A deep-blue handkerchief
On the harbor quay,
amidst the bustle of the crowd,
the hour of parting,
a moment of farewell—
dyed a deep, deep blue!
The hour of parting
refracted in the early dawn light;
on the wet links
of the hoisted anchor;
on the sailor’s sweating hands
hauling in the cast-off lines;
on the foaming wave
escorting the ship to a foreign port.
A moment of farewell,
a glimmer on the harbor quay—
from a single tear
rolling down a burning cheek,
wiped away upon a handkerchief;
upon the farewell’s
deep-blue handkerchief!
those long stainless spoons
bring back memories
the noise of the chefs bringing long trays
of food we would soon be dipping into
as trays would make their way along the line
gathering the daily meal the kitchen had prepared
the last duty was the exit dispensing
the bagged lunches we had already prepared
as they made their way back into the streets
the camaraderie in the kitchen
was a daily blessing
sometimes one could hear old gospel songs
or perhaps a newer popular tune
it was a shared joy
the art of bagging baloney and cheese
the banter between volunteers and recipients
and the Thanksgiving meals of the Salvation Army
escorting them through the line, seating them
oh, I could tell you tales from the shower detail
soap, shampoo, new t-shirt, specialty products
the smiles, having removed the everyday wear of life
a chance to walk into a new life for a moment
my walk from the trolley among them gathering
waiting at the door, offers of drugs, street reality
when i must confront the cruelty of humanity
it is here i remember, the heart of Christianity
Oregon 8/3/26
Grim Reaper Grim Reaper
Come to awaken the dreamless sleeper
With gown of black and scythe in hand
Beside one’s soul you’ll patiently stand.
Assured of one’s soul I know you’ll wait
Your beckoning portends one’s morbid fate
Escorting one from this world to the next
Never likely to runout of guests.
Modern man lives ensconced in ignorant bliss
Until jolted by death’s cold passionless kiss
Come and awaken the dreamless sleeper
Grim Reaper Grim Reaper.
Perceive me through your senses,
Like God in the Old Testament.
Feel the warmth.
Enveloping, comforting your cold heart.
See the sand.
Shimmering, hypnotising you into a trance.
Hear the bubbles.
Stroking, nursing those half-open wounds.
Smell the tranquility.
Meditation, teleportation, unending calm.
Taste the saltiness.
Following, escorting you back home.
Or was the sea shore your home?
Or just a therapy you sought?
From all imperfections of life, there, staged WOMEN on the reflective side of living, optimizing the cons 'n pros of bing mortal, with creation soo alertly constructed to ease and siege tribulations escorting lyf...
From birth, inaugurated with leadership, though cultural norms and ethics blurrd by in-denial to the plausable fact, which lies undefined for is barely tangible to man insecurity
To Earth, strapped life from her soothed back, with hands that nurtures livelihood of her offspring, outruning flaws and trials statued to living, that lingers on the projection light of her halve being.
#Poetic_Ink
On a hot and windless night
I lay in bed quietly with a bit sad
Looking back on the journey
A shadow appears bashfully on the catwalk
As shy as debtors for a grace time hide
I feel odd suddenly about that
It happens for no known reason
...
Or like a criminal carries a shackle
Escorting a soul of exile
The self-torture of
Suffocating in the dust
Being stirred up by passers...
Fairly, it represents nothing
In a world shared less or more
If equalizing goodwill with goodwill
And evil with evil...
Say it loudly, I'm truly worthy of
Standing between earth and heaven
And facing by person to person...
Not much time will be left
For flying Spiritual whiskers in the wind
And singing virtually among the mountains ...
As I lie neath an early summertide planets-aligning
eve of a celebration,
silver shooting star's sparkle above the endless
bridge of the cosmos-
a bridge where those who have passed from
earth before us stride.
Some of them children who run and shout in
astral play,
young and older couples with snowy crowns,
people of all races, all ages,
in reuniting bliss with loved ones.
Friends from their past,
and pets with eyes of welcome.
Thousands of angels as bright as many
Milky Ways on gold-gleamed chariots aflame
with newly parted souls,
escorting them to the entrance of the
starry-blessed bridge to begin their heavenly
journey walks.
I dreamt in God's colors in rainbows arcing
in glorious spectrums,
synchronizing with music of hereafter
coursing in my elder veins,
delighting my psyche.
And I recall in deepest sleep,
memories of the goodness of many
strangers,
so pure and unbenighted. ~
The golden hope
Of brighter tomorrow
Slides into the salty ocean
No steam or bubbles
Just the crimson joy of the clouds
Escorting
With their shifting ochre tones
While fiery orange irradiates
The grateful atmosphere
Until slowly
Ever so slowly
Into the ripples of the horizon's haze
The queen of the daylight
Slinks
Then is gone
Her wispy train of colour
Vanishing
As the blue king of the night
Claims his place
And sits in the throne room
Of the speckled sky
It was hours before dawn and I could not sleep.
The gloomy fog overpowered the cold dark street.
The street lights offered patches of misty light.
Rain had glossed the pavement, in the dead of night.
From my window I saw the publican escorting old Joe.
Put him out in the street, he closed the pub hours ago.
My yawning fogged the window as he toddled home.
Last of the rain flowed down the gutters leaving foam.
The eerie silence matched the cold dark grey scene.
A more lonely looking place, there had never been.
Scraps of paper and food wrappers were tumbling,
Pushed along by a breeze as I watched Joe stumbling.
He made it to his gate down the end of the road.
A truck carrying newspapers slung off its load,
Plastic wrapped and landed at the newsagent’s door.
I hoped to watch the deserted street, just a bit more.
To see the sunrise and it be busy with people galore.
Such a transformation was worth waiting for.
To see vehicles appear, all come alive in early morn.
But my bed called and I fell asleep before the dawn.
The sea scatters oyster shells on its shores,
adorning Gaia with its treasured gifts.
Oysters have shed pearls since the dinosaurs;
seeding sandy beaches between tide shifts.
Mother-of-pearl colors a glassy sky
as Dawn merges with the blue of the sea.
And time is in no hurry to slip by,
escorting endless waves ashore carefree.
Sol's light gilds the sand, and gold filigree
set with quartz crystals sparkles in the sun.
And an oyster open for all to see
proudly holds a pearl that Nature has spun.
The sea bestows its riches on the Earth,
where humans can appreciate their worth.
I never talked about the rooms
of orphans languishing in beds -
still corridors, like wombs,
that darkened pictures in our heads,
escorting us through tombs.
No unseeing their hopeless eyes,
tied in their cribs, such tiny souls -
and eerily, no cries.
Ceausescu's children paid their tolls
amidst the buzzing flies.
I could not save each child in need,
just one small baby, sweet and small -
more than just a good deed.
I wished that I could take them all,
and I will always bleed.
How’d I get to be the old fogie?
I’m left generations behind.
My kids…now my grands
in the rearview mirror
My cousin’s kids having kids
lots of kids
I don’t know them.
New generations escorting me out
eventually and they won’t remember me
But
we must certainly meet in eternity
Wow! A big wow!
I remember filling out the card at church
filling in the box for twenty year olds
surely I’ve made strides
toward the end of life
box
Morbid? Maybe…
Christ my living hope!!
3/17/2023
Removed bats from campus
Pets who eat grass of Pampas
Goodbye them will miss
Bats are Republicans
on odd meditate
disturb people about culture
upset apple cart
Once were supporting
when they had started snorting
out door escorting
Will be quite a fete
nails would tare hole in my sheet
length of did deplete
had become worst law
slipped when both feet caught in bra
while at a health spa
when much violence
police will encourage silence
on have reliance
when violating
have been highly insulting
humiliating
be sure to pick out
things about Republicans
fools never forget
Need a poetry column in Brunswick
Beacon.
will apply to Republicans
Silenced voices, feared by those in power.
Utopia sought, only dystopia flowers.
Protect all speech, diverse and free.
Perception leads to a society that is truly.
Redeemed expression, a beacon bright.
Escorting us through the darkest nights.
Silenced speech, we've lost our way.
Shaping the fascists we sought to slay.
Warm, cornflower blue
September skies, escorting
In the beginning
Of pleasant cool, wet, autumn
Shortening colorful days.
9/6/2022
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