With no feet or hands
I was nobody’s fool
We crawled about and lived on dirt and faith
Our only friend was Jesus
He gave us everything we needed
Work, turkey on Thanksgiving
More work, death and taxes
What else could a person want?
You youngins don’t know how good you got it
When I was young
And walked 50 miles in the snow
Or was it 30?....I don’t know….
Father’s Day Tribute to My Grandfather
Written on June 2, 2012
Updated on June 11, 2014
Resembling Groucho Marx as you aged,
I often found you dozing in
your favorite chair.
Perhaps, dreaming of your parents,
or when you arrived in America on Ellis Island
with your Mother and brothers?
Your tired skin was
a result of a working man’s life.
Your green tattoo on your arm
was a souvenir of your veteran status.
Always caring, you were the leader
of the team I was born into.
You protected the family psyche and integrity,
and wisely guided us with your voice of reason.
Even though you are no longer here in the physical world,
You are forever in my heart and soul.
I miss the sound of dice on the table
When you could stand when you were able
When you used to make me smile
It was nice to show my teeth every one in a while
I miss when you used to nap at the table
When the TV guy would turn off the cable
I miss your stories about the your ships
Michelle and I would imagine going on a trip
I miss how you used to make me cry
Because of the fact That i was shy
Im telling you these words are true
But words could never tell how much
I MISS YOU
Nana told me once
how she and Pop-pop
went courting in a
How quaint I
thought, and was a
amazed how far we
humans have gone--
from a smelly
plodding horse to
an ocean in an
afternoon six miles
Then Grandma told me
she said they went
out in that carriage
to make love! Nana!
I gasped silently,
until I saw she
meant the words
my grandparents went
courting to make
the love that would
hold them together
years...and I am
because two young
people took long
buggy rides behind a
tired, smelly horse.
I don't understand why we live a life were the ones we love die young or the wise ones we love die too soon for us to have learned enough from them we walk on the path we choose but it seems there’s always a road block or tough times we have to learn from with the loss of a loved one that’s a family member or a child we have bared along the way to whatever destiny has planned for us at the end of our road I guess it’s god way of telling us he needed them to be our guardian angels instead of them walking with us on our path we have so many unanswered questions an things we don't yet understand I guess when the time comes we will understand the why's we don't yet have answers to an the path we walk will be the rite path in the end I just hope when time comes we will all see the ones we lose on our path an get the why's an questions answered
Big mike got away again all the pictures of the catfish fins hanging off the tailgate It was this big no joke Big mike got away again Maybe you’re not holding your mouth right Breaking limbs and hundred pound throws It was this big no joke We would have to hook it with tow truck drive home and turn it around to get it in that was the joke but Big mike got away again * - In memory of my grandpa David Kappel
I stare at your face as I remember it so vividly.
I remember every piece of hair
You crafted to lay so perfectly in place
The tip of your nose that became slightly rosier with each year
The way your eyes wrinkled when you smiled
Your hard belly against mine as you gave me a hug
When you said "I love you kid"
And the pricelessness of those words
Spoken more frequently towards the end.
I wish we had more time
So I could show you who I have become
You may be gone but your love lingers on
In the hearts of not only your family
But every person you touched
And welcomed as part of that family
You showed me that love is deeper than the surface
It is rooted over time
Solidified in the thick and maintained through the thin.
I close my eyes
Trying to picture the beautiful place
You have chosen you reside
Sometimes I whisper to you,
Hoping you can hear me
Just to say I love you
I know I will have to wait patiently
For the next chapter
When we all will reside together
Down in the white-black of the cemetery,
deep little shadowed stones
peep from the frozen white-winter
Old souls who once laughed, cried
and lived as much as the living world
now ---- for something
Peering down where my grandpa lay,
buried neath one of those shadowed stones;
I have his war medals on the wall,
and father's too,
For their blood they ask me
to try a little harder ----
I shall try,
as I peer down upon the cemetery
where grandpa lay,
buried in a winter memory
(God rest his soul)
Walking through the boulevard
like a burdened beetle
I move through the bylanes
of hopes and dreams
I see a house across the lane,
the lane that bypasses the memory
Walking through the doors,
I feel my existence
The existence of a world that was,
and of people who were a part of me
I stood there looking at the window,
A ray peeping through the crack,
The dust settling its remorse
Where a cup of tea
Used to accompany rain
The rickety stairs
make way for the childhood plays,
I see myself juggling the toys
I find my mirror,
A half-battered commando
A dungeon gate flayed by time,
seems a swag of webbed spiders
Where grandpa used to wait,
with open yearning arms
The arms, a haven of love and
the solicitor of my mischief…
A vacuum has replaced this love
I am yet to find any intruders
In this home, at this place
I find myself,
and question my identity
the world seems to shudder
and the mind revolves
I see the stairs, the door,
the lane and the window
I see the toys, my grandpa
the commando and the rain
A thud wakes me up,
A photo frame falls down
I see grandpa amidst the shattered pieces
I see a house across that lane…
our father, who art in heaven
hallowed be thy name thy kingdom come
a muttering chorus amidst the silence
as a firefly lands on my fingers
sending tribute to either god
or the soul that the unbelieving congregation mourns for
a constant mummer of your name in untouched hearts
a procession of empty prayers for the ashes
scattered in an urn of porcelain encased in
a shroud of guilt and confusion and shock
on this 3rd day of the 4th month
may the world weep for the
man they never knew.
the fireflies are burning in the air (are you there?)
breathing graves three feet under where my feet stand
where his no longer are
and no longer will
but oh— will you please come back?
come, may the light of these fireflies linger upon the
tears that fall from the empty. may
thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven
may hopeless hope lift the ungrounded spirits of this
congregation of faithful cynics with steeled hearts and bolted minds.
and in this time and space of desperation—
give us this day our daily bread
it is only in these moments
that the entire world believes just for a moment that maybe
just maybe god will be there
and in that moment— that god must be there
the last slivers of thread as the fingers let go
forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us
but in our hearts a symphony of loathe and
hatred for everyone and everything
where blame is a burning firefly that refuses rest.
the light on my fingers is a faint flicker
lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil
that reigns in our blood but flows into grief
a multitude of concentrated desolation where
the firefly graves are in the hands of our people
for thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory
and the stills moving in an endless wave as we walk away
an overwhelming voice of many voices
whispering the lords prayer
as we all did,
as we all one day do
now and forever—
– – –
i watch you fade away into the darkness
shining eyes; lighted fingers
waving goodbye, ill be okay
retreating into the mist of the morning,
leaving me as wordless
as the god i once believed in
– – –
since youve gone away
ive started loving the world so much
all i ever want is to leave it
– – –
and so i whisper my final prayer, oh god–
if youre up there,
Old grandpa is at it again. The is still up and cooking once more.
He fills the bottles so carefully. Not to spill a drop
Loads the old pickup truck with boxes of shine Ready to make a run to the bars.
He goes so fast the Fed boys can't catch him in that old truck of his.
Running down the road to the bars not missing one with a jar.
The hills knows the old moonshine runner as he runs the shine tonight.
So get your order in now for tomorrow will be too late for the moonshine runner.
Will be right at his still.
Motor is nudged to life in an arcing motion, arm pulling
cord. Vein-furrowed hands grasp the fishing pole,
slinging bait and tackle beneath one arm. Another
arcing motion, arm casting pole. Bobber spins
a helicopter course through sun-nipped air.
Loons call a soulful greeting, the moans of centuries'
separated lovers in mourning. Time trickles through
the notes of their songs. Meanwhile, bass glide
with their loud-mouthed sass,
perch and blue gills play tag. A lone
blue heron bills the murky depths for lunch.
Man baits his hook, readjusts his hat. Eyes squint
into the dark undertones of the pond. He casts
his pole, a fermata in the song of the loons. When this man
was a boy, he drove the spires of the Rocky Mountains,
frequented the five-and-dime, nuzzled
a nightly routine next to his wife, who mothered six children, raised
in a house far away from any pond. They bustled themselves
along through school as well as any fish pouncing on
supper-flies, dabbing napkins to the corners
of their mouths. This fisherman sliced their steak, knotted their ties,
held their hands crossing the street
until they were old enough to
mail college resumes,
pay for first dates.
thirty-two years and here is Granddad,
with his child's toddler learning to walk in the bowed
belly of his fishing boat. They stumble,
clanging clumsy feet on the metal, frightening
the fish away. The old man bends low,
a note in the song of the loons.
He places the toddler on two feet, guides her hesitant steps,
each pendulum swing carrying them a moment
further toward separation. In twelve years, the grown child
bends low, a note in the song of the loons, to kiss her
grandfather's forehead, as he casts off on his helicopter
course of afterlife.
Nature has all but buried
Their little graveyard by the sea
As silken sands advance on the cemetery like
Pale capsized hulls
Pouring between tablets marking
The long forgotten dead
It was here, fifty two years ago that
I held my Grandfathers weathered white hand,
More so for the want of a brace
Than the sympathetic touch of a Grandchild
I watched him kneeling by their cool stones
Tracing their names; his father’s father, then
The mothers, with a finger
Crooked by age and split with generational ‘over-use’
The sandstone letters crumbling in the wake of his tender touch
The grit sifting through his heavy fingers; history, being erased
Returning it back – to where it all began
As shadows lengthen, then fade to dusk
I imagined, back then as I do now
Of a graveyard full of pirates and thieves
With their ship resting just out there
~ At sea
But for the stout chimney and hearth, beyond the grounds
Baring testimony to the pioneers that
Once toiled this barren coast and now
Standing defiant, resolute against the
Advancing flotilla of sand
He is buried just beyond the little graveyard
On his farm; or
His father’s farm, before that
On a hill
Overlooking the sea
8 Dec. 2014
An old house
By Thomas Martin Durham III
My family is an old house:
Dad is the fireplace, which keeps us all warm.
Mom is the food, which keeps us all fed.
Paco, the Chihuahua is the television set, which provides us all with entertainment.
Kiki, the cat is the radio in the house, which makes a lot of noise.
My grandfather is the refrigerator, which stores all of our essential needs in life.
My uncle Larry is the propane tank of the house, which stores all the gas needed for the stove.
My Aunt Shana is the door of the house, which lets viewers in.
My uncle Joe is the propane tank filler which feeds the tank the gas needed for the stove.
Lulu, the pug is the carpet of the house, which keeps all of our feet warm
Sweetheart, the pug is the tile floor, which provides us something hard to walk on.
My cousin, Johnathan is the main bedroom, which people look at with awe.
My cousin Eric, is the insulation, which keeps any sound from escaping,
My grandma Eastridge is the walls of the house that keeps it warm.
My Grandpa Eastridge is the shape of the house, which people see first.
I am the foundation and the framework which keeps the house from crumbling