Twenty-four days before Christmas in 1958 there was a huge fire
at Our Lady of the Angels, a Catholic grade school in Chicago
Eighty-seven children and three nuns died in this fire.
One of the children who passed was Mary’s little sister, Karen.
She was to be a first grader forever.
Mary was in the fourth grade at the time.
Mary spent years trying to forget that day, the worst day ever.
The frantic nuns, the commotion, the smoke, the frenzy.
Waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting on the sidewalk across the street.
Watching the school burn up, wondering where Karen was.
A sister who never came home.
Mary felt shame for leaving her.
She had wanted to run in there and rescue Karen.
But the adults restrained her.
Her family waited for hours hoping for a miracle.
Watching the front door, praying Karen would walk inside.
She never did.
Eighty-six other children did not return home either.
Probably led to heaven by the three nuns.
Singing and dancing,
as the last to arrive,
he outshone his brothers
in the Jackson Five.
Moonwalking across the stage,
he was quite the fancy dancer,
but what happened to his other glove,
is a question no one can answer.
Comparing the early to his later work,
you can hear it when he sings,
Michael the 'King of Pop',
put a new complexion on things.
But in '85, with 'We Are The World',
he was dead wrong,
when he wrote the lyric
to the song,
as, from sea to shining sea,
on this globe there is much more,
than only that there north American shore.
Yet, Billie Jean (not his lover) was just a girl
who claims that he is the one,
and Bubbles brought on many troubles,
but the chimp is not his son.
Enchants, “Dors, mon amour,” night of romance.
Long ago, he crooned, put hearts in a trance.
André Claveau, nearing fifty years old,
effulgence of French lips, Eurovision’s gold.
Some audience, annoyed, at love’s deep sleep -
need be left alone, or for love to leap…
The words, that poetically churn, nonsense
to the incensed, these verses of suspense.
Sleep, my love - will she awake or’s love passed?
He’s locked his princess in tower of past.
The contentment, of love, some find boring -
nuances “ever-after” adoring.
1958, Giraud and Delanoë,
do stare into the lover’s peace and joy.
Sleep is in the hollow of his heart. She
is together with him all night, in lee.
It is not just in movement, we give praise,
for the hope of birdsong clings to dusk’s blaze.
“With all the refrains of the night,” heart beats.
“The sun is still far from daylight,” its sweets.
Poet might interpret eternal love
as in moment or forever “above.”
Such love is felt so deep and stirred in sleep.
It’s present in a Frenchman’s tongue. I weep.
In love- we married young-
my dear Marine and I.
We moved from North to South
to settle in the home
which housed our little nest-
June- nineteen fifty-eight.
My poems honor this.
But, I was not prepared
for visions- oh, so sad-
by me, not seen before;
the sins of racism.
The dual waiting rooms,
restrooms, drinking fountains;
each bus split- front and back.
Divided schools and church;
most restaurants denied.
I could not fathom this.
Those awful scenes- now since
made right- but that sad past-
my words could not address.
October 7, 2022
1958
Bikini bottom
All sponges rotten
The people have left
Though the holes remain
Swim suites in celebration
Propaganda in every state
Love that bombed a hate
Because of their guns
They are the great
Still poor bikini island
Where once the people thrived
Now thanks to that Uncle Sam
And his cheerful children
That lowly hydrogen weapons
The island is left in radiation seasons
And all those soldiers could scream was
God bless our nation…
1958 Song Hits
All I Have To Do Is Dream
Night or day
Dreamin' life away
Do You Want To Dance
Under the moonlight
through the night
Who's Sorry Now
Sad and blue
Cried over you
Poor Little Fool
Lied to me
Won her victory
Book Of Love
Meaning of romance
One more chance
My True Love
Send a love
From heaven above
Endless Sleep
To the shore
Gone forever more
Twilight Time
Days of old
With dreams untold
Volare
Beginning to fly
in endless sky
Oh Julie
Don't deceive me
Love me truly
Sandra M. Haight
~9th Place~
Premiere Contest: Six-Word Couplet Series
Sponsor: Mark Toney
Judged: 10/05/2018
Couplets are made from words within each song.
Song artists below are shown in order of song list above:
1) Everly Brothers, 2) Bobby Freeman, 3) Conny Francis,
4) Ricky Nelson, 5) Monotones, 6) Jack Scott, 7) Jody Reynolds,
8) The Platters, 9) Dean Martin, 10) Crescendos
It wasn't quite love
When i fell head over heels
As she tripped me up
Regaining my feet, when holding her hand
We danced to the beat, of a rock and roll band
Escorting her home, a teenage romance
Began late that night, with a kiss,our first date.
Engaged to be married, two faiths joined at last.
Overcoming misfortune, and bannishing fears.
Our children adore it, when we talk of the past.
Nostalgia is sweet, with laughter and tears,
That come with our marriage of fifty five years.
1/ 1/ 2016.
Cuba 1958
I remember it like the day before yesterday Cuba 1959. Batista,
the corrupt dictator, had fled, but this was revenge time and
many of his collaborators were rounded up and shot; and what
often happen in such occasions there were onlookers cheering
and having their bloodlust satiated.
There was one man, man wearing a panama hat in his left hands,
refusing to wear a blindfold or have his hands tied behind his back.
On top of some steps he stood against a white wall, ready, but
there was a hesitation; waved his hat to the weary executioners.
A volley of fire, blood trickled down the steps, deep red, rich.
They but the body in a coffin, but there was silence, one man’s
courage had shamed onlookers and soldiers into pensive silence.
The revolution didn’t matter anymore, but human dignity did…
Is this all, does nothing change have we just ended one dictator
with another one in the name of the people.
I remeber the time
When we first met
Ben was his pet
How he sang the abc on t.v.
How he danced the robot in black and white
How he moonwalked into our hearts
How he said ill be there
How he thrilled us
How he sang from the heart
How he gave to the world
How he love the children
From the time he was five
Till the time he closed his eyes
The king of pop has died
But lives forever in every
Song and video
And every time i hear his voice
It takes me back to a special
Place and time
Long live the king of pop
Michael jackson
Through my dark brown eyes, he was the best.
My heart knew he was better than the rest.
His voice was smoother than velvety silk.
His songs quenched my thirst more than milk.
Some people thought he was just a giant weirdo.
They didn't even give him a chance, how could they know?
The songs he wrote were absolutely brilliant.
They were really astonishing and different.
He was awesome and one of a kind.
He was number one in my mind.
Its a shame he had to leave so early in his life.
Feels like someone stabbed my heart with a knife.
He will always be my favorite singer.
In my mind, his voice will always linger.
I am done with this poem, it is finally finished.
He will always be forever missed.
By: Cherica Eckiwaudah
The darkness settles in my chest
like a heavy beast crouched
waiting to pounce
patiently he counts
the minutes that add up to years
storing the repressed tears
and smothered hate
that only add to his weight.
He keeps the dark memories alive
catches me by surprise
re-running scenes on
my mental movie screen.
Their clarity is unaffected
by the passage of time.
They plague me without
reason or rhyme,
sabotage my serenity
at the first glimmer of joy
and
he was just a boy then,
my brother Chris,
his genius obvious
before the age of six.
I remember the day:
he'd written a play.
We were practising our parts
eager to start
memorizing our lines
he reclined
against a brick wall
covered in vines
we'd found a cool bower
below the porch
a haven from the
summer's scorch
I saw the dappled sunlight
play across his face
a pattern of swaying lace
his features perfectly placed
Something caught my eye
on the porch six feet above
a motion
like a shove
and then I realised
what Einstein had theorized
long before
that day in 1954
when he'd patted little Chris
on the head:
That time is indeed relative.
con't
So Chris and I became aware
very young
that she really didn't care
and might even watch us die
without blinking an eye.
Our goal was to survive
until we were
old enough to be missed
should her control slip
or temper ignite
on some hot summer night.
We were never free
of her clutches
we'd cringe when
she'd touch us
but we would have given our lives
to have seen love in her eyes.
Poor beautiful Chris
with all his gifts
on him she focused
her perversion
her daily diversion.
I flew low and tried
not to be seen,
off her radar screen
as much as I could.
Maybe it would have been better
if we'd stuck together...
but for me he had nothing
but disdain,
this he made plain.
Instead of brotherly love,
he'd slap and shove.
They'd go to their
Thursday night meeting
and I would inevitably
receive a beating.
con't
The damn memories
are still so clear.
And now I am alone,
the only one left
because my brother
sliced his neck
in what has become
a family tradition,
that is, to leave
of your own volition.
If I could only get
the reruns to quit
maybe my goddamned
head wouldn't split
and I wouldn't feel so
fragmented
broken into a million
disassociated pieces
in a fugue
until it ceases.
when
life becomes
one long
prison sentence
all meaning
becomes
nothing
so Bob
took
his memories
and
a good strong
length of rope
and
quietly
s
l
i
p
p
e
d
thru
the bars
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