High noon in Fort Laramie, the summer sun is oppressive.
A whalebone corset digs into my body’s tender parts.
Peering from the shop, my hand touching the pane
of dearly brought glass, I feel the vibration of incoming riders.
The pale blue sky disappears in a cloud of dust.
Children playing hoop, let it drop with an unheard clatter.
Inside Mrs. Dreary’s provisioner, cutlery falls with a clatters.
Outside the store, horses race pell-mell with the oppressive
sound of thunder. “Indians,” children scream, running through the dust.
Folks in buggies, wagons, and on horseback flee for other parts.
“Sioux,” I nod. Gunshots ring through the air savaging the riders.
Mrs. runs up the backstairs carrying the baby. There’s a scream of pain.
Arrow flights buzz by shattering shop window panes.
The Indians leap from horse back to the tile roof raising a clatter.
Mr. Dreary descends, Sharp shooter in hand, and aims at the riders.
A cat’s eye marble falls from the toy display; the scent of fear oppresses.
He slams the door shut as shards of glass scatter, bullet parted.
“Mame, git, Gener’l Connor’ll kill me if y’ur dusted.”
My eyes wide-open owlish are full of tears and dust.
“Damn heathens” Mr. Dreary cusses. Bullets clip the broken pane.
Pulling me behind, opening the useless. “Thop” an arrow parts
his scalp. He falls backward, landing beside me, his spurs clattering.
The baby screams from upstairs. I turn to see Mrs. Dreary’s oppressive
grip on her dead husband. She grabs the Sharp, kills a passing rider.
The arriving soldiers round up the band of native riders.
Mrs. Dreary gets the babe, kicks the fallen marble in the dust
and walks through the door, into another type of oppression.
The soldiers are executing the Sioux braves. Children watch in pain.
Across the street a lone warrior perches. A roof tile clatters
to the dirt. His arrow flies and hits me life begins to part.
Blind with pain I fall forward facedown, numb, parting
the water in the horse trough left for the town’s riders.
My brass buttons and flint arrowhead scrape the tub clattering,
no one in the street notices my departure through the days dust.
My open mouth fills with the rancid, taste of pain.
“How improper,” is my last lucid thought, oppressive.
The clatter of hoofs rocks the trough punctuating my parting.
The oppression of man against man leaves with the riders.
Only dust and the pain of the living remain.
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2015
Smile in your sleep
A midnight temptation is in the midst of the stars.
Brightness feeds and eventually consumes the eclipse.
Individuals described as both boy, and female acting very young.
Both separated at birth, yet they roam every night while they sleep.
Yet, one day they met for the first time at North Eastern Heights;
An academic learning center, a school where everyone made memories.
There were plenty of times where Nick had football memories.
Niki was dreaming of one day becoming one of those famous movie stars.
Both would have been fabulous careers, but neither climbed the heights.
Thursday, the day Nick and Niki had both looked at each other like an eclipse.
Tossing, turning all night, the two wish to dream of each other, but cant sleep.
Both wanted love, both wanted money, both wanted to be forever young.
Smiling at both their baby pictures, Nick and Niki looked oh so young.
Nick asked Niki to be his homecoming date and one of his fondest memories.
Both looked at each other, gazing in their eyes, so boring one could sleep.
That night at the dance, the two acted as if they were dancing with the stars.
Boys and girls attending the dance made up a color wheel of a shining eclipse.
Nick and Niki were on top of the world; they couldn’t fall off the heights.
At the end of their senior year, it was graduation at North Eastern Heights.
These were the days they realized that they couldn’t be forever young.
That no parts of all life are going to be as shining as an Eclipse.
Even they, remember the things we hate too keep as part of our memories.
The only thing of there young adulthood that didn’t change was the stars.
Nick and Nicki gazed upon stars all-night, and smiled in their sleep.
Both they lay, laying down on the comfort mattress, smiling in their sleep.
Dreaming they both do, climbing the Appalachian mountain heights.
Camping by a fire in the mountain range the only thing present was stars;
One of the last things they saw was an owl, it’s cooing as a young.
The two lovers will always be remembered just as memories.
And suddenly it was all gone; the dream went away as fast as an eclipse.
A looming eclipse-
All alone, how can I sleep?
She’s gone, my erased memories.
I fell off the heights.
We were so perfect and young.
We were a pair, just like stars.
Forever the stars-
They enjoyed being so young
Sometimes we all fall off heights.
Copyright © Trent Turney | Year Posted 2015
somewhere in the depths of self
pity holds a child tight
mind spills her dreams
on star-filled nights
and reflections of yesterdays
echo through mirrored smiles
through framed glass i trace her smiles
soon realizing child is self
i search memories of yesterdays
but mind's gate seems closed tight
darkened same as rainy nights
tears fall sofly like her dreams
if once i could fulfill her dreams
would my own face reflect smiles?
could mind find piece on sleepless nights
if answers were released from self?
i seem to keep these memories tight
that robbed me of my yesterdays
not knowing the pain of these yesterdays
i've tucked away most old dreams
blocks of memory hold them tight
under lips bearing mona lisa smiles
and child withdraws within self
as days blend into nights
or dark thoughts blend days and nights
in all of these forgotten yesterdays
i choose not to pity self
just escape in new dreams
cracking occassional smiles
as loved ones hold me tight
yet when my eyes are pressed tight
i find myself fearing nights
quickly losing one of these smiles
to a brief memory of my yesterdays
safely tucking away all my dreams
deep within troubled self
seeking revenge on self with blades pressed tight
i try to hide through dreams from nights
haunted by yesterdays that robbed this child's smiles
Copyright © Sandra Adams | Year Posted 2012
Forever in the wind, the gale, the tempest gone……
though, lingering caress of cheek and thigh remains
as does the precious memory of fires glow.
Winds leavings lesson, shreds the sheets of time’s retreat
and, at last, the snow melts listless in spring’s arms, warm.
Soft breezes tease her auburn hair, she sighs “Oh, love..”
The flames of brash passion bank with his absence,"Love.."
The woodland cottage shutter bang , they say “He’s gone…”
Around her unclad form, he’d wrapped his cloak so warm,
where maiden laid abed within, his sweet scent remains.
The war had come and he must go, he must retreat.
The ripening moon has passed behind the clouds a glow
Yet, deep within a single seed, follows nature’s glow.
The pulse, the heart, the art, of tales, unbridled... love.
No amount of jeers or warnings can bring retreat,
for he is not removed, dismissed, a leaving gone.
See his eyes reflected from the face where she remains?
See the brand he’s placed upon her heart, so warm.
Clarity can not make more clear, the trace of warmth
No prismatic glass can intensify the glow.
The brilliant bloom, the blush, so, it doth remain.
When willow weeps upon the wind, she shan’t for love.
Ne’er lay like Ophelia on the water “He’s gone…….”
A gifting he has left, a grace, in his retreat.
That winter wind which blew the fairest love to his retreat
left empty days and nights of gloom no longer warm.
“Oh, he harried all the dark emotions….gone…….”
and left a different brightness, a face a glow.
Soon, with the fall of maple leaves, she’ll bare his love
and all that matters in this world with thus remain.
A wee bairn will birth from such love and will remain.
Upon bosom blessed, he’ll rest with pain in retreat.
The fairy folk will not receive her dearest love.
The skirt of meadow grass will not his wee frame warm
for her longing has been fulfilled with this child's glow,
the forest god’s and she can see that he ne’er gone.
The bairn remains, his gift, memory unwrapped, warm.
The retreat of fire forces internal glow
for love she’d given all her heart, and he ne’er gone.
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2010