Best Comstock Poems
I only want a heart that is free.
To be content with life and me.
I want the space and room to grow.
To reap the harvest of seeds I sow.
To live, work, and take care of mine.
And at the end of the day, bask in the sunshine.
To put forth my hand in an endeavor.
To fearlessly move into forever.
To not be held back by hesitation or fear.
To chase down more than just what is here.
To get up and taste what I am made of.
To jump in both feet, into life, happiness, and love.
To build my dreams with my own hand.
And to have the freedom to do and be, as much as I can,
For as long as time and space will allow me.
Sarah Comstock
9-19-2010
Form:
Jesse Forbes
1893 – 1911
Black Canyon.
Now, there was a place to be!
It is true I was born a brute in a Quaker Town.
Born a bad-tempered brute of a boy
In the two-room digs on Bailey Street and Comstock..
My father fathered two other families,
Unbeknownst to his wife..
And I was the first one disowned.
But my father was a great believer,
And I loved the man like a fool.
I took up the milkin’ business at fourteen,
And made my morning way from Orange Drive down to Penn Street.
Delivering the dozens of clinking milk bottles.
Delivering the dozens of morning salutations,
To neighbors and friends in the glad and dismal days.
I had but one romantic interlude in my short stay,
Just one futile attempt at Carpe Diem.
But was left slapped and standing by a disheveled Ethel Hurst
There in the dark shade of Black Canyon
That inauspicious August day in 1910.
Ethel Hurst did not accept the entreaties of a 17 year old brute.
Did not accept my wild stares
Or my insanely puckered lips.
It was to my surprise that I died.
Died so young and so unready.
Still desiring the perfumed kisses of Ethel Hurst,
Still desiring her heart-quenching embraces,
There, in the dark shade of Black Canyon.
Luella Bufkin
1872 – 1891
Do you remember me?
Does anyone remember the Bufkin girl of Comstock Street?
I was the girl who read her Bible every Sunday
In the forgiving shade of my father’s Elm Tree..
Maybe not.
Because I died young… way too young.
And I was a smart pretty girl too.
No one ever knew I spent many waking moments alone.
Alone and staring into the parlor room mirror
Staring into my own blue eyes;
Imagining they were the eyes of my galloping Knight.
Eyes I had hoped to use
In capturing the “devil” by his tail.
I knew how to cook and sew
And clean house and milk the cow.
I made the butter and the bread
And my mother always said
”Now Luella, don’t forget to add the yeast.”
I cleaned and scrubbed and scoured
And even cut the firewood on occasion.
It was all I knew;
My life with rags and strong soaps;
One continuing, unending back-breaking episode
Of hardwood chores
And ever-growing laundry piles.
And it was a brief,
Oh so painfully brief life,
Of cleaning, praying and… dreaming.
I wanted to go into nursing
And find a suitable man to be my Noble Squire.
But my kidneys flamed up and I started to pee blood.
Come to my lonely grave sometime, my friend.
I’m off in the corner here.
Forgotten and covered in the ivy.
I lie here in my casket in the dark
Please visit me here in the shadows,
So I can hear you breathing.
These old boots have seen their better days.
But day after day, they continue to amaze
Their part of me, as surely as my own two feet.
They’ve packed me around through
the rain, snow, mud and heat.
Thy are not as shiny or new as some.
But they still are getting the job done.
They are old and worn, but they’ve yet to fail me.
And if they could talk, oh the story they’d tell me.
They damn sure ain’t much to look at anymore.
Their scuffed, scratched and weather wore.
They’ve stood on concrete and splashed in the mud.
And at the end of the day kicked aside with a heavy thud.
They fit just right and their mine even if the are old.
They kept my feet dry and out of the cold.
Even though the time to buy a new pair has done past.
They make me wish all things were made to last.
Their tougher than the leather their made of.
And worn with pride and a strange sense of love.
Sarah D Comstock
10-06-2009
Form:
Sometimes it’s hard to face the woman in the reflection glass.
Because she and I, we so often clash.
Even though she looks just like me.
She is not whom I thought I would see.
Because there are things about her that are scary.
She is the part of me I wish to bury.
But I know one must face fact.
It is often true, I hate the way I act.
The selfishness that builds inside.
The things I have sacrificed for foolish pride.
My words are often quick to blurt.
They are so often out of anger and meant to hurt.
My hands have not always been gentle and kind.
My thinking has been foolish and blind.
Too many times I should have been strong,
Why is it so hard to say it when I am wrong?
There is so much I’ve done, that I can not be proud.
And it seems too little too late just to say it aloud.
It took a million stuttered words to admit.
I took all I had to sit down and look at it.
Ti took a thousand miles to get to this place.
It has taken me a long time to look myself in the face.
I had to dig deep and face the things I didn’t want to see.
And only then I realized this isn’t who I wanted to be.
It’s hard to really look at your self and see the wrong.
Especially knowing it’s been this way all along.
It’s sobering to face your self amongst downfall.
To see your self, clearly, faults and all.
Sarah Comstock
6-12-08
Form:
You have my heart and you should know that by now,
But too often, you still find doubt somehow.
Do you really not know, that like you there will never be another?
For me, there isn’t nor will there ever be any other.
No man holds a candle to you. You are a man among men.
When it comes to this heart you win.
Why you think so little of your self I will never know.
Do you not see the love and admiration I so blatantly show?
Do you not know that I would walk through a desert
Of burning heat, so that I could lay my heart at your feet?
Is our love on ground that shaky?
Do you really believe my love to be so flaky?
What gives you reason to be so insecure?
What more do I have to do for you to be reassured?
I thought by now these childish games would have passed?
How can you not know this love was built to last?
I am committed and dedicated not just for you,
But for myself to see this love on through.
These are the trials that separate the weak from the strong,
This is what decides who will be standing
at the end of a day that has been too long.
This will not be our defeat, nor our downfall.
It’ just another thing, and we won’t sweat the small.
So just take my hand and let us carry on.
And soon these troubles between us will be all but gone.
Sarah Comstock
6-13-08
To be that,
that is the
object of your
affection.
To feel a
love that is
one of perfection.
To be the
object of
your desire.
To be that,
that fuels
your fire.
To want
so that it
becomes
an need.
A hunger,
in which
to feed.
A fire, to
no end that
it burns.
A heart that
only yearns.
A life of
longing.
A wish of
belonging.
I can only
pray for
such a
blessing.
My love I
am now
confessing.
I would
love you
for a lifetime.
I would give
my life to make
you mine.
I pray this,
that my wish
will come true,
in time.
Sarah Comstock
4/2/00
Form:
Good morning children! Rise and shine!
15 minutes until breakfast time.
Hurry up or you’ll be late.
David!! Do not say the word hate.
BECAUSE, it is not a nice word
No Sierra, we are NOT getting a bird.
BOY, you are pushing me.
One more time and I’ll put you over my knee.
Sierra!!! ShyAnne! Get out of bed!
Get dressed and brush your head!
No! Not five more minutes!! Now!!
Come on you guys, get in here and eat some chow.
ShyAnne that doesn’t match, well at least change your shirt.
Sierra! Stop! What do you mean your leg got hurt?!
So it just mysteriously hurts for no reason!?!
David no teasin’. NO TEASIN’
Are you dressed yet?
Why is your shirt wet?
Boy, you have toothpaste in your hair.
ShyAnne. Stop whinning. What’s not fair?
Breathe. Breathe. Big and deep. Breathe.
Sierra! Give it back! What ever it is…. Just. Give. it. Back.
What do you mean you can’t find your backpack?
ShyAnne, get dressed you’ll miss the bus.
No .. I’m… not… gonna… cuss.
Brush your hair. Well do it again, you didn’t get the back part.
No!.. No!…. No whinning. Don’t start.
No you can’t wear skates to school.
Idon’t know it’s just the rule.
Sierra quit jumping on the bed, what happened to your hurt leg?
NO! no skates at school!! It doesn’t matter how much you beg!
David! DAAAAAAAVVVIID!! Where is your other shoe?
Well son, I don’t wear them so I don’t have a clue.
Well ShyAnne, if you would have went to bed when I said, you woundn’t be sleepy.
What ? Who ? Who went pee-pee?
Sierra, you look like a clown, get that make up off your face!
Come on guys pick up the pace.
David go change you clothes.
It doesn’t matter which pants, just wear those.
15 more minutes, miss the bus and your gonna walk.
Child! Where is your other sock?
Yes!! You have to wear a jacket! It ‘s cold outside.
Well wear the pink one and don’t leave it on the slide.
Kisses. Bye guys. Have a good day!!
I love you!1 Be good. Learn something today.
Stop pulling your sisters hair and get to the bus stop.
Hurry up you guys! Chop! Chop!
Well Thank God there they go!!
I miss them already though.
Sarah Comstock
1-25-2010
Form:
He walked me down a broken fence line when I was five.
He put the soil in my hands and taught me it was alive.
He spoke to me of life, in a gentle voice.
Taught me wrong from right, and left me with the choice.
He boosted me up on a saddled horse.
Taught me the things that would carry me through my life’s coarse.
He took my small hand in his work worn hand,
As he took me out in the fields and taught me the land.
And there was always a warm smile behind kind eyes.
Smile down at my small face, gentle and wise.
Showed me how to stack hay in a barn when I was eight.
And I can still remember swinging on a cattle guard gate.
And the day he told me someday he would be gone.
The only time in my young life I thought my papa was wrong.
On a wide front porch he told me stories of how life used to be.
And he would say it was a better time, and I would agree.
I still remember climbing up in his lap to sit on his knee.
He was the biggest part of what made me.
A man who taught me to work for everything I had.
He did. They just don’t make em’ like they did my grandad.
In my child eyes he was a man among men.
And I know there will never be another like him again.
These tears I just cannot hide.
For the last good man left, has died.
6-17-10
Sarah D Comstock
The working Class Hero
From town to town, all across this great land,
You can see the work of a laboring hand.
Not many know their name,
But in my eyes they are heroes just the same.
From driving a nail to driving a stake.
They have pride in what they make.
From construction to demolition.
They are part of the working mans coalition.
You can’t buy a membership to get in.
These are hard working women and men.
They’ve paid their dues, by the sweat of their brows.
From the factory work to pulling up dirt with plows.
These folk get paid cash , by the hour.
Around here its done with man power.
They have calloused hands and tired feet.
They work on through the rain, sun, slow and sleet.
They know there’s no shame in a job well done.
None of these folks have ever worked for fun.
Covered in grease and their knuckles are scarred.
Ain’t a one of them scared to work hard.
They are the kind who work through the pain.
These folks have never rode the gravy train.
They know the job isn’t done until it’s done.
They are the ones who are up and gone before the sun.
These people won’t do it unless they can put their name to it.
They know it is a dirty job, but someone has to do it.
They pour concrete and haul hay.
They know what it means to put in a honest day.
They are the ones who are the backbone,
They are Americas cornerstone.
I am proud to be one of the few,
We could use more like me and you.
A few more hours and I’ll have put my day in,
But don’t you worry I’ll be back tomorrow to do it again.
Even though my paycheck won’t ever have more than a few zeros,
It’s okay because I know I’m one of the working class heroes.
Sarah Comstock
6-15-08
Form:
The gods of oil have reigned downed their wrath,
For which we have not begun to see the aftermath.
For thousands of miles balls of tar will wash upon a virgin beach.
It will be felt around the world, every place that water will reach.
And every land and all men will feel the devastation.
In a disaster that has an unknown rate of acceleration.
Take this warning to heed,
In this epidemic, our children will pay for our greed.
And their children will toil under the sun,
For the things we have and have not done.
It seems foolish to me that we can put a man on the moon.
But can not keep crude out of a Louisiana lagoon.
And we will be mocked for our ignorance by our sons and daughters,
For blindly poising our own waters.
BP’s offshore drilling,
They never worried, they were making a killing.
I want to know where was the plan of action,
Will we all suffer the burden of their infractions.
So, we all wait while BP try.
And every minute , every hour, more peoples livelihood die.
And were losing ground, hand over fist.
Peoples lives are at stake, because the waters can’t be fished.
You only thought the unemployment rate was high before.
Now what of all the people who made their living on the gulf shore.
What do we tell them about their live retrieval.
Tell them to stand in a line marked,
Unemployed by environmental upheaval
Sarah Comstock
6-6-10
Form:
Make no doubt, it was not something just given.
This good life that I am now livin’
It is one that I have earned.
Mostly through the hardest lessons learned.
Worked from daylight to dusk,
And at night rocked cryin’ babies who fussed.
Done things I didn’t know I could do.
Somehow we always managed to get through.
I’ve poured out my heart and tears,
Kissing their heads and quiting their fears.
I’ve poured out my own blood and sweat.
I’ve worried, stressed and fret.
Spent sleepless nights over a sick baby’s bed.
Rocking her and stroking her head.
Busted my butt, and broke my back
To get a step ahead and pick up the slack.
And I’m trying to show them the way,
One gets mad and the other whines.
But you fit it in between dinnertime and deadlines.
And so you see, it runneth over my cup.
The laundry and dishes, pile up.
Trying to make ends meet, it’s just day to day.
Getting it all done, you just find a way.
But it’s far better than the life I had.
They are a little ungrateful, but I guess I’m glad.
They’ve never been with out a coat,
Despite the whinning of it’s so cold.
And no they have never eaten food that
They had stoled. No, they have never even
Missed a meal, true hunger they will never
Feel. No they don’t know how good
They have it, it is true.
And I pray to God they never do!
Sarah Comstock
12/12/10
the stearn bear
ate the bull
as meat unto idols
(the idle mammals
of mammon
on fence road)
the bags of king Midas filled
as offense rose
the comstock lode
dropped
bovines into stockyards
and the slaughterhouse rules
(u.s.) Pavlovian fools
I can feel it,
becoming in me.
Growing inside.
Birthing the new
me. The old
one is dead.
Renewed from
the very source.
living life,
with a new force.
Through a
living death
I found life.
Finding peace
amongst the
strife.
I’ve found a
burning fire.
an unconditional
desire. I have
found a place,
now that I
have found
my saving
grace.
October 27th, 2000
Sarah Comstock
Form:
What if one look could change the life you’ve known?
Would you finally see that were not meant to be alone?
What if one touch could change everything you thought?
Would you hold on tight, for better or not?
What if a moment held all the potential of forever?
Would you hold out for the endeavor?
What if it took one look in his eyes, but you just knew?
Would you go to this man that you were so irrevocable drawn to?
What if his kiss was so warm it set your soul on fire?
How far would you follow him, just to feel his desire?
What if he was the only one who made you feel a new emotion?
Would you move mountains, cross a desert, or even an ocean?
What if just being next to him, made you melt?
What would you do, to feel what I have felt?
Sarah Comstock
3-17-11