Best Chutes Poems
Oh that’s you and me
“You and me were always with each other,
before we knew the other was ever there”
Destiny carves its path through lives,
filling needs unknown until it happens
Bridging gaps of empty terrain
where love belongs eventually
as our hearts wait for that one we feel
on the journey
“You and me we belong together,
just like a breath needs the air”
So many comparisons play,
moving pieces to spaces, uncovered
Sliding down chutes, climbing ladders,
sensing that something waits, something good
Inspired to keep going, following the lines
drawn in tingles on skin
“I told you if you called I would come runnin’,
across the highs the lows and the in betweens”
You’ve taken my hand and showed me
things are not always as they seem
Until you find them in your shadow,
lifting you when you fall,
caressing your soul in unexplained notions,
safety and comfort with merely a touch
“You and me we’ve got two minds that think as one
and our hearts march to the same beat”
Your eyes, my eyes, we see similar patterns
curving about skylines of melodic tempos
As we walk together, one step after the other,
but two steps always for the other
in whatever direction they choose,
syncopated movements hand in hand
”They say everything it happens for a reason,
you can be flawed enough but perfect for a person”
These scars of past seasons, cold winds blow
across arid deserts of details and misgivings
Cloaked in love’s blanket, accepted beyond yesterdays
Put away in box with a lock, no key is available
and neither would want it anyway
”Someone who will be there for you when you fall apart,
guiding your direction when you’re riding through the dark”
This light that leads, from your smile, your understanding,
your acceptance that I reflect back as a mirror
Enhancing the beam of this forever feeling,
Strolling down avenues of pleasure for
happiness is always a two way street
”Oh that’s you and me…”
4/4/17
The italicized lines are lyrics from one of my favorite songs, “You and Me” by Pink and Dallas Green off the Rose Ave album.
https://youtu.be/TUYleIXgceQ
For the “Your Favorite Song” poetry contest
Sponsored by: Alexis Y.
Lured from home at a very young age.
On a journey, I listened to my own voice.
Loosened the strings of my adventurous spirit,
a kite set free on the winds of my choice.
Dived beneath coral reefs, tethered to lines
through which I breathed life-giving air.
Jumped from planes, depending on cords
to open chutes, and my life was spared.
Traveled through fierce enemy lines
where I often questioned war's worth,
but never felt the pull of love's ropes
stronger than the ones from giving birth.
My child and I were attached by a cord,
one that nothing and no one will sever.
Embraced and tied in a permanent knot,
that will tug at my heartstrings forever.
6/29/16
Paratroopers stealthily slide unnoticed,
chutes deployed, small blazes of white obscured by
fog that lingers lazily, til their numbers
cover the meadow…
Faster, faster, not just content to cover,
reinforcements filling in, words unspoken,
synchronized with perfect precision, ever
picking up tempo…
Occupation utterly overwhelming,
swamped defenses, raising a flag, surrender.
Long, the arm of conquering winter, brings a
lengthening shadow…
I often watched him tirelessly sifting
Grains of native corn in a rusty mill-
Those arms a kinetic flush, quicker than
July’s heat, as if glazed limestone rubbed
A wavy mane blown by summer’s tossed air :
Perhaps, I have imagined him laboring-
Muscular taut and bronzed by scorched hours
His gait languidly aloof fetching water
Across the pond, a lonesome vignette,
This image cast-off like a bag of disused husk
Far out behind, steep as the upturned leaves...
Eyes doleful flickering on late noon’s hardened toil.
While upon paddles, a man’s life seemed to rile
Where golden-rod turned to nickel's work,
That down old chutes rolled musky sweat of flesh:
I have beheld him amid dusk’s aftermath
Of sadness roaming there in faint overalls,
From his glimpses, the mill of pit and death
And each lily I clutched for him wilted, sagging-
For in my own aloneness, I dared not meet him.
Gristmill Contest for Craig Cornish
6/3/2018
Canopy’s aperture, spilled light’s nuance, tinted,
as my eyes arrested, to attest fall’s saga…
A tree proclivity, had me stalled in Ashland,
watching the leaves succumb, leaving stark limbs barren…
Those with temerity, plunged at high speed, head first
Others spun dizzily, tornado-bewildered…
Few flew in gradients, of sideways-sloped descent:
wishes on air sustained, just a little longer…
Some seemed to ride gentle, invisible, sleep-chutes,
touching down easily, with wizened acceptance…
My marrow slowly chilled, as damping moisture crept
But cheer was soon bubbling, as merry maples fell:
swaying in zigs and zags, frolics of to and fro,
to come to a smooth rest, on the glassy brook’s face
Alighting sans ripples, their fate in water’s hold:
floating on a mirror, reflecting their past life,
ere being swept by currents, to their next journey’s start…
(11/4/18 - Repost of Ashland Autumn for P contest hosted by Constance la France)
The last time someone dropped into our pool,
it broke our concentration for crock school.
I didn’t join the food frenzy,
prefer Scots called Mackenzie.
So take this one mates, silk chutes bind my stool!
* For the “To Die for Limerick” contest. Hard to tell crock or gator from this magnification.
THE LEGEND OF CELINE, THE WHITE LADY
In French Canada no legend is more tragic than that of Celine,
A beautiful Quebec maiden who, long ago, fell in love with Alain.
He came galloping by on his white horse, a handsome young marine -
They wanted marriage and happily prepared their wedding plan.
They would go to the church in a horse-drawn carriage
They would buy the tidal watermill near their house by the river
Next to Montmorency Falls : a small whitewashed cottage
With garden and daisy flowers; and he would become the miller.
But one day Francois was called to military action in a war terrible-
Every evening, pallid and wan, she searched by the river for her lover in vain.
Her beloved lost his life in battle, and Celine's bridal grief was inconsolable.
“Alain,” she called, convinced in her heart that they would meet again.
After a year Celine could stand her painful loss no more - the searching, the calls.
One ashen moonlit night, in her immaculate pearl-blossom wedding gown
She ran to the river, climbed onto the white horses of the misty Montmorency Falls.
And disappeared into mystery, as the swirling ivory-silver waves swept down.
Calling his name, she slipped into the foamflowers. Her snowy bride’s dress
Was transformed into the falls’ watery cascade, and her long wedding-veil floated away
And became a smaller waterfall nearby, as she swooned in the mist’s caress,
Listening to the soft loving words she heard Alain say.
On moonlit evenings the maiden in white is still seen through the misty cloud
Of shimmering water cascading like daisy petals off the falls in their course:
They say that his name can be heard in the surf and spume of the torrent loud
“Alain, my life-love, wait for me on your white horse. . . . .”
……………………………
NOTE:
This is a well-known legend about the tragic love story of the White Lady of Montmorency
Falls. The waterfalls ( Les Chutes de Montmorency) are located between Quebec City and Ile
d'Orleans, on the St. Lawrence River. These spectacular foamy falls are well worth a
visit. Their height is 50% greater than Niagara; and the nearby ancient city of Quebec is
unique in North America.
Monopoly with its property
Its colored coded squares
Its stacks and stacks of money
Roll those dice for pairs
Get yourself a hotel
Park it on Park Place
If anyone should land there
They’ll be out without a trace
And the corner with the jail
Is the safest place to be
If there’s hotels there on Park Place
And the owner isn’t me
If the game goes on for hours
And I’m losing, it’s a shame
I get antsy, I get restless
And I think it’s a bored game
But
Monopoly and Sorry
The Game of Life and Risk
Clue and Chinese Checkers
How can a kid resist
Maybe Chutes and Ladders
Or a game of Candy Land
And any other board game
That you might have on hand
Parcheesi, Chess and Scrabble
Dungeons and Dragons too
On a rainy day in April
What else is there to do?
Written by mike dailey 5/21/11
*Judy Kones contest - Monopoly
The outpour
spouts gently. My lone thoughts
drain bitterly as pearly chutes ebb
Soft patter
of rapids flushes night
from angst. Though barren stream dives endless
And pierced rocks
lash at my lost chances.
The twirl of water eases love's blow
While I dive
into an evening's pool
like a rapid swollen by gray spills.
For nette onclaud
Manny Paras dated 10 30 2014
In our neighborhood during the second world war
At the side of each house were a porch and a door.
And, believe it or not, it was always unlocked
When a tradesman or stranger or visitor knocked.
Around dawn men arrived who at doorsteps would lay
All the baked goods and milk patrons needed that day.
And the women would once a week purchased their meat
From the truck of a butcher who stopped on our street.
Before fridges, remembered by we who are old
Was the ice box in kitchens that kept the food cold.
Using tongs, blocks of ice were delivered by men
Who before they had melted would come back again.
Also, door-to-door salesmen would try to persuade
All the wives that their products were best ever made.
And our neighbor would daily come by for a spell
To a recipe share or with gossip to tell.
In the middle of autumn, the coal truck returned
To replenish the piles that the furnace had burned.
Down long chutes made of metal would tumble and roar
Tons of coal that filled bins on our bare cellar floor.
Roving hobos quite often would rap on the door.
Without jobs or a home, they for food would implore.
The depression still lingered, so mothers would feel
Sympathetic and always provided a meal.
And to parents'displeasure, the screen doors would bang
As kids hurried from houses to be with the gang.
We would gather on lots that were vacant to play
Or would wander the countryside nearly all day.
When it rained, on a porch that was covered we'd meet
To with checkers or Clue or Parcheesi compete.
We swapped marbles, pitched pennies, played poker for fun,
And our comic books read till return of the sun.
At the back door we'd weekly the paper boy pay,
And the mail was delivered then two times a day.
If it weren't for the doctor who'd come when we call,
We would never had needed a front door at all.
First Frost of the Season
By Reg Rhodes
September 1st; the first frost of the season.
The coolness in the air inspires my imagination.
What new adventures will the Rocky Mountain winter bring?
How much snow will fall before spring?
350 inches of snow, or more?
I'm so happy to once again live my life the way it was before!
My snowmachine still waits in summer hibernation.
The sight of it makes me giddy with anticipation.
Soon, I will be rushing down high mountain chutes, overwhelmed with exhilaration.
The smell of snowmobile exhaust Invokes reflections of fresh powder flowing over the top of my sleds hood.
Floating through the mountain powder makes me feel so incredibly good!
What snowy treasures hidden in the backcountry, will we find?
When we explore the endless acres of immense forest pine.
The trees will beckon to me; and I'll leave my worries behind.
It is in the deep snows and thick pines; where I find my solace and inner peace.
The sight of snow capped mountain tops provides me with a wonderful spiritual release!
The early fall frosts reward me with immense inspiration;
to once again embrace life, and the unique winter season!
Mind all that your pa says
And don’t give him no reputes,
Sit quiet on the wood rail
Down by the corrals and chutes.
Don’t dally your digits
Or dive head long from a horse,
Listen to all your elders
And run your life to full course.
Appreciate grease wood
Ride your life free in wild sage—
Know you’ll not always be young,
And act older that our age.
Brush off your jeans real good
Whenever you do get throwed,
Don’t brag ‘bout a right answer,
That’s where real respect is sowed.
Be part of a question
But never the main worry,
Take care in what you’re ropin’—
When you catch it, don’t hurry.
Be kind to all critters,
Give them respect they deserve—
Treat folks like you’d want to be
Treated – don’t you ever swerve.
Pass on all that you know
To those that now come after—
Your legacy’s in their minds
With your wise words and laughter.
And in your final years
Enjoy the rest that you’ve earned—
Think back on those before you,
Try to rebuilt bridges burned.
Teach your kids the same thing
As they coach their own recruits—
Pass on the lessons learned
Down by the corrals and chutes.
I keep my window open for fresh air
Just in case I jump out one day
I keep the curtains pulled for privacy
To block the suns rays
I can't get no sex so I do it myself
Just call it voluntary man slaughter
I live by getting away while I still can
Never finishing what I start
But no matter how hard it gets
I never thought about killing myself
That kind of thinkings gotta to stop
Because skydivers dive sometimes their chutes don't work
Dumped in dumpsters tossed in microwaves
Some of us were born by mistake
High above the parade ground
Our four groups of three
Lined up in a helicopter
Hovering over the trees
With parachutes heavy on our backs
The jump master checks for any slack
Chutes tightly packed, closed with twine
Fastened by cord to the static line
No one wants to be the first
Though we all willingly volunteered
After several hours of training
Our first time was finally here
Hooked into the floor
Inching closer to the open door
One by one... we jump
Our hearts in our throats... thump
Whoosh... we are floating
Slowly toward the ground
Open parachutes above us
Friends watching from the ground
Got the time to take a three-week break
Before the next 'hoorah'.
Spent most of his time on the ego line
With the girl behind the bar.
Mixed twenty years of her closet life, with the highlight now in town,
She left with him on a prayer and a whim, and a promise not yet found,
With rodeos and travelling shows
Through a hundred country towns,
The smell of fear and the taste of dust
Will never slow him down,
She tagged along 'cause her love was strong
And her dreams they still persist,
Now she knows those rodeos
Put her second on his list.
Every horse that came, looked the same,
Every cowboy’s just as mad,
And every time he took his second ride
He was travelling just as bad,
The money got scarce, so he gambled hard, and then he left her on her own,
She turned her back to the rodeo crowd, with her thoughts heading home.
She can't stand another caravan
For the walls close in on her,
Many lonely nights, alone she cries,
Rues the halter and the spur,
She tried to tear his heart away from the blood that bore his roots,
But the fire in her eyes could never match those there in the chutes.
With rodeos and travelling shows
Through a hundred country towns,
The smell of fear and the taste of dust
Will never slow him down,
She tagged along 'cause her love was strong
And her dreams they still persist,
Now she knows those rodeos
Put her second on his list.