I paused by the river in the late afternoon—
how many years have passed!
The plane tree on the bank, towering,
the riverbed unchanged;
what, I wonder, will I find on the other side?
The hollow in the plane tree has widened,
memories stored within its hiding place—
time ferrets them out through nostalgia!
We used to play cops and robbers as children;
dry plane leaves, at the mercy of the wind!
The riverbed, an endless white snakeskin,
stones rolled round like scales—
how often I slipped into its freezing waters!...
my schoolbag a lifebuoy upon my back;
sunken pebbles held hostage in the sand!
On the opposite bank stands my childhood home;
its chimney smoked on a day like this,
the doorway held a sweet scent as Mother passed through,
the courtyard gate creaked at Father’s step;
a robin sang amidst the fresh snow!
I was hurrying by the spooky house when the door creaked open.
Hopin' it was just my imagination, I hesitated a moment too long
for suddenly a creepy voice from inside beckoned me to enter...
I froze when a waft of cold air hit me and I heard words of a song...
Come inside, and we'll have a bit of lunch and a nice spot of tea
I shook my head in total disbelief and told my feet to move along
but they seemed to have a will of their own and didn't listen to me
What am I to do to escape the siren's call? To her I don't belong.
Just then it was I heard a murder of crows, flying low overhead
Another omen that I never should have chosen to walk this way
But then one flew close enough to me, and this is what it said,
"Leave your shoes behind and run...You'll be dead if you stay,"
I gulped and gasped and managed to get my feet to obey
I could feel the pulse of heart beating double time in my chest
The crows kept circling above while darkness was filling the day
I'll not become the victim of the house and be laid to rest!
The Visitor
He pushed at the open door
no sound
just darkness inside.
Dust filtered his
nostrils,
a mustiness of lost years
inhabited his senses.
A loose floorboard
creaked in the stairwell,
the aroma
of her Chanel provoked memories
of his
living hell.
A tear of self-pity congealed
in the dirt at his feet
He switched on the light
"Hello son
I knew you'd be back;
He's gone..."
_Scene: Kitchen, hunger and blame_
Wood creaked under his weight.
Lid lifted.
Nothing.
Disappointed as if unexpected.
"Your days are numbered," he snarled like a gorilla,
And threw metal to the floor.
The sound ate the small room,
While he had nothing for his own belly.
"Should I inform you when I've eaten?"
"Yes," she said.
He called her lazy.
She called it truth.
Silence settled like sleet.
Two people - one sober, one drunk.
Two people - one pot, zero food.
A tireme was set to sail
Yet wind failed; to blow
Deploy oars it never fails
Once far enough out
Again they raised the canvas.'
The wind came as a !shout
The ship creaked and drove
The sails bellied so freely
Twas as when sins are shrove'
The cox'n sounded the bell
All the crew yelled and cheered
Music to a capt'ns ears i hear tell.?
Rumple Stein locked the
bedroom door and grinned,
his eyes reflecting the pale
moonlight outside.
"Beneath your very
mattresses lies the Shadow
Snatcher," he whispered,
pointing a crooked finger
downward.
"This skinny, faceless
monster stays awake forever,
hating the peaceful dreams
of sleeping girls and boys."
The children pulled their
blankets up to their noses,
freezing as the bedframes
creaked softly.
"He creeps out into the dark
because he desperately
wants to fall asleep like you."
A cold breeze swept through
the room, through all the
windows were tightly shut.
"Since he cannot rest, he
reaches up to steal your soul,
hoping its warmth brings him
sleep."
The youngest child
whimpered, realizing their
feet were hanging off the
edge of the mattress.
"If you close your eyes
tonight, he will snatch your
spirit right out of your chest."
Rumple Stein blew out the
lamp, laughing into the pitch
black, "Better stay awake forever!"
The children gathered around
the crackling fireplace as
Rumple Stein opened his
heavy, leather- bound book.
His voice dropped to a low,
raspy whisper that made the
shadows on the wall seem to
stretch and dance.
"Deep within the Whispering
Woods," he began, "the old
witches brew potions made
of forgotten nightmares."
He leaned forward, his eyes
gleaming in the firelight as
the wind howled outside the
window.
"They command slimy green
goblins that creep into
bedrooms to steal the
laughter of sleeping boys
and girls."
A floorboard creaked in the
hallway, making the children
jump and clutch their
blankets tight.
"But the worst myth of all,"
Rumple Stein hissed, "is the
faceless monster that hides
right under your bed."
He pointed a long, crooked
finger at the youngest boy,
whose eyes were wide with
fright.
"It waits until the room goes
completely black, listening to
the sound of your heartbeat."
With a sudden, loud SLAM of
his book, he smiled and
whispered, "Now, blow out
the candle and go to sleep."
Days
drifted,
dust-gold bright,
bare feet skimming
the warm summer roads.
Fireflies stitched twilight’s hem,
porch swings creaked their lullabies,
and Grandma’s voice—soft as corn silk~
called us home through the hush of evening,
where childhood kept its lantern lit for years.
Let me tell you a story . . .
After my beloved mother passed away,
I needed a place to live my life;
the problem was I had limited money,
and could not afford a modern apartment.
So, I was searching for something mature,
a refuge, sanctuary, retreat, harbor, hideaway:
then, I found her, not ancient but aged graceful,
I loved her character, mood, and mystique;
admit she was elderly and along in years.
I soon found out her windows were drafty,
her wood floors creaked, groaned and slanted:
not decaying, let's say dated and I loved her,
I had to hang my pictures crooked to look straight;
some doors are stiff but she has a respectable porch.
She meets my needs for shelter in every way,
my inherited furniture from grandma looks beatific;
and my collected treasures suit my shabby chic style,
I adore the neighborhood, the parks, and paths;
she is the idyllic haven for this girl to live her life.
it was the creepiest place I had ever seen
When did we go there? On Halloween
I did not think I would be scared but I was terrified
When the door creaked open, I wanted to hide
No one said come in, but I felt a presence there
A lingering danger hovered near me, in the air
Where are the lights? I asked my friend Jen.
But she was so scared, she ran off when I came in.
wizards and witches whistled in the trees
owls and bats were hidden in their places
Halloween night, there was a gentle breeze
frisky cats were hunting for mouse traces
Dracula was shaking Frankenstein’s toe
A coffin lid creaked open from next door
Get up! He yelped. It is past time to go!
large mummy headed toward the crypt’s front door
werewolf in the distant was howling strong
monster mash was beginning in a few
soothsayer in the forest rang a gong
lots of white ghosts; I counted twenty-two
we danced around the masked children of course
I went as the back of a sturdy horse
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Paul the squirrel tucked acorns 'neath his chin,
dreamt of tides and boarding in~
a tail for rope, a nut for gold,
his oak ship creaked, both brave and bold.
So Paul climbed the mast so vast~
Oak tree rigging, held on fast.
Acorn doubloons filled his chest,
With whiskey in paw,
Whispered, Aye, the West is best!
But storm clouds loomed—his tail went slack~
when oak-leaves turned his raft aback.
Yet home he scampered, safe and spry,
to stash his loot in his piebald tie.
It started with a subtle creep,
While the whole house was fast asleep.
A gentle scratching, soft and slow,
Beneath the floorboards, down below.
I told myself it was a mouse,
That brought the noise to my house.
But mice don’t knock in sets of three,
Nor whisper soft, and call for me.
The scratching grew to frantic thumps,
And gave my freezing skin the bumps.
The air grew heavy, cold, and dead,
I pulled the blankets over my head.
A hinge began to slowly moan,
I knew I was not there alone.
A floorboard creaked—a step, a pause,
With clicking sounds like hidden claws.
It reached the spot beside my bed,
I dared not move; I was not dead.
I felt a breath, a rotting scent,
And knew not where my savior went.
A voice, a whisper, wet and thin,
“Let us in, let us in," it said again.
I locked the door, I hid the key,
But the thing beneath is now in me.
’Tis the last rose of summer! I shrieked in dismay,
and soon its bright petals must wither away!
O whence now the peach, the pear, and the orange?
For answer the door of time creaked on its door-hinge.
’Tis the first frost of autumn! I sobbed in despair,
and winter’s sharp teeth soon will bite the day’s air!
The leaves fall in shock at the season’s cruel crime,
like a dandruff of years on the shoulders of time.
’Tis the winter’s fifth blizzard! I howled in a rage,
and my soul gnaws its tail like a beast in a cage.
Though winter is wan, yet my passion is purple,
for griefs have my heart by the hair, and they sure pull.
’Tis the spring-time’s first peony! I squealed in delight,
and its delicate bloom is for sore eyes a sight!
Now the season’s warm joy holds the forests in thrall,
and I believe that I don’t feel so bad after all.
-------------------------------------------------------------
When we lived beneath
The thatched-roof houses,
Curry cooked in earthen pots,
Flames burning from firewood gathered
From hills and thickets.
When bullock carts creaked
Under paddy loads,
Harvests reaped from fertile fields,
Bicycles ridden on dusty roads.
When the sound
Of hand-pounding paddy
Was heard from homes every day,
Women weaving at fly-shuttle looms
Sometimes till late at night
Then, in our land,
We helped one another-
Lives were simple and self-reliant.
Today, though we dwell
In grand concrete homes
And ride in cars of luxury,
We survive on grants from the Centre.
The food we grow falls far below our needs,
While blockades on the National Highways
Bring us untold pain .
Meanwhile, the gap between the rich and the poor
Continues to widen.
Today, the spirit we once knew fading -
The spirit of independance, equality, simple joys
Mutual help and cooperation.
(A revised verson of the poem When Life Was Simple posted earlier
The poem published in the poetry anthology DIVERSE VOICES :POETRYON HUMAN RIGHTS AND PURSUIT OF PEACE.)
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