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Donald Goodside Poem
El Gato ___
Padded feet on deserted streets
After-hours as others sleep
With half Moon hidden
Behind clouds and trees stripped of leaves.
Familial walks of solitude and classic etude's
Whispering in tall Fall grasses
Fences blending shadows into the night.
As Life's fabric of mystery weft and weaves.
There are gardens of purple hush
With no access for trespasses
Only stone pillows for the restless and the lost
That wander the forever in dirty sleeves.
The air smells of dogs of war
Avoiding the whore of death
That tempts my contempt of the pleasures
Society so eagerly receives.
Being alone is my preference in life
Not the cackle of woman and bleating sheep
Or those that would lie in wait
To destroy dreams and dawns of precious sleep.
Copyright © Donald Goodside | Year Posted 2016
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Donald Goodside Poem
He hadn't wanted it, to end like this,
Shuffling, dragging one foot,
Elbow pressed to his waist
Holding up his rumpled trousers.
Whimpering with each painful step.
Not too long ago
He was the man he thought he was
A son’s hero.
Strength of his loving wife.
Now discarded,
Unable to carry his burden,
As flotsam upon the sea of man.
He thought of Combat fire fights,
Gallantly dying for ideals of State.
Enmeshed in battles with comrades.
Hero’s all ___ ,
but not this.
Scorned by the new youth as he once was.
Ignored by the fluttering lashes of young girls bright black eyes.
Drag stop,
step,
wince,
drag.
Pulling his upturned collar closer to his throat.
Windblown strands of hair in his eyes.
Praying for that long warm sleep of forever.
Drag stop,
Step,
Wince,
Drag.
Copyright © Donald Goodside | Year Posted 2013
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Donald Goodside Poem
A cold front moved across the Hudson River
Settling into the concrete streets of Hell’s Kitchen
A Postal Canvas Hamper cried in its wheels
While being pushed by a scavenger
Collecting cardboard refuse
Impatient horns made known their intent
A woman missing teeth with an affluent smile
Rattled a paper cup asking for change
Giving God’s blessing in return
And I
Lost in my own disappointments
Barely noticed the 'Opera’s Drama
Unawares that I had been ‘caste'
In the role as an extra.
Copyright © Donald Goodside | Year Posted 2013
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Donald Goodside Poem
Invitation to Reality ___
Embossed, elegant and proper
With white glove upon silver tray
(He imagined )
the invitation
Would surely come
To announce his required presence to attend.
His fellow wordsmith's and other known
Notorious Poets of the Dusky Café ,
Would say, "Come speak and bend your phrase
and entertain us, on this, your sixty-first birthday".
A celebration that would envy, Cyrano, Don Quixote'
and all those other guys with
Wine, laughter and raucous noise
While out on the town with the boys.
With this, a gentle tear did shyly slip
Past cheek, mustache and hidden laugh.'
"My life is proven to be all that I have dreamed"
( ___and With that )
A crack of burn'n wood and steam
Did rise to wake from within that barrel of fire
That warmed the homeless and dispossessed,
Quaked! Donn Booda,
In cold damp shoe and common cloth,
Of yesterday's still dressed.
Breath of kerosene, and hunger now asleep,
He’d creep 'round to avoid the shift of wind
That hawkish did bite the face.
Covered in smoke, ash and forgotten sins
For which, he must now pay for his mistake
Of pride, rebellion and anti-social ways.
' Ahhh ___ but those were the days,
Those were the days. '
He wanders in whatever direction
The wind blows his back
Across the tracks through the brush
Of once garden's pruned and manicured
Til bloom of fragrant wafting airs turned to sickly smell
Of graves now frozen gates to hell.
Leaning against granite reality
Scrapes his knuckles and barely bleeds
Feels the need to rest
Exhausted, crumples and collapses
The stars remain fixed
His world spins in ellipse
Of forever turning
Churning through the airless void.
His Belly flutters
Eyelids squint against the light
Wind whoosh chases night
Summer and being seven follow him
Down the path to a porch well worn
An unlocked door hearing his Mother's scolding scorn,
' Your hands are dirty and you're late for Dinner '
( About :
Old homeless man wanders into neglected cemetery,
Dies, and spends eternity reliving memories of Thanksgiving's past.)
Copyright © Donald Goodside | Year Posted 2016
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Donald Goodside Poem
MALCONTENT
Dressed in the rags of time and places
He signifies in loud incoherent phrases
With bluff and blunder
Talks a storm
Sings as thunder
Scaring tourists and their children
From tame towns that have no Zen
With once dull eyes they come
and see just another homeless bum
Believing their lives are the ‘only’ way
They lie to self wishing they
Could also speak the magic of dirt and dust
And do, what the ‘Dust Dancer’ must.
"We all gotta eat our own ‘peck O’ dirt."
Copyright © Donald Goodside | Year Posted 2016
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Donald Goodside Poem
Revenge of the Leaves
They all came together in one place
Each with each and all with all
They said their piece
From early Spring to almost Fall
They listened intent to understand
What was to become of the rest of Man
After assimilation's of the great debate
A conclusion was decided on their fate
After man had raked, pillaged & burned their kin
Destroying memories of those within
The great leaves of trees would finally take revenge
'Let US no longer give air for them to breathe
No longer the beauty of our Majesty
Never again provide shade from the Sun
Let them burn, as our Fathers had been done
From that day forward till the end
Trees and leaves held their breath
Until all the ‘Rakers had died
The most boring of deaths
... and for any that may come long after
That sound you hear of breeze in the trees
Is the leaves in their laughter.
Copyright © Donald Goodside | Year Posted 2018
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Donald Goodside Poem
the five recent submissions, were 'penned, 10 years ago.
I have not written anything since.
Thank you for reading.
Copyright © Donald Goodside | Year Posted 2016
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