Long Silver Poems. These are the most popular long Silver by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Silver poems by poem length and keyword.
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When my life has finally left me and my last breath has been shed
And the silver cord is broken and my bodies firmly dead
I shall hover near the body, download the scenes of this past life
Noting all minutest details rolling backwards past my eyes
I’ll store these scenes ‘til later when I can take the time to learn
What the lessons have to teach me and help me to discern
How I treated other people, made them happy, made them sad
Examine all my actions, both the good and the bad
Three days later I’ll lose interest as my focus moves away
From the world that I just left behind, there is no need to stay
For a lifetime in the life of man to God is just a day
And my soul as God on the wheel of life must move along its way
I’ll take the download with me as I move into first heaven
It’s the first stage in the afterlife, in number there are seven
Here I’ll see and feel the good things that to others I have brought
And revel in the feelings of the kindness that I wrought
I will store these in my seed atom so in future lives I’ll know
They’re the things that I must multiply for my souls’ conscience to grow
For the conscience is the souls’ voice that guides you day by day
That still small voice that warns you in what you do and say
When that’s done my view will shift then to the things that I did bad
To the hurt I did to people that left them feeling sad
I will feel their pain intensely, ten times worse when in this field
For I’ll be purely spirit now with no flesh for a shield
These painful lessons will imprint upon my seed atom as well
In some religions we are told our soul’s in everlasting hell
In the stages of the afterlife, this is your punishment in heaven
This is the third and the most painful of the total seven
The Grim Reaper now has visited with his scythe so I will know
Through natures Law of Consequence I will reap what I did sow
He has shown me all my misdeeds and caused me many tears
And this purgatorial experience may last for twenty years
When my suffering soul recovers and the pain has died away
And I’ve incorporated the lessons to never act this way
In future lives I’ll be a better man from these lessons I have learned
One step closer to perfection that my growing soul has earned
Now I can sleep, Oh peaceful sleep, a state of heavenly rest
I’ll dream the dreams I love in life, of things I love the best
All desires that my soul has yearned, not a thing I can’t create
In the Great Silence of the spirit world to help me concentrate
The colors are much brighter, the scent of flowers more sublime
The senses are much sharper, there is no sense of time
I will see all other people as pure souls just like me
And I’ll know we’re all evolving to the bliss of eternity
I will hear the mystic music of the planets as they pass
Like a thousand singing angels, heavenly peace has come at last
Every planet sings its own song, we’ve grown deaf to this below
But in this super consciousness we’re in the eternal flow
I’ll be with my friends and family and others whom I love
The ones who left before me and currently live above
There they wait with arms wide open and rejoice when I arrive
In the fourth stage where I now live, it’s utter joy to be alive
I’ve incorporated my lessons, I now recall my goal
And my mind begins to focus on further growth of my soul
I must make further preparations and my vision starts to clear
I feel I must keep moving forward for all my works done here
I now have gone through five and six, there is just one more
In years it’s been from birth to birth one hundred forty four
The time has come to move along and leave this place called heaven
Prepare for life in the physical world, I move to number seven
My soul has gathered the material, I now know what I must do
To make some more improvements in the places I need to
I must take another body, I must live another life
To grow and liquidate more karma though it means more pain and strife
I build an archetype of the body that in future I will form
When embodiment is offered, and I can be reborn
I will see the opportunities and be able to discern
The ideal embodiment for me when the right egg meets the sperm
I will hover near the fetus, influencing where I can
And I’ll have the power to make it be a woman or a man
I will help to build the body to suit the lessons I must learn
To overcome more issues so more advancement I can earn
When baby takes its first breath and my soul is taken in
With the imprint of my seed atoms that it has brought within
Now the babys’ atoms resonate to my seeds vibration rate
Making it the perfect body for my soul to habituate
The new body will be my new home, I will live a life anew
Gain experience, learn more lessons, through the things that I will do
I’ll apply the added knowledge that I learned in this past life
More evolved than in the last one, and cause me less pain and strife
This will happen just as often as required by the soul
As it pushes ever onward, pushing ever t’ward its goal
Of complete re-integration back from whence it came
To the universal soul of life no matter what its name
Nature is not personal, it does not seek revenge
If we mess it up we have the chance to do it all again
We arrived here by this process, nothing’s changed it’s still the same
But our souls have evolved immensely since we stepped into the game
We started out as fallen angels with no experience on this plane
We’ve grown to this by coming back again and again
Though we cannot remember for each conscious mind has died
The feelings in the soul remained in our subconscious mind
And so this is the story of the cycle of the soul
As it struggles through evolution on its way toward the goal
It’s this way for all unfailing, from natures law there’s no relief
All living things go through it, no matter their belief
Sentenced to hang in the town of Lincoln,
Billy made his bold escape.
Both of his guards died from thinking
that a shackled young boy couldn't break away.
I've often wondered what thoughts were going through his head
as he stood staring out that window chained to the floor by his bed,
watching the gallows being built that would soon seal his fate.
Was he planning at that very moment his greatest escape?
Did he already know that his hanging would never come to be?
Was he already aware that before night fall, once again he'd be free?
Whatever his thoughts, they were interrupted rudely
by Deputy Bob Ollinger, one of his guards while in custody.
"Word has it you said that if we ever met again you'd kill me on the spot.
Well here I am Kid. Now's your chance. Show me what you've got.
It's a shame that you'll hang in another week or two,
because I'd love to be the one who gets to kill you.
I've got 16 silver dimes in the barrells of my shotgun.
I'd love to try them out on you, but I can't unless you run.
If I free you from those chains will you run for the door?
Oh by the way Kid, your Ma was one sweet dirty whore.
I'll kill you before you hang Kid. That's a sure bet."
"Be careful Bob," said the Kid, "I'm not hung yet."
Bob thrusted his shotgun hard into Billy's gut.
The Kid looked up at him in pain and said, "Now what?"
"Don't do it Bob," Bell screamed angrily,
"or you'll be the one who'll hang for sure
for killing an unarmed man in cold blood
who was chained helplessly to the floor.
It's time for the other prisoners to be escorted across the street to be fed.
The Kid's not going anywhere. He's chained to the floor by his bed.
Anyway, I took the prisoners last so now it's your turn.
Go and have yourself a beer and I'll stay here
and guard the Kid until you return."
Bob Ollinger placed his shotgun into the gun rack.
Before he left he said to Billy, "I'll see you when I get back."
No one can say for sure if the above dialog ever truly took place,
but one thing's for sure,
Ollinger tormented Billy at a merciless endless pace.
They were arch enemies who fought against each other
during the Lincoln County War.
Ollinger was in the posse that killed John Tunstall,
Billy's employer, friend and mentor.
"I have to use the privy Bell," Billy said to the deputy.
Bell kept his rifle trained on Billy as he tossed him the key.
Billy unlocked the chains that kept him bound to the floor.
Still in handcuffs and leg irons, Bell escorted Billy out the door.
Billy entered the outhouse closing the door behind him.
"Let's not take too long in there Kid," Bell said with a humorous grin.
While in the outhouse Billy managed to slip one of his hands out of his handcuff.
"You fall in there Kid?" Bell laughed, "You've been in there long enough."
"I'm coming out now Bell," Billy said opening the door.
"Sorry I took so long Bell. I must have ate something bad for sure."
Deputy Bell then escorted Billy back to the jail cell.
Once inside, Billy spun around and smacked hard Deputy James Bell.
Bell lost his balance, dropped his rifle and was momentarily stunned.
"Hands Up Bell!," the Kid yelled. In his hand was a gun.
"Please don't do it Bell," Billy pleaded, but Bell tried to run.
The Kid had no choice but to do what had to be done.
He shot and killed Bell, then went and got Ollinger's shotgun.
The Kid never found pleasure in killing,
but Ollinger would indeed be the exception.
Knowing that Ollinger heard the gunfire, Billy stood by the window
and waited for Ollinger to appear in the street down below.
One senior named Godfrey saw Bell fall dead down the stairs.
The moment probably gave Godfrey a few more gray hairs.
Ollinger ran out into the street as Godfrey screamed,
"The Kid's killed Bell!"
Ollinger looked up into both barrels of his own shotgun
and whispered, "..and now he's killed me as well."
"Hello Bob!," Billy called out with a song in his heart
just prior to blowing Bob Ollinger apart.
He blasted both barrels into Ollinger's chest and face.
Pieces of old Bob lay scattered all over the place.
Billy smashed his shotgun in two, threw it at him but missed.
"You'll never rifle me again," he screamed, "you son of a b*tch!"
On the balcony he addressed the crowd whose jaws hung agape.
"I don't want to hurt anyone,
but I'll kill anybody who tries to prevent my escape."
In the office he found a sledge hammer
and smashed the chains of his leg irons free.
He told Godfrey to fetch him a fast horse immediately.
As he walked down the stairs, he came upon Bell's lifeless body
and many eyewitnesses admit
that the Kid looked upon him and said almost tearfully,
"I'm sorry I killed you Bell, but couldn't help it."
As Billy mounted the horse the chains of his leg irons startled the beast.
The horse reared up and threw Billy down onto the street.
He was at this point his most vulnerable laying down on the ground.
The crowd could have overtaken him easily, but none made a move or a sound.
Once again Billy mounted the horse
and fled with the sound of his leg iron chains ringing.
Many claim that as he rode out of Lincoln County
that they heard the Kid singing.
Billy had escaped danger so many other times in his past,
but this was his greatest escape ever. It would also be his last.
"I had no intention of killing either one of them. My plan was to tie and gag Bell and then get out of there before Ollinger got back, but then things went terribly wrong.....I certainly didn't want to kill Bell, but I had to in order to save my own life....I never felt happier than when I gave it to old Bob. I said, "Look up here old boy and see what you're getting". I then blasted him in the face and breast. He use to ride me to the point where I just couldn't take it anymore."
- Billy the Kid
as the PROPHETS of profits, WE lead and WE’re fair
while WE’re living the life of the poor BILLIONAIRE
– silver yachts, pearly castles, cash (plenty to spare) –
with the world on OUR backs... ah! the burdens WE bear!
being HAVES (not the have-nots) as nature decrees
means WE’re certainly the better (they’re vermin on sleaze).
if they pray for a lift in their dark fantasies,
WE just kick ’em downstairs, get ’em off of their knees.
yes, WE offer great jobs (much too busy OURSELVES!)
for maintaining the toilets, restacking the shelves,
and WE teach ’em to fear god and play with the elves,
so dispelling ideas where the dark demon delves.
though they build mighty bridges, twin towers and more,
peddle pizzas and popcorn, sell guns door-to-door,
still they gotta have BOSSES to tell ’em the score
else WE’d not be productive nor thrive evermore.
when OUR profits are plunging, they do their part too
for they dine on the dole! yes, no hullabaloo!
soon OUR fortunes redouble, rebound and accrue –
since WE fared well without ’em, WE bid ’em adieu.
they’re like hobos and whores, mimic spiders and lice,
for they crawl all around US in life’s paradise.
but WE’re tender and patient and make sacrifice
spewing charity, kindness (though each has its price).
if they’re beaten or punctured or suffer assault,
are unhealthy or crippled or walk with a halt,
or retarded or helpless, it’s all their own fault –
just like US they should worship the DOLLAR exalt!
protesters and loud mouths, you’ll find ’em aplenty
some older, some younger, the worst not yet twenty.
they’re shameless and brazen (unwashed, soiled and scenty)
impugning the prestige of brave COGNOSCENTI.
if they’ve got clashing colors (you know what WE mean),
or some different beliefs in the hidden unseen,
WE will always exploit it, deflecting their spleen,
for with god on each side, would WE dare intervene?
WE promote many methods to keep ’em in chains –
daily rags and the tube spin OUR circus campaigns
“to pretend you’ve a voice”, an announcement explains,
“you can vote and decide on which ONE of US reigns”.
OUR policemen protect US, they stay on the ball
(they arrest ’em, no questions per law’s protocol,
and jam ’em in jail with their backs to the wall) –
if you’ve lucre for lawyers there’s justice for all.
down the ROYAL road of justice WE march all alone
– WE condemn their defiance, set ways to atone –
since WE’re sinless, unsullied, WE cast the first stone
(while WE cloak Regal fetor with eau de cologne).
politicians, bald bankers, grand idols galore,
attend meetings, fete banquets in which they explore
ways to rid US of rodents (the weak and the poor) –
WE just round up the riff-raff, dispatch ’em to war!
ah! OUR wars are.... well, just...... just a thing of the past
........... and the present............... and future... WE sure make them last!
if some frown as they gaze (armageddon!) aghast,
then WE smile back with pleasure, OUR treasures amassed.
useless ranting and raving (in rags, when they’re clad),
leads to losing their teeth (for their gums are so bad).
WE’re unselfish, indulgent, WE’d never be mad
if they drowned in the sounds of themselves feeling sad.
as the paupers are princes in midnight’s domain
they have much more to lose, certainly nothing to gain
if they’re hoping OUR fortunes will wither and wane –
“for WE’re here by god’s will” as WE try to explain.
yes, they wish to be US, with OUR wisdom and grace,
keeping up with ol’ CROESUS, maintaining the pace.
but perverseness or rancor? they’ll see not a trace –
for WE hold ’em at bay with a fist in the face.
WE’re the CREAM of the CREAM, yes! the proud UPPER CRUST,
and OUR clothes are the finest, OUR hair never mussed –
WE imbue ’em with piety, duty and trust
and they’re fed bread and water (if feed ’em WE must).
but they’re thieving, aggrieved, want a piece of the PIE
and request WE endure ’em, see EYE to black eye.
since they live in OUR land wherein strict rules apply,
they must feast on the crumbs WE store stashed in the sty.
though OUR largesse and bounty WE don’t mean to flaunt,
yet the pittance WE pay ’em they surely can vaunt –
a few peanuts and pretzels (what more could they want?)
thereby keeping their kiddies so healthily gaunt.
yes, there’s room for the rabble (the back of the bus)
’cause WE treat ’em like equals, so what’s all the fuss?
all can rise to the top (and it’s always been thus),
to the suites in OUR penthouse (to sweep up and dust).
while OUR CHILDREN have tutors, the finest of schools
(being bred for the forefront, THEY’re nobody’s fools),
the ol’ school of hard knocks teaches: “follow the rules”,
building brawn ’stead of brains and broad backs strong as mules’ .
and to keep ’em in line (to ensure WE prevail)
WE just monitor phone calls and read all their mail
(civil rights? what a notion! at best a detail!)
and if worse comes to worst WE just slap ’em in jail.
WE’ve OUR quandaries and questions and headaches full blown
(like deciding design and decor of OUR thrones...
whether diamonds or rubies... to ivory WE’re prone) –
when WE deign to appease ’em, WE chuck ’em some bones.
now you know all OUR problems, OUR pains and travails,
– like preparing foreclosures, evictions and sales –
but WE’ve no need for worries or gnawed fingernails,
’cause WE’re sailing OUR yachts through the blizzards and gales
(with OUR banks being bailed when OUR stock market fails)
sipping daiquiri sours, champagne, ginger ales...
...inspired by 'Portrait Of A Lady' by T.S. Eliot
On winter days the view outside is nebulous at best,
within, the furniture is as it always was, and I am waiting,
waiting for a glimpse of you to silence my equivocating.
Somber is my attitude, the light is dim, curtains at rest,
as dust mites dance, the clock ticks unobtrusively,
marking time, the chamber maids make ready for my guest,
and dust the tables, clean the silver, place the flowers perfectly.
You return from 'La Boheme,' affected by the tragedy,
emboldened by Puccini's art, transfiguring his sadness
to an everlasting theme of hope eternal, with no misery.
A small group of confederates who seize the meaning clearly,
examine his conceptions with a true and honest face,
only those who can conceptualize his grace.
And we are bereft of conversation.
The curtain falls between our faces,
we are left with little else to say.
Gone are common talk, and airs and graces,
walls have grown, and bars along the way.
Your friends have grown in stature, tried and true,
reflecting what you feel within your soul,
and you must follow them and share their view,
as long as it will bring you to your goal.
Friendship is a bond that can't be broken,
even though you dally with your heart,
you cannot spring the lock, that sacred token,
that keeps your deepest feelings true to art.
Your friends are pure disciples of your creed,
they will legitimize your need
to pave your way to conquer and succeed.
Within the mellow of the violins,
the sweetness of the celli and the horns,
I hear a tattoo beating all alone,
the tympani begin to pound
a loud crescendo of their own.
I listen, there is something out of tone.
With cigarettes and sherry, unconcerned,
we wander through the garden unaware,
take in the sights and pass without a care,
as if our similarities don't matter,
we give ourselves to nonsense, idle chatter.
Roses now are brightly blooming,
to your friends now you are calling.
I know not of what you speak,
I cannot fathom your delight.
You say: 'Try to understand my mission,
learn to trust in things unseen,
I must find what nature seeks
and fathom its eternal meaning.
Youth will never gather roses,
never see beyond the garden.'
I will stay for now, trapped in the cold.
Though I'll remember nature's wonders,
sunsets and the breath of spring,
feel the wind blow through my hair
and know the thrill of sunrise cresting.
We see the universe as dancing,
two such different creatures trancing,
we two will never understand
the private notions of the other,
even if we take each other's hand.
Coming close to your destruction
you will see the other side,
who says who has satisfied
requirements for a better life?
Friendship, if we could but find it,
yields the seeds of greater profit,
greater than the seeds of strife.
I now remain just as I ever was.
I shall take my morning walk,
communing with the birds and talking
to myself while reading Kafka,
glancing at the latest headlines.
Dear Stravinsky's 'Rite' is slighted,
(he'll return when ears are righted.)
When I smell a rose I'm prompted
to recall a certain lady, gifted with
a new perception, I must sadly
take exception, for the moment anyway.
The chill of morning, people yawning,
I am tired, the blush of dawning has me
feeling ill at ease, my spirit sags,
I barely reach the second floor.
'When will you return? Is Paris so much more
than you have here?' is my unanswered question.
I drag my heels to breakfast,
listless as a lazy dog, and nibble toast,
my countenance as pallid as a ghost.
A letter would be welcomed.
I shall miss you; there, I've said it.
I am your friend, are you not mine?
Tenuous and strained, two casual
acquaintances who share so little time,
we brush elbows, like strangers passing
on a platform, sharing sidelong glances,
afraid to say hello. I watch you as you go.
Others swore we would be close,
peas in a pod, familiar.
Instead there is no warmth, not yet.
Were you to try we might combine
and nibble toast together, and take
a walk, your hand in mine, and
stammer conversation 'til we knew
there was no reason e'er to rue.
I shall sit with pleasant thoughts of you.
Desperate, I ponder on your death,
scant breath expended twixt the two of us,
and loneliness an ache too harsh to mention,
pen in hand and no one to subscribe.
I'll scarce recall the softness of your skin,
or search your heart to find what lies within.
Should I be bold, or take a gentler path?
encourage you... would I incur your wrath?
If you were to die I'd never know your truth,
and I should lose the vigour of my youth.
Sipping cherry limeade, driving in the car parade
Cruising in the Lone Star state
Didn't want a bucket seat; one thing it couldn't beat
Was sitting really close to your date
One hand on the wheel of Daddy’s Oldsmobile
My arm around my brown-eyed girl
Feeling pretty sporty, playing the top forty
I was cooler than the Duke of Earl
The lady of the cruise had her penny loafer shoes
Her bobby socks were turned down twice
With a little eyeliner, she couldn't be much finer
Too much and it wouldn't be nice
There’d be no wild oats under those petticoats
She’d never go all the way
Just a perfect flip-up 'do and cute look number two
Practiced in the mirror all day
Hear those tires squeal when I make the rubber peel
For the flyboys waiting on the bus
To take them to the base where they don't feel out of place
Not cruising like the rest of us
I was the drag's head honcho as we pulled across the Concho
And we saw the lights along the riverside
We'd had quite a lark at Neff's amusement park
Playing putt-putt and going on a ride
The cheerleader squad rode a killer hot rod
With a spinner on every rim
A perfect tuck and pleat on every single seat
Courtesy of Wanda's Auto Trim
Candy apple red, it would really knock you dead
It was a drop-top Pontiac
One was there to steer and three were in the rear
Posing up on the back
Those football beauty queens in their skin-tight Levi jeans
Were followed by their biggest fan
Checking out those lasses in his Buddy Holly glasses
Was the nerdy little Aqua Velva man
In his stainless steel braces he grinned up at their faces
They iced him with a haughty air
He never would forget it; they would later on regret it
When he became a famous millionaire
A four girl bevy in a big finned Chevy
Were riding west on Sherwood Way
Four guys right behind in a pick-up state of mind
All ready to make their play
Thought they were the smartest cruising pick-up artists
But those gals were pretty astute
When they stopped and the guys started telling all their lies
The chicks started putting on the cute
We turned the car around and headed back downtown
Cruising down the boulevard
Stay cool daddio, bear right at El Patio
And take it down Beauregard
We saw lots of pleated skirts and colored button-down shirts
The flattops were everywhere galore
From a Lincoln Continental, we heard an instrumental
Mister Acker Bilk's “Stranger on the Shore”
We slowly pulled through BJ’s, listening to the deejay’s
Announcement of the next hit song
Leaning on their doors with their Brylcreem pompadours
Two dudes were playing Mr. Wrong
Completing their disguise, they slouched with narrowed eyes
And did their best at looking mean
With a twist of his pelvis, one was doing Elvis
The other did a fine James Dean
Like a sweet potato vine, the bride of Frankenstein
Was entwined around the Marlboro man
With the passion of their make out, they should have gotten takeout
And opted for a bigger floor plan
With her big black beehive hair and his fancy western wear
They were putting on quite an awesome scene
I had to give a chuckle at his huge silver buckle
But those M.L. Leddy boots looked mighty keen
I pulled the Olds on through, and we bid BJ’s adieu
And I put us back onto the street
With those four whitewall tires, we made for McIntire's
To get ourselves a bite to eat
We stopped for some fuel, over near the school
In those days they came right out to you
Best place on Earth, ‘cause with a dollar’s worth
They’d check your oil and clean your window too
The drive-in, painted green, was quite the social scene
With people mingling car to car
Everyone was caring; the drinks they were for sharing
Especially when they were in a mason jar
She ate a big banana split, and then left me for a bit
To comfort an old friend not feeling right
A moment more to linger with that final steak finger
Then I took her home and called that one a night
That was many years ago, but some things you don’t outgrow
And I think back to when I was a teen
When doors were left unlocked, and children safely flocked
Unchaparoned at night on Halloween
And sometimes at night, when the stars are big and bright
And I’m deep in a Texas state of mind
I think of that lass who was in my high school class
And I wonder if she thinks of me in kind
Click "About this poem" above the title to see the notes.
Mother of pearl
struck a ruby eyed reef
quickly sank into the deep,
just shy of the cay of life.
Hazy legend has it,
I was keyhole witness...
don't recall how young
but small enough
to fit under the kitchen sink..
Don't remember much about her,
those that did have long since blown away,
dad never had much to say about the sinking.
Ancient pictures seduced my curiosities..
whispered she had sunset red hair
a mother of pearl smile..
diamond chips set deep in lonely eyes...that's about it
Soon after the sediment of death settled,
"wrecking ball mom"
swings into the salty blue mix...
Dad must have been moon rock lonely
because he only waifed the soft, silky pretty
not the pyrite hearted
by cold, cold fires....
A much to young, to cuddle a half orphan, kind of bride.
In public her voice cooed ,
"I'll buoy your little sinking heart,
with a million butterfly kisses
chocolate chipped wishes"...
but in private
she plotted to carve a granite man
out of a wandering lamb,
who never really needed carving
only a little gentle kneading
on the potters wheel of life and love.
I spent a healthy wedge of childhood
treading a rolling ocean of dorsal fin coldness:
cutting a backyard full of weeds
with a pair of rusty hand shears,
rescuing favorite toys from the garbage can
staring into plates of things I didn't like to eat.
like asparagus my least favorite "anti-treat".
Everyone would drift into the living room
to frolic away the evening
but I was chained to the chair...
gazing into a saucer filled with devil spears..
At times I sat so long the food would harden
into the face of mother pearl,
her sweetness trapped between rows of bitter things..
a gone forever kind of look in our mutual deadened eye.
Most of the time wrecking ball mom won the food battles.
Rarely did the little boy under the sink come out on top.
One night I'm sparring with the devil spears... again,
deciding on a whim, to slide them under the table,
into the willing jaws of my beagle friend.
Chalk one up for the half orphan...right?....Not so fast.
The next day I shuffle home from school...
wrecking ball mom is frothing in the doorway,
wants to show me something..
She quickly leads me under the kitchen table
and to my ,deep green, horror..
there lay a small forest of day old asparagus..
Seems this is the one thing my best friend didn't care for.
This is when I was first introduced to
wrecking ball's wicked handiwork,
that would often rouge the face and back,
but cunning enough not to crack the lamb.
I saw "hitting stars" for the first time,
I swear a cluster of explosions went off inside my head..
Carving a man out of a paper lamb
was a long and painful sort of task.
In a way I felt lucky because, for a moment,
I thought she was going to rub my nose into the regurgitation,
Just like the time she rubbed the nose of my best friend for pissing up her new bride carpet.
By the way, dad (the swing shifter) was oblivious to these rougings ...
its ok dad your fully forgiven for wearing those rose colored glasses,
we all must wear them at some point in time-to deflect the offal of life.
Anyhow, that was many years ago...
doesn't really matter anymore,
I've outlived a half dozen or so best friends.
the wrecking ball's backhanding and black belting days are over.
She's silver headed and soft as a plate of over cooked veggies...
Every time I visit, I fantasize about rouging her...
until she sees that same pack of hitting stars...
wham- wham until she cracks.
You know, carve an old step bride
into an under the sink child.
rub that nose in yesterday's piss in honor of my best dead friend.
Unveil those wrinkled whips disguised as hands,
for the whole rosy glassed world to finally see.
but that fantasy will forever go unfulfilled...god willing..
So instead I offer her an atlantic-cold hug instead.
just like any good, semi-forgiving step man would do.
Now, I'm heart deep
in the meloncholy mist of fatherhood..
To this day, I won't touch asparagus
never rouge the lamb-
It was midnight and my dream was shattered
I fell into darkness
I was sinking, drowning, dying…
But then I heard the laugh of a child
Carefree and joyful was the music of her lips
She smiled and suddenly I had the urge to fight
I slowly climbed out of the shadows and emerged in a hall of pale silver
“Where am I?” my heart was racing as I asked the question
“Look around into the pictures,” a gentle voice replied
Nobody was there
I let my eyes adjust to the images scattered about the room
I strode to a photograph in a golden frame
I saw the child with a babe upon her knee
They sat in an empty room with chords scattered about, the walls stark, the light blinding
The picture gradually came to life
I watched for a bit as the child slowly rocked the babe
Tears laced the eyes of the young girl and the baby fell asleep
All was silent as the picture faded
I paced in confusion as I arrived at the next illustration
I gazed speechless as I saw the child sobbing
She knelt and I watched as she screamed at the sky, shaking her fist in raging fury
Beyond her I saw grass and trees in desolate shades
She pulled a small necklace from her pocket and placed it on the broken ground
The only extravagant color I saw was that of a red rose which she placed on a polished stone
The colors swirled and I knew it was time to move on
The pictures I had seen thus far left a nauseating feeling within me
I didn’t want to journey on, but I heard the comforting voice once more
“Three more pictures… You’ll soon be finished”
I knew then that it was my place to take another step
I stumbled slightly and fell before the next portrait
I saw the sky cluttered with a river of mist and the amber rays of the sun
“What is this?” I inquired curiously
“Take a look,” the voice answered
I peered once more and took a sharp breath
I saw a gate and a man with dark hair standing at the entrance
The baby from the first image was carried by two figures
Clothed in pastel garments with radiant beams of light circling their heads
I knew where I was, but it was not where I wanted to be
I stared at the beautiful spectrum
My head was pounding and I abruptly drew away, breathless
I closed my eyes then opened them to behold a teenage girl
Quietly I realized it was the child from the previous pictures, now grown
She faltered helplessly until she fell, crashing to the ground, chains holding her down
“No!” I screamed, my voice echoing in the stillness
The frame that held the picture fell to the marble floor of the hall
“One more picture…” the voice retorted sternly, “You must see this!”
A woman appeared before me
Gathering me up in her arms, she placed me before a long golden frame
I steadied myself as she stepped back
I looked at the frame and found myself staring at my reflection
“What do you mean by showing me this hall?” I asked, a tremor in my voice
“By showing you these pictures, I am depicting lessons of life” The woman answered softly
I looked at her incredulously
She continued on in explanation, “Follow me back to the first image”
She grabbed me by the hand and led me to the picture with the empty room
“In your lifetime you will be blinded by tears… keep your innocence”
I felt myself trying to comprehend what she meant but she rushed me to the next frame
“You will experience sorrow, and despair… but you will cope”
She gestured to the rose and the necklace, then gave a soft smile before leading me on
“While you do well in life, others will die… yet prosper eternally”
She smiled in awe as the baby in the picture was placed into the arms of the man
“You will struggle and you will fail many times… but you must keep trying”
She chided me and I felt tears running down my face
Slowly she turned me towards the glass mirror
“Do you understand now?”
I nodded my head slowly, and quickly realized what I had seen
“That child in the pictures… who was she?”
I whirled around and found that the woman was gone
I slowly awoke and found the sun peeking through the shadows of the dawn
“It was me”
Sebastian looked at the moon, the source of his inspiration. When the Moon appeared in its silvery glory, he was profoundly moved to write. Sadly he could only write during a full moon. This was a problem which perplexed him. He had waited many days for the full Moon to appear so that he could put his plan into action.
When Sebastian would write a poem during the full Moon his readers would be moved to tears. His prose had wooed many a young heart, his songs had been sung to princesses. Countless women had named their children in honor of him. His words were distilled romance with power beyond the comprehension of ordinary men. The problem however was that Sebastian was unable to meet the demand. Strong men would beg for but a few lines to capture their true loves heart. Without the Moon, when Sebastian would try to write it felt like his tongue was wrapped around his hand. Nothing flowed little made sense, he was like an inexperienced teen unfamiliar with the ways of love. How Sebastian longed for the Moon during those long nights.
So here he was with his enchanted pen in hand, at the end of the pen was a golden strand. Sebastian went out to capture the Moon. He swung the pen in large loops over his head releasing it with tremendous force. The pen hurtled towards its target the tip of the fountain pen struck the centre of the Moon sinking deep into its surface. Sebastian pulled with all his might each movement of his hand brought his prize closer and closer. As the moon came closer there was no evidence it was increasing in size. Once the moon was in hand it fit perfectly in his pocket. Sebastian felt gleeful as he carried the Moon into his home, everything was going according to his plan.
Once inside he removed the Moon from his pocket and bathed in it's other worldly light. As Sebastian dislodged his pen from the surface it began to drip with the Moon's tears. Magnificent lines beyond anything he had ever hoped. Songs, poems, prose, the mysteries of the ages flowing onto his pages day after day year after year. His home overflowed with his treasures, the realization of his poetic dreams.
Still he had no joy, no one knocked on his door. Lovers could not walk in the Moonlight, wolves couldn't bay at the Moon. Romance was no longer in the air. The night was a thing to be feared. Sailors could not find their ways home, if they did their lovers no longer waited for their return. Some refer to this as the Dark Ages. Art creativity had all but dissapeared. The Oceans stood still with no Moon to guide the tides. Meanwhile Sebastian continued to write.
The Moon asked to see the Ocean so Sebastian took it for a walk. As they walked along a lonely secluded beach the Moon began to increase in size. The Moon summoned the Ocean to it's rescue. A huge wave came up on shore plucking the moon from Sebastian's hand. As the Moon was floating out to Sea Sebastian swam out to reclaim his treasure. Sebastian jumped on the Moon as a gigantic hand like wave tossed the Moon back into space. As the moon traveled back to its home it became larger and larger brightening the nights sky. Lovers came out to kiss captivated by the silvery glow. If they look close they can see a man with a fountain pen held in his hand. Wolves cry for him as they bay at the moon.
On the Moon Sebastian sits all alone with his fountain pen in hand, he fills the pen with his tears. He longs to write the words trapped in his heart yet there is not a page in site. Even if there was there is no one to read his words or to sing his songs. The Moon was once his Muse and then his greatest prize. Now it is his prison for the rest of time.
It is a cold road to my mother’s house.
I have driven it hundreds of times and each time it seems to get colder.
I have cranked up the heat, yet the cold is like a knife slicing through layers of stone
Until it finds a weak place and then it attacks with the furor of a wolverine
I have never been warm on that road even in the green apple days of spring
I guess that I always knew she was waiting and that waiting brought goose flesh to my soul.
She won’t be rude or cutting or even disrespectful; however, she will be aloof and inapproachable on any and every subject that might interest me. Her interest is of a short list that only an evil woman would cultivate.
A list about the woman that I have known or perhaps will know and when she means known she means it in a Biblical sense for Christ sake.
My indiscretions, affairs, and failures all bundled neatly into a package to be air mailed in a whim.
And yes mostly the failures make her bubble like the cheap champagne she buys for such occasions.
To know that I have not succeeded make her giddy with schoolgirl excitement, for I was always the enemy. I was the one child that could see through her guise of proclivity for the prudent and call a ***** a *****. I never said it out loud, but she knew that I knew. They say the first son is the closest but the second son learns things about both of them that they don’t think they are sharing. And If, just if he is smart enough he will find their weakness and teach them how to love him. Sometimes that love takes threats and hidden innuendos but hey nobody every said it was going to be easy, right?
I am that second child the one left behind. It wasn’t like the Marines; you know that whole no man left behind thing. It was more like good luck your on your own and to that principle I live my life today. No matter how many people I am surrounded by I always feel cold and alone. There are people that love me, but somehow they don’t seem to be the right people. I love them back as much as I can in my dysfunctional pathetic way but they always feel uncomfortable. I have a better chance of intimacy with a slug than a human being. No child left behind. Where the **** was George W. Bush when I needed him. Probably pulling that silver spoon out of his ass.
As I approach the house the temperature drops to a low that I have never felt before. I knock and then enter without waiting. I call out “Mother are you here?” I get no response. I know she has been ill so I walk down the hall to her bedroom. It seems like an ice cave. The closer I get to her door the colder it gets. I swear there is smoke coming from my mouth. When I finally reach the door I knock…. nothing. I turn the frozen knob slowly and push the door open. And there in the bed is my mother, dead, and dressed in her wedding gown. I am taken aback by the spectacle but then I realize that she must be bigger in death than life. She does not want anyone to forget what she was worth to the family.
I suddenly feel lonely and lost. I never knew this person. The one person that brought me into this world. I look at faded pictures from time gone by and wonder who was that person that raised me. That breast fed me and changed my diapers and made me the person I am today? How did we end up here? Devine intervention. The path less travelled? Suddenly I am for once without words. The granddaddy of all hurt as laid his axe between my shoulder blades. I go down and come back up gasping for air. My mother is dead.
And all I can think is “Praise the Lord and pass the Mescaline.” I am at last free.
As you peel back one layer you will a bit more of me
Each layer defines parts that the naked eye may not see
The outer layer is tough resistant and seems weather proof
Just one more layer down is where you start to find the truth.
Peel off a third one and that’s where my feelings are hidden
Not on the surface to be played with or abused when bidden
Another layer down is where my tears are caught and held back.
Until the hurt of death and squalor, that layer attack
The last layer you may peel from me, I hold on to so tight
I don’t want you to see my heart naked, in the harsh light.
The layer that covers my heart and keeps it safe from abuse
Life constantly picks at it and it’s not really much use.
I tried so hard to keep that one in place and safe from harm
Then life produces its peeler, which I would like to disarm.
It endlessly peels away at the layers of my protection
Leaving me vulnerable and weak and open to infection.
To fight back at life I have found a small good cure all
And that is what lets me walk on the edge, I totter but not fall.
In times of trouble and death, pain, anger and even love
Look for the silver lining that helps give this life a little shove.
Shove these things aside; they will get dealt with in a while
Knowing that whatever it is, will be behind us - so smile.
The layer that keeps our minds strong and yes even clear
Needs the most attention, it gives us hope, love, and even fear
Good things and bad things all come and go day by day
But we find we always look back on them and so we can say
Another day passed though we never forget the pain
Let me replace that layer now and cover my heart again
A smile helps to build up the layers and keeps me on life’s path
As does love, friendship and forgiveness, and a smile turns back wrath.
When we feel we can never smile ever again in a thousand lifetimes
We will look back and find the memory dims and the sun returns to shine
My layers are there I try to build them and keep them supple and strong
But sometimes they get ripped in a wrench and I think I am wrong
Straight to the point where my heart beats and is exposed to life’s ills
Time to pay the piper, as he comes to collect on life’s bills.
Laughter the best medicine and that I truly believe
But there’s a time to laugh and then there is a time to grieve
Time to think and to fight, love and to perhaps even pray
I hope my layers will keep intact, and get me through another tough day.
© ~GG~ 25/12/2012
My son had to work today, he is a supervisor on a motorway service station. He came home to us at the end of his shift for any comfort we could give him because of a motor accident just past where he works that took the lives of two children and an adult and seriously injured two more. He had to get access for the emergency services and then deal with angry motorists as he had to block them trying to re-enter the motorway, while things were dealt with. His one thought was how the families would now cope, not only with the losses but that fact that it would taint their Christmas celebrations for the rest of their lives.
Although we do not celebrate Christmas he is so concerned for their feelings he is finding it difficult to cope with. My heart grieves not only for them and their horrendous ordeal, but my son whose heart has been laid open to their pain.