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Long Winter Poems | Long Winter Poetry

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Long Poems
Long poem by Suzette Richards | Details |


It was a visit long overdue by most people’s standards. I had last seen my daughter two years prior to that during a whirlwind trip which she and her fiancé had made to Cape Town. I had an unexpected financial windfall and the money was burning a hole in my pocket. On the spur of the moment, I called my daughter and asked her to source accommodation for me in London over the Christmas season. A few days later, she called me back with the news that all the hotels had been booked up, save for the Ritz. I chuckled at the idea of having to spend my entire holiday budget on just one night at the Ritz. Then reason asserted itself and we put our heads together to come up with an alternative solution. I could hear her flatmate in the background, chipping in with her penny’s worth of advice. My daughter hung up and I was feeling down in the mouth about the plans for the trip being derailed in such a fashion. Later that evening, my daughter called back with the offer that if I did not object to sleeping on the settee in the lounge, I would be most welcome to stay with them at their London flat. I gladly accepted. She is a chef at a top restaurant and I was looking forward to gourmet meals prepared by her - including the Christmas turkey.

screeching seagulls dive at sushi scraps on a plate - the urchin watches
The evening of the booked flight to London, arrived. It was an uncomfortable hot day and I showered and dressed with only minutes to spare before my friend took me to the airport to book in the statuary two hours before international flight departures. At the airport everything was in chaos. We were given the unwelcome news that our flight had been cancelled. This was the third direct flight to London which had been cancelled that week due to London experiencing the worst weather and snow since records began in 1890! We were offered alternative flights and had to stand in queues for hours in order to procure a new airline ticket. Some people became very verbose and insisted on being granted passage on other airline carriers (at the cost of our local airline carrier). I do not know whether it was due to the weather or the disappointment I was feeling, but when my turn came at last to book a new flight, I readily agreed to fly on Christmas Eve ( three days hence) to London. If I had been given time to reflect on this date, I would not have accepted it. Arriving in London on Christmas Day would have been disastrous: The tubes and other public transport would have been curtailed on Christmas Day and shops and other amenities would have been closed for the day. This I knew from previous trips to the UK over the festive season. To add insult to injury, taxis would have charged triple for cab fare and no amount of quibbling would have swayed them. I phoned my friend to collect me and when we got home, I poured a large glass of Merlot and retired on the sun lounger in the garden. It was *full moon that evening and it was almost worth missing the trip to witness its beauty. I left my bags in the hallway and retired early – after phoning my daughter and giving her an update on the status quo.
moths dart between moon flowers - lunar eclipse
Six am the following morning, I was woken up by the phone ringing. Sleepily I took the call. It was the airline inquiring whether I could get to the airport by seven am. My friend was dancing up and down in agitation and already had the car out by the time I had brushed my teeth. I offered to pay any speeding fines which she might incur during our mad dash to get to the airport on time. The flight was an additional service which was laid on to get the backlog of passengers to their desired destinations. Heathrow had given our pilots permission to proceed, hence the call to me that morning. We were a total of thirty six passengers on the Boeing 747 – it translated to two passengers per crew member. We were treated to five in flight movies which were current and could eat and drink as much as we wished to. By the time we landed in London at seven pm that evening, there was a festive spirit among us. A radio taxi (which my daughter had organised) was waiting to collect me at Heathrow airport. It was a chilly four degrees Celsius below zero and I was grateful for my leather coat and wool accessories.
steep steps to flat shut out the bitter world - a heart pounds
**************************************************************** *The December 2010 lunar eclipse occurred from 5:27 to 11:06 UTC on December 21, coinciding with the date of the December solstice. It was visible in its entirety as a total lunar eclipse in North and South America, Iceland, Ireland, Britain and northern Scandinavia. "bitter" means piercingly cold..... A term commonly used by Britishers... "flat" means apartment. The Londoners I know, refer to it as just "flat" with no adj or possessive noun or article. Please see the About section for explanations regarding the 1ST AND LAST haiku. Haibun(literally, haikai writings) is a prosi-metric literary form originating in Japan, combining prose and haiku. The range of haibun is broad and includes the autobiography, diary, essay, prose poem, short story and travel journal. ~ Wikipedia

Copyright © Suzette Richards

Long poem by Terry O'Leary | Details |

The Stone

The Tale below was carved one night,
Upon the Stone, by candlelight
...most won’t believe, but some just might
.........most won’t believe, but some just might

.                         Preface

Well James made Beth his lovely bride
(And angels smiled, though teary eyed)
...their bodies bound, their spirits tied
.........their bodies bound, their spirits tied

Upon her hand, a shimmer shone,
As bright as blood, a ruby Stone 
...and brighter still, as love had grown
.........and brighter still, as love had grown

Soon James was sent to man a sail
So Beth removed her wedding veil
...her eyes were bright, her face was pale
.........her eyes were bright, her face was pale

“Well, I’ll be here when you return”
Said Beth to James, who kissed in turn
...a kiss that made her body burn
.........a kiss that made her body burn

.                         BETH’S TALE

1.              The Dream
One night, within a dream deformed,
The cawing of a Crow informed
“...a Ship was stripped where winter stormed
.........a Ship was stripped where winter stormed

Midst winds and waves the thunder boomed
The Ship of Death was surely doomed
...the sea engulfed, the sea entombed
.........the sea engulfed, the sea entombed

Your James... denied by Davy Jones!
His spirit gone, his flesh and bones
...are resting now amongst the Stones
.........are resting now amongst the Stones”

2.               The Quest

Awoken by the ebon Wight
And beckoned by the baneful bight
...I left before the morning light
.........I left before the morning light

Throughout the realm I rode a roan
Until, in time, I reached the Stone
...where shades and dreams in darkness groan 
.........where shades and dreams in darkness groan 

While skipping up and down the sky
A missing moonbeam mocked my eye
...enough to make a Swallow cry
.........enough to make a Swallow cry

For someone stole a star or two
And something else that fate withdrew – jewel of joy, my James Bijou jewel of joy, my James Bijou

The shadows of the evening swelled
Where demons of the dusk had dwelled
...and in the far, a vesper knelled
.........and in the far, a vesper knelled

The Stone, beneath the sky, stood cold –
Between the runes, a vapour strolled
...a cloak of fleecy fog consoled
.........a cloak of fleecy fog consoled

A Raven on a branch, enthroned,
Her wings waved once, a wail intoned
...beyond the bay, a banshee moaned
.........beyond the bay, a banshee moaned

I lay beside the Stone, his bride
I lay beside the Stone and cried
...but were it I, instead, that died
.........but were it I, instead, that died

The rainbow of the moon fell dim
A midnight Swan soon ceased to swim if to hide all hint of him if to hide all hint of him

Between the willows in the swale
There sang a Bird, a Nightingale
...which left me faint and feeling frail
.........which left me faint and feeling frail

3.              Contact

I felt him breathe within a breeze
Responding to my anguished pleas
...and leaves blew by abandoned trees
.........and leaves blew by abandoned trees

“I miss you too, my darling Beth”
Re-echoed from the Ship of Death
...the future buried in a breath
.........the future buried in a breath
The Stone lit up a ruby sheen
And clouds were kindled crystalline
...with consequences, unforeseen
.........with consequences, unforeseen

Above, the wretched Raven soared
To where the Ship of Death lay moored
...beneath, the icy ocean roared
.........beneath, the icy ocean roared

4.               Release

I’m joined with James beneath the Stone,
Though to the Ship my spirit’s flown,
...for nevermore to be alone
.........for nevermore to be alone

.                         Epilogue

That night the wayward winds were weird 
The Ship of Death had disappeared
...coyotes called and mortals feared
.........coyotes called and mortals feared

At dusk, the craven shadows crawled
At dawn, the winds of mourning called
...upon the Stone two names were scrawled
.........upon the Stone two names were scrawled

The Raven sits, with wings outspread,
Atop the Stone which shades the dead sometimes shimmers ruby red sometimes shimmers ruby red

.                         Epitaph

Between the sounds, where silence seeps,
Their love lives on and never sleeps
...and yet, the weeping willow weeps
.........and yet, the weeping willow weeps

inspired by ~fc~

Wight (obsolete): a supernatural being, creature
Bight: a bay or gulf
Swale: a moist depression in a tract of land

Copyright © Terry O'Leary

Long poem by Beverly Pippin | Details |

Ramen Noodles

:) now this is what Im talking bout .... nothin iz 2 uncommon when all you got 2 eat iz Ramen 
noodles 4 all y'all poodles
 seahorse sonar struggle with senses 
far beyond the realm 
of more than just whats common coinsidences
 crusade 2 overwhelm 
overcomin the fear2 pursuade
 Dominate prominiscent pre made 
cascade undelayed
 Just played it safe 4rum ur Fake-Aid 
you D grade 
ain't tasty Kool-aid 
sweet sugar serenade
 Your gunna need more than just a band-aid 
to fix whats tha matter with brain sprayed splatter
 Greater than or equal to straight trade
 Not wanting to leave wish I culd have stayed
 Don't we all....
 facade to fall..
 winter spring shoreline stahl 
nothin iz 2 uncommon 
when all you got 2 eat iz Ramen 
noodles 4 all y'all poodles
 seahorse sonar struggle with senses 
far beyond the realm 
of more than just whats common coinsidences 
crusade 2 overwhelm 
overcomin the fear2 pursuade..
 Dominate prominscent cascade undelayed
 Just played it safe frum your Fake-aid take to fade
 Greater than or equal to straight trade
 Gotta get paid 

         Warmth blanketing the bitter cold 
cUm•BU•lOnImBUs clouds 
forecast percipatation pretold
 Warning massive ThunderStorm for the following Counties prepare to unfold 
Dis pissed off cloud is about to take off a load 
head off road 
And all you'll hear is rain falling in ode
 Kroak of a toad
 strikeof lighting bright N bold 
then counting the miles in mississippis gold 
till thunder explode
 Under protection of this roof 
behind these shudders
 Stricken sight candle lit light 
rain drainsN2all gutters
 Impaled beneath the moons clutters of the night

 :) now this is what Im talking bout ......
    nothin iz 2 uncommon
 when all you got 2 eat iz Ramen 
noodles 4 all y'all poodles
 seahorse sonar struggle with senses 
far beyond the realm 
of more than just whats common coinsidences
 crusade 2 overwhelm 
overcomin the fear2 pursuade.....
 ruby emerald sapphire diamond jade 
none of which fade
 Frum your fake aid 
fake lime to make lemonade
 Over time meat marinade
 For a stroll in the park serenade 
don't wanna leave wish I culd of stayed
Sonic is constantly tailed by a flying fox 
Speedyblue Hedgehog
 with a sack of magicalblue rox 
lookin to take down dat evil Dr Robotnox
 Impressing Goldie-locks 
Millionmile per hour hydraulics 
Off to replace the aftermath shocks
 Magneticly control the hands on all clocks
 To turn twist and rewind back waisted time
 Carry out foward to take what iz mine
 Insanity is 2 insane as Criminal is 2 crime
 Witherin to the weather then wetter 
is 2 whether 5150 if not 4 the better
 It is 4 the cheddar 

:) now this is what Im talking bout ....
 nothin iz 2 uncommon 
when all you got 2 eat iz Ramen 
noodles 4 all y'all poodles
 seahorse sonar struggle with senses
 far beyond the realm 
of more than just whats common coinsidences
 crusade 2 overwhelm 
overcomin the fear2 pursuade
 Dominate prominiscent pre made 
cascade undelayed
 Just played it safe 4rum ur Fake-Aid 
you D grade 
ain't tasty Kool-aid 
sweet sugar serenade
 Your gunna need more than just a band-aid 
to fix whats tha matter with brain sprayed splatter
 Greater than or equal to straight trade
 Not wanting to leave wish I culd have stayed
 Don't we all....
 facade to fall..
 winter spring shoreline stahl 
nothin iz 2 uncommon
 when all you got 2 eat iz Ramen
 noodles 4 all y'all poodles
 seahorse sonar struggle with senses
 far beyond the realm 
of more than just whats common coinsidences
 crusade 2 overwhelm 
overcomin the fear2 pursuade..
 Dominate prominscent cascade undelayed
 Just played it safe frum your
 Fake-aid take to fade
 Greater than or equal to straight trade
 Gotta get paid 

:) now this is what Im talking bout ......
    nothin iz 2 uncommon 
when all you got 2 eat iz Ramen
 noodles 4 all y'all poodles
 seahorse sonar struggle with senses
 far beyond the realm 
of more than just whats common coinsidences
 crusade 2 overwhelm 
overcomin the fear2 pursuade.....
 ruby emerald sapphire diamond jade 
none of which fade
 Frum your fake aid fake lime to make lemonade
 Over time meat marinade
 For a stroll in the park serenade 
don't wanna leave wish I culd of stayed
:) now this is what Im talking bout ....
 nothin iz 2 uncommon 
when all you got 2 eat iz Ramen
 noodles 4 all y'all poodles

Copyright © Beverly Pippin

Long poem by Christine Phillips | Details |

The Stricken Corridor

Fall tumbles relentlessly on our door steps
young winter birds inducing provoking sounds scamper in trees 
Watching winter crawling slowly under our feet.

The night rain wet the ground with sadness 
washing  away the environmental stench
purging the atmosphere of  its infectious dew
And  I could absorb fresh air in my lungs again. 

I fell into a deep sleep shortly after nine but woke up 
by my next door neighbor bustling activities.
Nice showers clean fresh air is the perfect night to
be drenched with sleep but instead I was on my knees.

An unknown burden overshadowed  me, disturbing my spirit
raising my curiosity, causing me to ponder over unknown mysteries
unexplainable matters that doesn't concern me, yet they troubled me.

I soaked myself in prayer seeking for a  plausible answer 
And after praying I fell asleep again; a sleep that 
I thought would be peaceful but here I am again
on an unannounced journey to the Far East.

I mysteriously found myself on a university campus in the Far East,
no paint, no color, everywhere was deserted, no one was around
except for dry leaves  spreading out on the troubled ground 
and dull trees astoundingly lingering in the autumn breeze.
I walked propitiously through the front door along a bare corridor 
in search of a toilet to ease my body pressure.

A desolated corridor whose hope seemed to be diminished with the passing of time
a million feet must have trodden upon it, feet in search of  freedom ,
feet looking for peace, proud feet, dirty feet, bloody feet, stubborn feet.
Feet looking for revenge and feet marching to the destiny of doom. 
I moved anxiously from door to door but every door that I opened I saw
Asian toilet embedded deeply in the ground and clean water flooding all around. 

I opened another door and found a western bath filled with clean water 
I kept walking along the corridor but all the Asian toilets were flood with water.
At the end of the corridor I found one that was completely  dry but there was no toilet inside except for PVC pipe fittings planted firmly in the ground.

I tread along the opposite side of the hallway still searching for  a toilet
but only rooms whose doors were removed  and leaning helplessly
in front of them occupy the other side of the stricken corridor.

I anxiously left the building and a slim young man in his early twenties 
wearing shaded glasses ran behind a reception area outside the campus ground
and pretended as if he was at work, but that was only a deception.

As I walked passed him he tried to reached out to me
He complained about someone who has treated him badly
and pointed to a friend who was instrumental in turning his life around.
A sizable crowd gather around him as he  illustrates his painful story.

He and his friend took me to the other side of the campus where 
a larger crowd of young people had gathered for a wedding
some were sitting under large beach umbrellas
While others congregate in groups all over the campus grounds.
I walked upon a platform  where the wedding ceremony
was about to  take place but daylight suddenly exploded in my face.
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            ©2014 Christine Phillips

Copyright © Christine Phillips

Long poem by Kelly Crenshaw | Details |

I hope

I'm 51 today.
51 tomorrow, yay
Was 51 yesterday.
52 is months away,
And yes I'm thankful.
Although it's not my real birthday,
It kinda is in a certain way.
I'm still alive another day.
I had the notion to celebrate.
And be thankful.
Though it's not a holiday. 
Thanksgiving has come and gone away,
I'm just alive today.
For that I'm thankful.
Honestly, I am not just trying to make these lines rhyme,
Or reflect upon the deep sublime.
I'm just grateful today to be alive.
I mean really thankful.
I'm not trying to wow you with philosophy,
Or impress you with theology.
It matters not at all to me.
I just feel thankful.
So tonight I take a walk outside,
I look up into the endless sky and then I breathe.
I breathe in deep,
And I say thank you.
And maybe not just to Who you think, 
Man let's throw in the kitchen sink,
And include all who've touched my life, to whom I'm thankful.
Some of you I'm glad you're gone,
Frankly you stayed a bit too long
And some you the grave stole far too soon,
And yet I'm still thankful.
Today the living and the dead
You've both been right up inside my head, 
And synergized this verbal thread.
For that I'm thankful.
I close my eyes and think of Tim, named David right there toward the end. 
I always smile when I think of him,
And now I listen
I heard a siren going by,
I wonder who and wonder why,
Was it a wreck, did someone die?
Yet still I listen.
Neighbors dogs are going wild.
Was that the laughter of a child.
Seems like I can hear for miles.
Still I listen.
I hear the hi-way roar of cars.
Tho I have never heard the stars
Is there really life on Mars?
Shhh brain please shut up and listen!
The soft night whispers in my ears.
Pressing through my random fears,
I stand amazed at what I hear.
And now I wonder.
I open up my eyes and see as I feel this winter breeze
The silhouette of leafless trees.
I stand in wonder
Then I wonder about the first man to ever be,
Or the first time he looked up to see
The Milky Way the galaxies.
Did he wonder?
I wonder what he did
How he loved how he lived.
If he ever lost a friend?
Man oh man I wonder.
Was he the first to dig a grave?
How it sounded if he prayed?
How he fought?
How he played?
If that man could see us all today,
What would he say I wonder?
In ways was he a lot like me?
Did he sometimes fear what he could not see?
Did he create unseen walls 
Of unbelief?
I stand and wonder.
Did he ever hurt the ones he loved?
Did life convince him not to trust?
I wonder.
My great grandfather lived
My DNA is shared with him.
I wonder how we are the same,
And I don't even know his name.
Still I wonder.
Will my great grand kids know my name?
Will it even matter who's to say?
Will they look up in wonder?
Will they listen?
Will they be thankful?
Not much I can leave to them
That would matter too much in the end.
I suppose the primal hope in man
Is the hope I hope lives on in them
I hope they wonder. About the universe.
I hope they listen. To life's unspoken verse.
I hope they're thankful. Even in midst of deepest hurts. 
I hope they're thankful.
I hope they listen.
I hope they wonder.
And no matter what life hands them,
I hope they hope.

Copyright © Kelly Crenshaw

Long poem by Bev Smith | Details |

AUTUMN DEFERS TO WINTERS EMBRACE : Ian A Guyler , Bev Smith collab



Reds and golds warm my Fall skies 
as green leaves my sight . 
The great oaks extended arms surround 
his thighroots bold and dense supporting his great mass
But no longer is he shade for lovers
My Winter nears and my resistance is shortened 
as nights grow longer , darker 
Winds of change plan their arrival 
His season has come .  Fall stands bared
I surrender my resolve .
Waiting his wrath or love ... maybe both . 
Weathering Summers fires and unmerciful scorn
I wait his presence 

Anxious for the much needed rebirth ... A winter respite 
A time frozen , a wedding scene of splendor of whitelace
Draped in diamond promises . An elegance worn
bared against my warm hues now cooling
The bridegrooms icy breath crystallizing my special day 
Will I be worthy to dawn his touch of white
his wonderland of winter

I am ready for my Winters sleep 
my eternal yawn beckons , welcoming
I grow weary .  My deep rich hues 
my proudly dawned reds and golds fade and fall
Blowing to days past . Like a whispered memory 
I've prepared my departure , my seasons end has come
Winter calls . I feel his icy kiss against my once warm cheek .
His voice filling my ears I can only listen
feel this magic Winter.
Consciousness lost to my dreamlike sleep 
Bowing graciously to His majesty.      

You sense me, I know you, you bristle at my cool touch 
But I am not here to hurt you , I am the seasonal restorer
And i will only stay until our spring cousin asks me to leave
But for now I extend my arms to you !....I see you yield!
A fine Oak you have dressed , I notice you discarded 
the fine lush green coat from the summer fashion show
and elected again , the tapestry of gold and brown hues...
I do love that , which you bring to this landscape ............. 
but I am here now, and I feel a need to lighten the landscape
as these Dark long nights will indeed be very long and cold
feel my breath on your bones , my tears of regret will
soon turn to cloudy flakes of purest intent as is my pledge
your thermal cushion of thick rich foliage , I'll cover with 
my white voile ,  skeletal mighty oak my bonnet wears
I feel his skin   tighly bound  against my caress ..he is strong
but purity I bring , cleansing the ground of seasonal growths
I'll hold them gently as they become one with the earth 
a new sustenance to nourish the new children ...waiting
all is stasis , a sleepy , dreamy induced time of earthcalm
plants , bulbs I encase, hold firm to store for spring, 
but now I reclaim the hedgerows the paths the woods the forests 
I am winters frosty embrace , and all will succumb to my silver glory,
it was a pleasure knowing and witnessing your beauty old friend 
but now I must be about my business of seasonal restoration
as indeed the tears did turn to flakes of purety , and the cool
breath laid all low ......... for a time

Copyright © Bev Smith

Long poem by Robert Ronnow | Details |

Polar Bear Mugs Wino

            Have I ever been profoundly lost? Yes. Railroad tracks and a river wide as the Amazon, yet lost. Living in the intense sunshine of northern New York summer, but lost in the shade of a gazebo. And here? Here I am enclosed in a tomb of porcelain machinery. With another winter passing its calling card in at the window. The warm steam no longer cutting the rough edge. Wearing wool sweater nights. The freedom of summer gone and only one fuck. What a nightmare, what a strange dream, life on planet, winter all around.

            A system, they call it a system. I call it an evolved anarchy. Repetition, never. What do I know. Repetition, every two thousand years. Coming of a frost, coming of a fire. When nature proves furious beyond remembrance. Polar bear mugs wino.

                  *                                  *                                  *


                                  Tall, attractive, talented WM, 31,
                                  trumpet player, takes pleasure in
                                  performing cunnilingus with clean
                                  attractive women. Age, race, marital
                                  status no object. All replies answered.

            Here is where it started, amusing myself in an undisciplined manner in the playpen. Being rude when interrupted. Height of bad taste hitting the wall, what's he talking about. Marlowe went to bed. He had a headache. Used an empty bottle for a teddy bear/sap. In the middle of the night, three secret men approached the rock he slept under. They did not see him there, the fire had long ago gone out. But they'd seen it across the valley, and tried to estimate. They were close.

            What do I care. They did this, he did that, they did this and this and that. He used his feet, took off his shoes. It mauled him to death in two minutes of the first round. Would have been better for him if it happened faster. Never got his knife out of his pocket. But he lived, with one eye after that.

                  *                                  *                                   *

                         What do you do with a drunken sailor early
                               in the morning?
                         You pull that sailor out of bed by his hairy

            Why should anybody believe this, this tiresome outpouring of old moans and groans, grumbles about loneliness of life and dominance of telephone. This gamble on print, above the spoken, sung word. The meditative call to inhabitants of planet to kneel woefully and pray. No, to chant as if the planet were mending.

            Mending rhymes with ending, why not. And television, radio appreciated. Drugs and booze, jagged bent faces, black wet rock. The mantle of moss ripped away. Period. Amen to men. Absolute magical ripcord.

Copyright © Robert Ronnow

Long poem by kj force | Details |

Garden Club Ruse Finality part 2

The years passed, things never did get better..
Her Garden Club was the only thing that held her together
The mental abuse had taken it’s toll...
As far as he was concerned he owned her soul..
She now felt she had no recourse..
And decided she had to find a source..
To end this life as she knew it..
And move on without the commitment...
It was a Friday one cold winter day..
He told her he was going to Vegas to play..
But we have no money, you said yesterday..
No, YOU !  have no money he said and...
I wish you were dead...
He had bragged for years, this day would come
When he would choose another one..
But before I leave...he had a request..
Make me my favorite dinner...for me and a guest
She is younger than you and oh what a catch..
So she went to the freezer to find and fetch..
A suitable roast for he and his guest...
She found just the right thing for his favorite meal..
A large leg of lamb, or was it Veal ?
It was heavy, about twenty pounds she thought...
What was I thinking when this was bought ?
Back in the kitchen, he was still raving...
About how useless this marriage was of saving...
I really don’t care what happens to you...
But I’ll see you get nothing, not even a shoe...
With that she swung the 20 pound roast...
It smashed in his skull, he was dead right away...
Oh my, she said, what a way to start the day...
She grabbed the roast and put it in a pan...
And began to figure out a plan... of what to do with this man...
She thought for a moment and remembered the strife..
That went with her ordering that “ Ginzu “ knife...
It was a TV offer she couldn’t pass up, never needed sharpening....
 and cut thru bone..order one now and get one free..
It was the first and last time she used the credit card and that was in 1963.
The knife worked well, she thought , now that was a bargain
Placed the parts in a bag and headed for the garden...
Body parts were buried in the dirt..
And she smiled upon the burning of her shirt..
She took the roast to her Garden Club meeting..
It was a special event and guess who was speaking ?
The Chief of Police and his subject was on spousal beating..
And by the way he said he would like the recipe for his wife..
The weeks went by, she was happy everyday...
 And then it happened, is was the first of May..
 The big event she had waited for all year..
 Her entry of the “ *Amorphophallus Titanum “...
 Oh how proud she was...when awarded top prize..
 A very rare plant, said the Judge...and has a very weird odor..
And it’s not very a matter of fact
 It smells like rotting meat , said another, sorta sour.
Which is why said the’s commonly called the ...* Corpse Flower..

 * Native to the rainforest, flowers are rare and if it blooms,
Is one of approximately 140 recorded in history...
Most recently on display in New York City in 2012...

Copyright © kj force

Long poem by Christine Phillips | Details |

Unpaved Road

Winter has blemished my skin 
leaving deep wounds inside 
there is still no sign of spring
but joy was overflowing within.

I took an afternoon stroll along a quite path 
searching desperately for a new start
the sun was shining, hope was riding
but it didn't feel like spring. 

I looked closely at the trees 
but the buds had not yet appeared
dried branches hang sadly in despair
murmuring that winter is still in the air.

Brown saggy grass lie wretchedly in the soaked ground 
while naked trees stare with a miserable frown 
the winter birds were not flying restlessly around 
they must have migrated to another town. 

I kept walking, hoping to breath fresh air
but the atmosphere was saturated with an awful smell 
there wasn't anything to up lift my parched spirit 
so I knelt behind a dry tree stump
and whisper a tearful prayer to the omnipotent one. 

When I got up I felt energy and peace flowing inside
so I went on an afternoon adventure on the other side. 

I kept walking as if I was searching for something
It’s as if something was happening somewhere 
I ended up on an unpaved road that leads 
to another community in the bushes next to the rich town. 

Nothing exciting was flowing through the air
except the awful stench of burnt chicken feather
mingled with burnt fire wood pelting smoke in the air. 

I followed the smell and entered through a farm gate 
hoping to find fresh fruits and vegetables
but instead I pounced upon hens, ducks and goose 
in a make shift coop and a big iron pot
sitting upon a blazing fire, men and women 
were slaughtering the chicken orders.

I wasn't sure if I was in America
I didn't take a plane, 
I just walked through a gate
and here I was in a total different place. 

The people looked strange 
they couldn't speak my Language 
so I hurried away from that terrifying place.

I continued walking along the unpaved road 
moving up and down the winding path 
with dried bushes and shrubs separated the track 
and on every corner there was a sign posted on trees 
private property, beware of bad dogs and no trespassing. 

There were many cluttered trails
and there was no way to get beyond the woody gates
bushes, stagnant water and dumped rubbish
paved the ground next to a rich neighborhood in town. 

I felt perplexed and sad but kept walking along 
suddenly the sun appeared from behind the bushes
with its beaming light flashing all around 
the intensity was so strong I could hardly look at it with my naked eyes.
And so the sunlit sky hanged courageously
over the unpaved road next to a neighborhood in the rich town. 

Copyright © Christine Phillips

Long poem by Deanna Schaub | Details |

Winter Winds

Winter winds blow all around. 
I’m astonished by the sounds of Jingle Bells and reindeer stomps. 
All of this should never stop. 
Snow lies on the ground, if only that weren't too profound. 
Time only leads to decay, but not on Christmas, not today. 
You should see the angels pray. 
Toy trains, and rag dolls are the things kids used to want. 
But time has changed, yes so have children… 
Santa seems as if a villain. 
So much fighting, so much crying, it sounds as if the kids are dying. 
“I want money, I want fame, and these toys are just so lame.” 
But that’s the product we provided. 
Second chances are no more, Santa’s plot we wait for. 
He’s sick of this, he doesn't care, it’s as if he’s not wanted here. 
He gets ready to take it all back…. 
There’s still one toy left in his sack, it’s for a little girl, half a world away. 
Now how could he have missed this, on the perfect Christmas day? 
He turns around, not time for war. 
This toy, the girl is waiting for… It’s not a toy like you’d expect. 
She didn't ask for electronics, or stupid games such as Sonic. 
She just wanted one small thing… 
She’s waiting for something EXTRA special this gloomy day. 
In a bed she sits and stares, at the window near a chair. 
She’s so weak, and all alone. 
She doesn't even have a real home, not where there are bright lights anyways. 
They've decorated a weeping willow, the only tree around the “home”. 
So she has lights to see. 
It’s Christmas after all, but there’s no way to calm the raging sea. 
She’s dying, it won’t take much longer, and she doesn't care about the tree. 
She needs a new heart extra bad. 
So, Santa’s bringing her the one thing, that will stop her parents from being sad. 
He rushes to the hospital in his golden sleigh, and climbs right down the vent, 
He’s saving Christmas today. 
Santa rushes in just in time, finds a doctor, the girl is dying. 
It’s not what he usually does, but he stays and watches as they save her life. 
He waits for her to wake up. 
“Santa, you saved my life, oh thank you so much! I needed my heart to be touched.” 
He just smiles, and kisses her hand. He’s so glad he didn't destroy the land. 
Christmas is still a special day. 
There’s no more sorrow, no, not today. Santa smiles though some are still ungrateful. 
There’s that one child, standing in the snow, her life can now be started in the evening glow. That’s life for the grateful, loving, caring, and the thankful. Most of the time Santa just gives toys. For all the good girls and boys. But not today, and not tomorrow, once a year he gets rid of sorrow. So sleep tight and say your prayers, Christmas time is but once a year.

Copyright © Deanna Schaub

Long Poems