“ ALL BUT THE MEMORIES ARE GONE “
I WALK THE FIELDS I USED TO PLAY I LOOK BUT I DON’T SEE
IF MEMORY SERVES ME RIGHT TONIGHT NOTHING’S HOW IT USED TO BE
DRIVING THROUGH MY OLD NEIGHBORHOOD IT HARDLY LOOKS THE SAME
TIME HAS CHANGED EVERYTHING IN TOWN ALL EXCEPT IT’S NAME
THIS WAS ONCE A PLAYGROUND FOR A WONDERING LITTLE BOY
EVERY STICK AND STONE I FOUND BECAME MY NEWEST TOY
OUR OLD HOUSE IS GONE A VINAL DUPLEX TOOK IT’S PLACE
MY BACKYARD TREEHOUSE HAS DISSAPEARED GONE WITHOUT A TRACE
THE FIREHOUSE AND GRADE SCHOOL SURVIVED IT ALL SOMEHOW
THEY USED TO SEEM SO BIG AND BRIGHT NOT SO MUCH RIGHT NOW
GROWING UP HERE THIS TOWN WAS YOUNG AND FULL OF FUN
THE CHANGES I SEE NOW SHOW JUST WHAT TIME HAS DONE
I DON’T DRIVE MUCH ANY MORE I MAY NOT BE HERE AGAIN
WHEN I LEAVE TODAY I’LL SAY GOODBYE TO MY OLD FRIEND
WHOSE MEMORIES LIVE ON AS THEY VISIT ME IN BED
RECURRING SWEET DREAMS STREAMING OVER IN MY HEAD
OF EVERYTHING I REMEMBER ALL BUT THE MEMORIES ARE GONE
Her shocks poured forth like a midnight oil spill,
body buckling like a sapling in a tornado, cracked like a Grecian museum urn. Moonflower extended limb petals, hips arched, limbs touched the nightfall floor. Her firehouse quaked primal.
Waistline oscillated, packed rigid. Gasps defibrillated, beasts fought through tight ribs,
Midriff dilated, injected, probe swelled with force.
Her breath hung heavy, smoke in a chimney,
Drumbeats drumming on her global map, sweat beaded like molten glass.
Weary rasps of elation caterwauling,
guttural sounds spilled from her chest.
Looking back, I cherish the memories,
Of the firehouse and my fellow colleagues.
The camaraderie, the shared experience,
The bonds we formed, will always make sense.
I found purpose in serving others,
In moments of strife, I discovered my true colors.
Selflessness, bravery, and dedication,
Are the hallmarks of our noble vocation.
So here's to our firefighters, the brave and true,
Who risk their lives, to protect me and you.
May their courage and strength, never waver,
For they are the heroes, who we must savor.
Children enchant the beat
after knocking on doors, looking for handouts, score
trick or treat.
October chill.
Warm village firehouse parade pours
out thrills —
a fright
of ghosts; abhors
light.
Children enchant the beat.
Warm village firehouse parade pours
light.
8/25/2020
Mohan Chutani’s Let's Minichu on an innocent childhood memory
(Minichu Form)
Firehouse dalmatians with goofy faces,
Your fine reputation is clearly the aces.
In every single solitary one of your cases.
You were bestowed with marvelous graces.
Not one of those dogs in movies that chases
Majestic true loyalty in all kinds of dog places.
You show your love in all kind of traces.
We’ve memorialized you, in our firehouse foot races.
Christmas cards came in today in three’s.
Silvery stars with love from Lu, if you please.
Three-D firehouse popup arrived from two,
Massachusetts retirees, pretty sweet too!
One photo card from my cousin also named Lou.
Three beautiful cards, made Thursday feel fine.
I have to smile because they are all three mine.
Michigan card my favorite by far.
With snowman, love, and a silver star.
So nice to feel love from a poet friend far away,
One I have known less than two years and a day.
The winds from a quiet day are brewing
The leaves are dancing as the winds are beginning
Practicing an upcoming evening of drumming
Turning into pulsing shaking pounding
Lights on, lights off electricity lines swaying
Firemen last moments in the firehouse are sleeping
Power shutting off thus darkness in the evenings
All the dogs are close by and shaking
70 mph winds rains, fires, flooding
Technology off candles books and writing
Normal evenings shattering
Mother Earth is frenzied and awakening
RUN OVER
a child’s mind at play
with the words
“he was run over by a mack truck”
his books flew as he crossed the street
from the public school not far away -
a most busy street.
did i say there is a school there?
kids ne’er slow down -
they keep trucking along.
a huge tire track across a brown grocery bag
the cover of an english book.
a teenager on crutches (years later)
on crutches, on crutches...
how slow does a truck have to go to miss
a small child with books?
a child’s mind at play -
the words had nowhere to go.
i was still learning how to form sentences.
how to express awe and place interjections!
you cross our sleepy village,
near the firehouse,
(they don’t run over children)
and cross the busy busy street
to get to the school.
i rode a bus to Catholic school,
safe -
except for one crazy nun,
who’d run over some.
5/7/2019
The elves were busy, packing up Santa’s red sleigh for his annual trip.
The year had been busy, as usual, for the residents of the North Pole.
With the last load on the sleigh; reindeer hitched and Santa aboard, the elves punched out on the clock.
Santa was aloft and on his way across the world; timing his deliveries on the sleigh’s new digital clock.
His fancy computer-driven sleigh had an encounter with a drone and he was glad to have the old one on this trip.
The reindeer flew Santa and sleigh to the tropics first; the South Pole.
He found it a bit peculiar that he had to deliver at a firehouse but, managed to easily slide down the fire pole.
Back at the sleigh, he read the list of stops and checked his clock.
He would get home in time for a nice shower and some hot cocoa after his trip.
The elves were up to greet Santa as he returned from his trip; a hot meal and cocoa, hit the spot and Santa bedded down after setting his clock; with a, “closed for the year”, sign on his lamp pole.
Halloween was favorite
of all kids on the block,
to dress up in our finest
or as a clown to mock.
After Trick or Treat was done,
then came the bested part.
At the local firehouse,
the fun and games would start.
Whose costume was number one?
the burning mystery.
We paraded 'round and 'round
for the judges to see.
Candy apples there for free
and tangy cider, too,
but the tastiest of all,
a donut each for you.
Those olden days, now long gone,
still live in memories.
Whole community pitched in
for neighbor kids to please.
Written 9/2/16
He waits,
Abandoned alone,
Motherless in a basket
Swaddled in a strangers
Clothes.
Staring at the sunrise,
With wide newborn eyes.
Motherless in a basket,
And still has yet to cry
You'll find me in -
Chiltern Firehouse,
a hotel in London, baby.
If you walk down Chiltern Street
I'll be waving from a window.
Look for me in London town.
You'll find me in -
Chiltern Firehouse,
a hotel in London, maybe...
if I decide to go there.
I'll be crying by a window...
Look for me in London town.
You'll find me crying,
yes, crying, baby,
for you walked out on
me and baby Johnny.
He's grown up now,
but don't look for him in London town.
----------------------------------------------
6/23/2015
Contest - Late Jan. 2019
Sponsor - Brian Strand
1st place win
Featured poem of the week commencing
5/3/2020
When the Parakeet increased his squawking
with the noise box ceaseless talking
far louder than the muted city roar.
Then I pondered that curious poem about the lost Lenore
About that bedeviled man and the raven Nevermore
How I envy Poe his quiet midnight
when he could hear a tapping however light
through the window pane or was it a chamber door
when quoth that famous raven Nevermore
I agree oh raven, Nevermore!
Nevermore what power lies in that word
I'm trading my parakeet for a silent gallows bird
that knows only that single solitary noun or did he mean it as a verb?
Nevermore the nightly noises that disturb
television gunfights, cabs screeching off the curb
neighbors who are seldom seen but always overheard
The raven sought a bust of Pallas
as a quiet place to perch
They took me to the rest home
between the firehouse and that bell ringing city church
so to the end of this as must all tales
for now I contemplate Poe's bells, Bells, BELLS!
December 14, 2012
Little pink coat, Mommy holding
little pink hand, the firehouse
must have seemed a marathon away,
the longest run of their lives.
Skedaddle little pink coat,
miniature uggs flopping,
one size up so they’ll
fit next year.
Nametags sewn in elfin collars,
forever suspended mitten-
sleeved jackets
in a Sandy Hook cupboard.
Good morning Ms. Davino,
Good morning, Mrs. Hochsprung,
Good morning, Mrs. Murphy,
Good morning, Ms. Rousseau,
Good morning, Mrs. Sherlach,
Good morning, Ms. Soto.
Who knew you’d be so brave?
I remember my first grade teacher,
when the hallways were safe
and nuclear attack seemed so remote.
Mrs. Lanza, did Adam
say good morning, Mom,
or just get down to
business?
We are all so sorry.
©Kathryn McLoughlin Collins
December 18, 2012
These shootings occurred in my hometown.
My grandpa is a real character; he really is a pip,
He likes the TV commercial where the girls all skinny dip.
You can never see them swimming or on the beach just sunning,
You only see them wrapped in towels but it starts his motor running.
“You know what I’d do if I were where they filmed this silly thing?
I’d pull the handle on the wall and make the fire alarm ring.
They would drop their towels when they ran around trying to get free,
Then I’d come in, the fire chief, and they’d all run to me.
I’d protect them from the flames, give them the shelter that they seek,
And while I helped them into my truck I think I’d take a peek.
In my fire truck full of women wearing nothing but their smiles,
I’d take them to the firehouse but only after a hundred miles.
Then I’d let them out so they could show their grateful gratitude,
And I’d greet each one personally ‘cause they’re still in the nude.”
Then gramps falls off to sleep and on his face we see his grinning,
And if thoughts are as bad as acts then he is happily sinning.
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