Flicker of ancient shadows playing with fire.
Crackle of light, fine spirited wind and chimes.
Infant’s lullaby, before the sea aspire.
Unfurling leaves, hunter green, sonorous climb.
Twinkling of eyes, brightening of poet’s inspire.
Christmas bow unwrapped, labyrinthine daytimes.
Wonder of a storm, rocking and rolling force.
A stupendous show, tree splits, a ship off course.
Peaks and valleys alight with touch, candlelight.
Flicker and sizzle, creaking, crashing of bed.
Crisscrossing to transcend remarkable height.
She whispers a moan; romantic fire, widespread.
Trunk bends, ceiling fan blowing a clash downright.
They’re like thunder and lightning. Oh what a night!
A storm, like a firepit, is stoked; flames are high.
All at once, all is calm. Cloud's singular sigh.
When a woman seems a preferable quality
Some folks will still have questions about her qualifications as long as she qualified to play
Her house role quietly and other things quickly.
As she succeeded to apprehend him in her
heart and he comprehended to live there.
Who can have power to cut that rope and elope
With one of them around nights or daytimes?
Question to some accidental luvs who quitted
So quickly while they were qualities qualified
By some choosers who quivering by their exquisiteness,
Whenever they appear sympathetically and romantically.
Embroidery whose titan never gets credit
An empire whose founder is long forgotten
And exists only as an adage, whose tale relives
Long forgotten history
History that ministered hope to those dimming out
Shone paths to those whose itinerary was threatened by
Dark dusks and cloudy daytimes
A magnate whose reputation was the
Long run cup of poison, brewed enough to take his life
An army general whose subordinates conspired and unseated
Him, uncrowned him from glory with thorns
A trusted cognate who is declared illegitimate at the reading
Of a will
We all are victims of our previous milestones misunderstood
Fruitful efforts unappreciated and rightful places robbed
Once we were at the pinnacle but we only stare up at it
From the footstool we found ourselves suddenly
The peak of one mountain seemingly the bottom of the other
The tempting decision to drop off the pinnacle and grow wings
To land on the top of Everest or the slopes of Aberdares
Whichever the outcome let it be loud,
You were once at the top, and you are back there!
The Hidden Truth
When darkness comes and steals the night.
It bumps and hides from daytimes light.
Bastioned from the light of day.
The night time harvest is under way.
The shadows stalk its new found prey.
Survivors fight to find their grade.
Life events now take their toll.
Some pop a pill to gain control.
Dispatched from hope, more loss of ground.
The demon screams without a sound.
Do-or-die, we fight for light.
When darkness comes and steals the night.
We’ve known each other forty years,
Or close, to be exact
And somehow, our core group of six
Has mostly stayed intact.
Since the start, our monthly dinners
Kept us in each other’s loops
And then we switched to daytimes
For the rallying of troops.
We talked of kids and grandkids,
Trip and politics and books,
But lately, we’ve had no idea
How everybody looks.
For it’s been many moons since we’ve
Been able to connect,
As Covid’s kept us far apart,
Just like you would expect.
A few of us have spoken but
We finally agreed
To FaceTime so we could catch up
To see where it would lead.
Despite some glitches, there we were,
Six faces on a screen,
The only way, pandemic-wise,
That we could all convene.
Though far from perfect, it’s a way
To virtually feel
That forty-year connection,
Both remote and very real.
Welcome back, white rose of summer,
Haven’t seen you since last fall.
You braved storm days of winter and
Their cold and frosty winds
Mother Nature kept you safely
Through those long cold winter nights,
Through her snow storms, shortened daytimes
Until spring came again.
It’s good to see you and your kind
Blooming daily on your tree
And smell your scent and watch you dance
Your dance of roses white.
Welcome back, white rose of summer,
Missed you since you left last fall.
In summer winds, don’t stop dancing
Until autumn starts to call.
Lock the door, close the WiFi,
Telephone and the Internet
In the dark night, I lay in bed
The subconscious in the daytimes get released,
Allowing Heaven, Land, and Desires all come back
To fulfill the reality of an ideal life
For a long time, I have been becoming nostalgia
To the nights, as if I had become the Lord of the dark,
Or the King of the world
However, It should be said that the survival competition
As fighting in the sun made me feel cruel and ridiculous
The greedy scramble simply for the sake of reproduction
And the gain of wealth and sex should not be recognized
Either holy or glory
Since I had seen the dust rolling over on the earth
I would have decided to put my body in the night
and to Send my soul to heaven
I'm feeling so disturbed
You were exemplary like 2 and 2
Like my collection of stamps
Like the content of my bookshelf
Forgive me on thursdays
But my wantings were out of tune
And I was caught dreaming
Tickling the surface underneath
I'm still grateful for your time
But they dissolved me in your warmth
I was rising right above the ceiling
Throwing crumbles I'm still hoping to find
Accept my most sincere apologies
You were perfect like my tomorrows
Like the consideration of my dog
Looking over me
Everything was screaming in me then
I missed a few daytimes
I'm so upset
Love has marked my forehead
There was so much rain in your voice.
Daytimes that slept with shadows.
Perfect perfidies piling
your W.C. Handy eight-bar bravado
I never knew your midnight,
your pluck of broken glass.
You told stories that left ash trays.
Burning,
burned,
ashes of bruised door frames
and sweaty bodies from emptying yourself
in emptier women.
Too many Lucille’s, but only one fire.
A slow burn
that taught only one thing worth saving:
nothing.
You taught us white boys that crying ain’t got nothing to do with tears.
That we can’t apologize for leaving our eyes in the alleyway.
That you can’t slam every door
without someone wanting to know
why the wind will always resist it.
Today is the first time the rain sounded soaked.
Like an old man
waiting for God to answer for his suffering.
Why he gave us a voice,
and why he made us weep for it.
And we end again,
that wilted sun of repetition.
That ghost finally appears;
that final E9 transuding through
the heavy breath you shake loose.
You undress every agony
and loved her
greater than pain.
And the night gave you
what God never grants us:
nothing.
Version by Elton Camp
(I make no claim to this centuries-old tale. It’s usually presented in the form of a short story, so I decided to cast it as a humor/pathos poem brought more up to date.)
Grandpa always made his own way
With reluctance, he moved in to stay
Night times, he was often awake
Daytimes, his old hands did shake
One day, he broke a fine china plate
The accident his daughter did hate
“Now my set’s no longer complete!
From china, you don’t deserve to eat.”
The old fellow dropped his head
But there was nothing to be said
But inwardly, he ruefully smiled
At how much she broke as a child
Silently, sadly he took the blame
Circumstances weren’t the same
That day, with her son in tow
To the store she angrily did go
“I want for gramps a wood plate,”
Sharply to her small son did state
“The old fool will find it hard to break.
I’ve had about as much as I can take.”
Son said, “I know what to do.
Instead of one, let’s buy two.”
“Now why should I do that!
You’re stupid as gramps, brat!”
She turned ashen as the child told
“You can eat off it when you’re old.”
SO WHERE DID VAN GOGH GO?
Van Gogh gave his ear, I gave my heart
Van Gogh had his art, I was torn apart
Van Gogh had a starry starry night
I have daytimes that never seem so bright
Van Gogh had vibrant violet and rosy red
I just had the wish to become detrimentally dead
Van Gogh sat and painted a field of rye
While I just wanted to fluently die
Van Gogh had a blank canvas and his oils
while I found a fantasy that failure finally foils
Van Gogh ended up bloody and crying
While I found a lover who was proficient at lying
Van Gogh saw beauty and wondrously painted it
My lover gave love and then tauntingly tainted it
Van Gogh lost his lover and one single ear
While I found a lover and lies I could no longer bear
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