Best Racked Poems
Once there was a little cabin in the forest
where lived a most incredible hermit
all animals birds and creatures flocked
to him, surrounding him with their trust.
He lived a simple life dedicated to helping
those in need. Each day found him looking
out the wounded healing them with herbs
he gathered then making them into potions.
His cabin was just one room, a bed and table
with perches for injured birds, straw scattered
on floor for the various critters seeking help
none were turned away all that could be healed.
One day his door remained shut, the hermit
was ill, a stag managed to open his door
finding him in bed racked by a fever and cough
all day animals and birds helped bringing berries
A squirrel bathed his fevered brow and piled up straw
many animals cuddled up to help keep him warm
slowly but surely he started to improve to all's delight
He looked around at the worried faces of them all.
His strength returned thanks to the creatures help
and he collected hay, nuts, corn, berries for them
and spread out a banquet that was fit for a king
they all ate and made merry dancing in the clearing
We will now leave him and friends in the forest's peace
with butterflies and bees to keep this kindly hermit company
The Quiet One
How shall I begin my story
I hardly knew that he was there
Yes, he really seemed nice enough
with those blue eyes and light blonde hair
When I heard what had happened
I must say I was suspicious
A word written on the body
in red lipstick said delicious
Now I'm not one prone to gossip
But what I'm telling you is true
I racked my brain for answers
Trying to search through every clue
Yes I had noticed him watching
As she gracefully tossed her hair
She was a beautiful woman
I understand why he would stare
Still there was something different
He had a strange look in his eyes
His pupils were so dilated
In fact they were double in size
It truly seemed a dark hunger
for sure he was licking his lips
Nothing will ever be the same
In his room I found leather whips
I'm sorry I can't go further
It's true that monster framed me
The quiet ones are so clever
I beg you to please set me free
For Broken Wing's Contest
Written June 7th, 2017
Driving past our old home on Glenwood Avenue
Memories came to life from my childhood days
Going over the park, Mom. I'll be in before ten
Got a game of hide and seek. Everyone plays
We'd take a bottle of yoo-hoo or nu-grape to drink
In winter on Clark Street there was an ice skating rink
A pack of luckies in our shirt sleeve thinking we were cool
The Bungalow was our community pool
There were Friday night dances in the gym at Saint Jerome
Maybe a stop at the Coffee Cup while we were walking home.
Movies at the Majestic and Victoria were great
Fan buses for away games. We'd get back late.
American Billiard Academy was where the balls were racked
No seat at the home game because the stadium was packed
Under the state store, the Y M C A
At the Vic a Saturday matinee
A baseball game with a sponge ball and fist
In the school's gymnasium, doing the Twist
Middle Ward playground, the movie was free
Adjusting the picture on the old T V.
A class trip on school buses to Hershey Park
Sleigh ride down Snake Hill in the cold and the dark
Walking the coal bank by Number Fourteen
Stopping at Mike's to play the pinball machine
On Biddle Street, we'd sit on the cemetery wall
Jumping into piles of leaves in the early fall
Then I stopped at Dutch Hill Park for a while
Memories of Tamaqua always make me smile.
Sawing logs, one after another
Into two feet lengths
Just for the specific purpose
Of standing them up on the ground
Awaiting the iron axe
That will create a comforting
Roaring fire in the hearth
Come this winter’s cold
Canning fruits and vegetables
To store on the shelves
Awaiting the moment in time
When they’ll be lifted out
And opened slowly, carefully
With appreciation for the color
The scent and deliciousness
Of a homegrown and canned food
Cutting down hay in the field
Tractor moving slowly, assuredly
Taking the blade to the grass
Green and pungent scented
Covering the field with what will
Be racked up into piles for
Baling and creating a treasure
For the barn to store for cattle
Christmas, so full of life, and miracles, was found wanting this year.
A young mother sat by her daughter’s hospital bed, racked with tears.
Her daughter was sleeping way too still; her last breaths would soon come.
How could this happen to so beloved a child, she was way, too very, young.
Where was God’s wisdom, in taking a six year old, or her father as taken in war?
Church, friends, family, others, and her, had prayed till they could pray no more.
They’d ask for her: to walk in the sun, and play again, with family to hold her hand.
But her time was gone, like in an hourglass; the sand was almost, completely gone.
The mother was afraid to pray anymore… what could it accomplish any more?
What the disease hadn't taken, the cure had, nothing left, but for her soul, to soar.
But how could she hand her to the angels? Strangers had always frightened her child.
No, she sobbed, she’s way to young! Still she knew: life was never fair… or mild.
Where was God when you need him! Please don’t take her away! Her mind riled!
When suddenly, her daughter opened her eyes, and smiled her little, tired smile.
She whispered: Papa’s here… to hold my hand… He’s taking me… where I can play.
At that the fear receded… as she said she loved her… then watched her fade away.
Perhaps her prayers HAD been answered… She’d had her time with her, after all.
Now her Husband, would take her place… Perhaps it was his turn, to carry on.
Tears would still be shed… It was natural for that to happen, when this befalls.
But she knew her daughter now had everything, including The Great Father’s Love.
There are many types of Christmas magic, but as her time came to a close…
A mother’s love can’t be beat, except by God’s Love, for us all…
He tills within the buzzard's flight
this cruel land he calls his home,
ewe and wether, milk and bucket,
broken spirit, ne'er to roam.
He's stuck for good, the laws of nature
guide him, be they right or wrong,
gone his hopes and his compassion,
save for the curlew's mournful song.
Courted by the country lasses,
love can't penetrate this soul,
pain and grief his only help meets,
daily toil his only goal.
Mother, father, gone to dust now,
confidants who'd calm his fears,
struggling with a heavy heart,
internalizing all his tears.
It's back to digging, discompacting
stones and boulders from the earth,
working 'til there's no more sun
in Wales, the cradle of his birth.
Striving against the elements
he stretches every nerve and bone,
every muscle, every sinew,
'til exhaustion brings him home.
Ne'er a smile adorns his visage,
there simply is no time for this,
haggard, careworn, slave to nature,
racked by weather's wantonness.
Two weeks gone, and there they find him,
chided by the wind and rain,
cadavered and condemned to fester,
never to be sad again.
*******
...dedicated to the Welsh poet R.S. Thomas
and his book, 'Song At The Year's Turning.'
The hooves that thundered on the roof,
An awful sound to hear;
And when the mighty steeds arrived,
My heart was gripped with fear.
The horses black as ebony,
A chariot in tow,
A fearsome rider held the reins;
I had no place to go.
The horseman’s face a scowling mask,
So clearly in command;
But racked with pain, I smiled relief
And gladly took his hand.
I will not see the light again;
But here with Death, I feel no pain.
Jack Horne for Gail’s Crossroads contest
“Holmes, what is the secret of your glory,
What keeps us thrilled and rapt right to the end?”
“The hook of a swell detective story -
Quite elementary, my modern friend."
“Your methods by deduction, I must tell,
Earned you renown for the most brilliant mind.”
“Crime is common, logic rare, so I dwell
On hidden clues, the suspects leave behind.”
"Some tricky cases racked Scotland Yard's brains,
What would be your best sleuthing card to play?"
"The very truth lies in what still remains,
As slim improbabilities outweigh."
“With such demanding hardcore duty, you
must have pastime of some distinguished type.”
“No doubt, my curious fan, I have a few:
Observations, dear Watson and my pipe.”
“Where are you in the matters of the heart,
The rumor has it, women aren’t your 'thing'?”
“There was but one I held in high regard,
The one, who could plot well as well as sing.”
“With due respect to your uncanny wit,
What’s your advice to those, who murder still?”
“One’s life is not your own, hands off it,
No one is granted a license to kill!”
“Would you please share your most frustrating case?”
“Here, the cold one to my shame and disgrace :
Watson and I once camping at the site,
Turned out to be a very chilled event.
By shrewdly staring at the starry night,
I then deduced that someone stole our tent!
That scurrilous tent thief getting away,
Like Speckled Band still haunts me to this day.”
"Born most revered detective of all times,
Well, Sherlock, what’s the saga of your birth?”
“This basic question, though I solved tough crimes,
You’d ask Sir Conan Doyle for what that’s worth.”
February 5, 2022
My heart was pumping hard that day I faced the maddening crowd,
Despite the spinning in my head I stood there mighty proud.
Though racked with pain my reddened hand acknowledged them a wave
And to this day I've ne'er forgot, the accolades they gave.
It was a dream come true you see to stand there in that ring,
For rodeo was in my blood and one day I'd be king.
The beast I drew was mean and lean ... no Chainsaw I admit,
But still if I could just ride time I'd show them I had grit.
I'd limbered up behind the chute preparing for the ride,
Well knowing what was just ahead, but took it in my stride.
The chute boss called, "You've drawn chute five, get down and make it quick."
Then as I eyed the beast below ... I suddenly felt sick.
That brute it tried to climb the gate and bellowed cries of fear,
While chute hands fought to organise the necessary gear.
I felt the violent quiver of the hide between my chaps,
The smell of sweat, the cry of men ... a change of mind perhaps?
Too late I felt the rope pulled taut and shoved within my glove,
I thought it's now or never mate and sent a prayer above.
Then as I pulled my Colly down I yelled out, "Let him go!"
The gate flew open ... it was on ... 'twas time to rodeo.
With whites of eyes all full of hate that beast did twist and turn,
'Twas obvious my frame aboard was something he did spurn.
Eight seconds on this beast from hell seemed like eternity,
For ev'ry muscle which I owned screamed out in agony.
Between the jars and twists and turns I heard the crowd all cheer,
Then at long last that blessed sound of hooter in my ear.
The pick up man then pulled me clear and was I proud ... not half!
I'll ne'er forget that day old mate I rode that poddy calf.
He sits with his head upon his hands
His eyes are red
And water that glued the sands
Sun sucked, slithered from the sandy bed
His thoughts are the hourglass
Grains of meaning mincing away
His castle was the sheltered pass
Tomorrow in today decay.
The officer who came to the door
Polite as an exterior of class
Knocked his ego to the floor
Set his emotions to tinder like grass
Dry as the cinders of his life:
It was she who picked up the knife
She who wanted out as wife
So many things unspoken, so much rife
And he cannot own that argument again
He lost in the public sphere
While he was at the war enduring pain
Treason was a shift of change here.
The officer asked him if he had somewhere
To go ... leaving the house his hands built
He wandered through the cold night air
Racked by conscience alternating guilt.
Then here ... to sit and muse alone
Rejecting interventions of the court
To share what was his own
He relinguished property and support
Except from the sweet distil of fruit
And wanders between the staggering eye
Victim of an altered truth
Forgotten mortal under infallible sky.
When I am lost and all alone,
It’s then I turn to the Shepherd to guide me home.
When my heart gets bitter and full of doubt,
I surrender my problems to Jesus, He seems to always work them out.
I have been a victim of my own foolish pride,
Not trusting in Jesus to be my guide.
Many times I have stumbled and many times I have fell,
But that’s the good part of this story I tell.
For no matter how low in life we manage to sink,
It’s Jesus who will always bring you back from the brink.
We are like sheep we all go astray,
That is why we need our Shepherd to show us the way.
Jesus was the one who died for our sins so long ago,
Redemption is ours if we ask don’t you know?
Without Jesus in our lives we would have no hope,
And no chance for salvation or a reason to cope.
Imagine the pain He suffered that day,
Picture it in your mind how He died such a tragic way.
Body racked with pain and longing for the death that seemed so slow,
And being able to forgive those who did these things would have been hard for me,
don’t you know?
As I grow older in life there are things I tend to learn,
Like the most valuable possessions you cannot buy you have to earn.
Love, respect, and friendship are a treasured gift,
To have and to share will give you a blessed lift.
Of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these ‘it might have been’—John Greenleaf Whittier
without deep regret
apologetic parrot ~
squawks m
i n d racked a
n
g
u i s h
A Song is --
Not words on paper
or a tune from the lips
To reflect moments poignant
is never lickety-split
I've racked my brain
searched my soul
Still no results
and I'm getting old
It's time, I feel
to take a real chance
To knock on the door of my heart
and invite her to dance
So little known of Mary's man,
Only that he was righteous, just.
Betrothal gone afoul of plan,
He sought divorce, discrete, no fuss.
Did you have doubts of your betrothed,
A fleeting thought to cause some harm,
As you imagined her unclothed,
Tight in another man's strong arms?
And as the child in her womb grew,
As whispers, furtive glances came,
Were dreams by angels given you
Enough to overcome the shame?
When she was racked with labor pains,
With no rooms left, were you still able
To Mary joyfully proclaim
The Lord’s provision in a stable?
When came the pilgrims from the East,
Brought gold and frankincense and myrrh,
Did you see these for king and priest,
Or gifts to which you'd grow inured?
When called to Egypt in the night,
Just out of reach from Herod's clutch,
Did you in midst of desert flight,
Feel vulnerable or panic much?
Or were there times in playful fun,
Just you, your wife, your baby child,
See him as Christ, the Holy One
Through whom God's children reconciled?
With hammer, nails, at early age,
A carpenter, this child you taught.
Did it, in wildest dreams, presage
The means by which he ransom bought?
When you in haste to temple went,
And he told you in your distress,
"My Father's house,” where he'd be found,
Did his response provide redress?
And after, what became of you?
Some have suggested that you died
An early death, perhaps best too,
For who could watch son crucified?
Though Scripture does not much record,
The part you played was shortly done,
One can imagine your reward:
Eternity with God the Son.
Keep faith within yourself for you’re alive.
You have no time for tears or thoughts of doubt.
You must be the victor and survive.
In daily life the hardships do arrive
with wondering of how it will turn out.
Keep faith within yourself for you’re alive.
Oh, with a human effort do you strive
your body racked with all emotion's drought.
You must be the victor and survive.
Fools think that life is all just play and jive
having all the swagger and the clout.
Keep faith within yourself for you’re alive.
As time goes by appreciate the drive.
There’ll be some happy days to rave about.
You must be the victor and survive.
Wishing you a life pass ninety-five.
Do not be old and only just a grouch.
Keep faith within yourself for you’re alive.
You must be the victor and survive.
1/20/20