The coins clinked in front of him, then clanked
the same coins that, as a child, had delighted him
Today merely clinked; today merely clanked
the joy drained from counting his puny fortune...
Sensing an epiphany, he brushed the coins away
sat there, chin resting on his elbows, elbows on the table
startled aware, suddenness sweat-laden, that no longer
was the world content to wait for him to blossom
I miss the barn, the hay loft,
a place to listen to the midday sun
creaking through old wood.,
the small clouds of horse flies
moving as one in their jet-pack bodies,
that rose and fell
their small engines stuttering.
The humpbacked skeleton of a tractor
where goats built their castles,
the oily emptiness of its heart
as it clanked under their hooves
into a gearless life once more.
When the empty stalls echoed a warning
to the horses that no longer stabled there,
I would get up into the sagging rafters
where feather whiskered winds
rustled dust through broken boards,
It used to take them an hour
before they knew I was missing,
later they knew where to find me.
I miss the soul-deep smell
of dry leather tackle long unharnessed,
the empty cans of linseed and engine oil,
the old shotgun so rusted
it grew out of a dirt-caked bucket
as brown as a whittled flower stalk.
All gone, the barn, the farm house
and ‘they’ - gone now.
Yet sometimes they call to me
as I dream in a lullaby loft,
and I still a little disappointed
to be found.
Then
When living lived and life just..
it was then
and then beers clanked happy anger cheers..
and then we loved how we loved
and promised and primped to make each other swell with pride and
Then we slipped and laughed...
and then when we fell and awkwardedly smiled
and then we ed up, but only a bit and a little...
Until then
when we couldn't quite get back up
and then it wasn't easy as grass man
or easy to pass
it off
or easy at all
to wake up not so hung over
or when
it wasn't then but now
when it's you're so far away.
She swayed with her head hung over
The buggy that clanked down the street
And I wondered...the will that drove her
As she walked without lifting her feet
Pushing...her tattered life in a kart
Her eyes fixed...in a frozen stare
Was she the beat of a broken heart
Soul lost...but she didn't know where
Somehow...she looked familiar to me
Yes!..vaguely like someone’s mother
A hint...of what she used to be
Or the sister of someone’s brother
Surely...she once belonged to someone
And I couldn’t help ask myself why
Her life had become completely undone
As despair... spilled out of her eyes
February 15, 2020]
Author: Elaine Cecelia George of Canada
Through the pane we could react to a future
Held under the brightest star
In a sea glaze mass of imperfection.
At the back,
the harbor clanked and toiled our youth away.
Nights so careless in the beginning,
Became slower, burnished eyes fragmenting.
Down in the basement
Sea winds battered doors and opened fear.
Summer was omnipresent and beautiful.
Floating on the waves gave solace
When youth and ignorance leapt in.
The still quiet of the night,
The six mile stretch,
The beat of the tide in vision.
The composition.
Lying on the seagrass spree
Awakened in highlights,
In awe of being there.
Felt everything.
Walking along the small pier at night,
When the winds listened,
My soul in harness,
To transcend the night into living.
Decade of my birth
All Show and No Go,
Ankle biters were Almost Home,
Baby, Ball and Beach bunny,
Brewed bread as Boxes Burnt one,
Even the Bad pipes Bagged some food for the brain,
Chilled the Cat as Chrome dome Caught some rays,
A Chick's choice,
Clanked, the Cool head Crashed,
Daddy's car was a Deb's delight,
Funkier freaks invited Fuzz,
Hunks jazzed,
Spiffy Nifty tufted together,
Generation gap, but Rents would go with the flow,
Wiz kids never lost their Wig,
Paper shakers went out of sight,
Real people with Righteous Raps and tuning vibes,
Mod shades, Rockin' out,
Off the wall and Ultimate,
Zap! You ain't too cool,
What say !Those were the times!
Written June 25th, 2015
For Debbie's contest "Talk the talk and walk the walk"
Decade chosen- 1960s
Dry Months
A Dracula drought drank soil’s blood,
in spring and clouds refused to shed
their load of collected sorrow before
the middle of October.
The landscape jaundiced and leaves on
trees petrified into rusty bits of metal
that clanked abjectly in a breeze that
tasted of dust and reheated air.
In the stale heat of the night thoughts
ran free to dream of mountain lakes,
deep fiords and cascades of sweet water
in a landscape green and wondrous.
Teasingly, heavy clouds came from
the north shed loads of liquid pearls that
rolled like tobacco spittle on parched
ground and nature held its breath.
The downpour didn’t last very long,
but long enough for the landscape to
not give up hope and become a new
Sahara only fit for scorpions.
Johnathan, Innsley, Marie, and Paul ---
Tom, Trish, Bea, and Jack: all of them.
Black, white, asian; Jew, gentile, zen...
Sex, art, love, mores revolved,
entering ever-shallower circles of discovery.
Clear ice cubes clanked on glass;
religion, sex, quality imported Scotch
and Cuba made the rounds.
Conversation calmed, each with his own idea:
the ultimate word.
Fake furs, donned, drifted into oblivion.
Feeling alone, J. C. cleaned up.
From the dulled Johnson's Wax luster
on a genuine Duncan Phyfe table,
his distorted rumpled reflection
stared up at itself.
J. C. looked away, noticed four new white rings,
picked up a soiled Canon towel,
and wiped away three beads of water,
a few ashes, and himself.
The clothesline hung, low, and limp.
Raucous, red, long johns
and worn, white, blue jeans
pinned like butterflies in a box;
dangled bodiless.
The neighbors all envied Mom’s skill.
Nobodies tidy whities were brighter.
The pulley wheel whined and clanked
against back porch clapboards
when a stiff wind blew through.
And, the state of your laundry
was like the state of the union jack;
you hung ‘um both high
and took ‘um down when the rain came.
She cried
He died
Many regrets
Growing debts
Nothing really mattered
Threw his ashes off a building, watched as they scattered
She'd felt so guilty
So wretched and filthy
Always denying herself of blame
Her heart dead, its blown out flame
All she ever wanted
Now, the rest of her life to be haunted
Why's everyone so cruel
The blood she drowns in, it's her own pool
The memory of him will always linger
His last words quite literally did sting her
So truly empty, honestly hollow
Left alone with no one around to follow
It never happened at all
No scapegoat to take the fall
Now she dies
No one knows, cares, or cries
Along go long kept secrets
Simply carried away in two seperate caskets
As they were lowered into the ground, you couldn't help but flinch as they clanked &
clattered
The story ends with no one left flattered