Emily (part 2.2)
From the outreach of my hand
I can feel you
From my eyes I want to
Bewitch you
From look in my eye I want you
Only because I fell
In love with you
From the shore of the Atlantic
To shore of Lake Erie
I row a boat to get you
Take you in my arms
Kiss you until you cry out
Love me
The sky opens up with the sun
It time for us to have some fun
Walking the beach
Snuggles under cover
Swimming nude together
Living a loving life
Got you under my skin
You let me in
Every so softly I sung
From East Coast to the west Coast
My find will outdo the rest
She has beauty from out and in
Love the feeling of her skin
We kiss and hug and love
she is my lady
Emily
My father my friend,
My teacher my preacher,
My comfort and security.
When I was a child he used to take me sailing on Lake Erie.
It was so awesome to be in the presence of this great man.
Quiet, intelligent always teaching by example.
I put him on a pedestal and he never fell.
My father my friend
Always there for me
No matter how hard.
Never a question or look, always helping me to cope.
When I was a child I used to watch him carefully cut stained glass.
Cutting and soldering creating these beautiful colorful lamps.
He was an artist and extremely smart.
He gave me my values he gave me my start.
My father my friend
I will always love you and you will always love me.
Even if I can’t see you or hear you, I feel you.
You talk to me but not verbally.
Everything we’ve ever done together
Everything about you
I am you
Thank you!
I have this small birdbath
in my backyard
apparently the talk of the
whole Bird-town -- not much
larger than a good-size hubcap,
one would think it was Lake Erie
size takes on different perspective
in the desert; like a prairie dog
is fat pheasant to a snake -- a jackrabbit
seldom fast enough for a hungered, blood-thirsty
coyote once targeted -- even a cartoon Willy would
shed his cartoon ink, in the real desert~ life here, first
is all about drink.
Torrents pound ground.
Raincoat over head
going for the mail.
Small dog - large voice
yapping on and on.
Dog now howling,
Lake Erie has thrown
a bucket
of cold water over its head.
It could happen,
it's a very Great Lake.
boat on lake erie
steady sailing on water
captain of our ship
In golden dawn of day
Fish the color of lake and sky
Swam Lake Erie wide in eye.
Twenty thousand years past
Fins chased by glaciers:
Blue pike survived
Until too many waves of our breed
Swept them from the lake
With taint and nets of greed
In a hundred years-long dusk.
Too much like Sandburg’s Buffalo Dusk
The Blue pike and their fishermen are gone:
Too much chased from ice to nets
To gray smoke dusk,
Black empty night –
The Blue pike and the men who saw them
Gone.
Dark brier grow thick in Cleveland,
thorny tendrils thrive.
Clapperboard homes slack and linger,
neglected yards grow thin grey bones.
A vaporous wave passed over Lake Erie.
None noticed the lightless seeds in the sunlight,
but little girls went missing.
Whole neighborhoods searched other places
no one thought the monster hid among them.
Detective Puccini grinds his jaw behind the wheel
of an old Cadillac.
Red cracked leather creaks as he reaches
for a brown-bagged vodka bottle.
He knows the girls are near;
at night as he sleeps, he hears them,
they cry for help under their breath
least their captor overhear.
Today Puccini takes out
a sledgehammer from the trunk of his car
he's intends to tear down any dark-eyed house
until one fine day
he hears the girls again.
~~~~~~~~
https://abcnews.go.com/US/cleveland...-berry-gina-dejesus-journey/story?id=67858538
This poem is dedicated to Cleveland’s own … “Barley House” Thank you for your symbolism of the “White Rose” – “A love and deep respect / everlasting devotion and loyalty to the people you serve...
For 11 years I stepped into an establishment of tables, chairs, and wooden floors…
A true spirit of hospitality, humanity, and Family… The model place that has bypassed many setbacks of
unforeseen storms, battles, and wars…
And
A true testament of your
motivation, strength, and adoration.
So
From your best team players…
(The Cleveland Cavaliers, Browns, Indians, Lake Erie Monsters, and many others...)
We all thank you for your hard work, support
And
Never-ending favors.
For I give you your flowers…
(Corey, Bobby, Joe, and Chris) …The ones that have made a
Huge impact …
From historical and economic facts…
Here I stand…
As a witness
And your Bathroom Attendant…
“House Mom Kat”.
And lastly…
I thank and appreciate all that you do…
So
Continue to absorb the sunshine and the light
My champions…
Continue to go with the flow
Of greatness… And go with God’s
Wind that blows …
My 4 petals’ on the
Stem of “MY WHITE ROSE”.
I am cutting ties
that I knotted to a faraway soil.
Exiled no longer at the tiller
of a long beached fishing boat
that bobs only on the legends
of ancient waves.
Those fluent in soul-breathing,
the Celtic poets,
those wind-chiming lyricists,
are pulling me
to the bottom of Lake Erie
where drowned sea-captains still quote
what the Irish once wrote.
And here’s me, even today
caught by the mouth
from their linguistic fishhooks
yet cutting myself away.
I am a handmade citizen of a land
that is my own meat and gristle,
a subsoil am I
and my father and mother
the grubbing worm and the turtle dove.
Still Irish, but rootless
with no anchor in Galway Bay.
I have cut the trap lines
become a jobbing teller
of tall tales,
not a keeper of any traditions
planted by hands not of my own.
And if once in a while
I lapse into the sod and bog-speak
of my unlearned brethren
it is no literary affectation
of a better education,
for I remain this common creature
determined to be tied to a smaller rock
of my own choosing.
Half a mile from the shore
boats turn into diving fish,
the sky roars by
derailed by the horizon.
The Lake Erie ferry
skims the crashing crests
rises as a seagull,
scooping up the flying spray.
We passengers go below
abandoning the deck
to the scouring winds.
Children are gathered up
into protective huddles.
I catch my reflection,
my grin is fixed and stiff.
The skipper calls out:
this is normal for the time of year!
The tense mood of the cabin calms.
My jaw aches
for the rest of the day.
On the beach in Sandusky,
a woman collapsed to retire her body
at the edge of Lake Erie, under
the awning of a cerulean sky. The waves
reached out to heal her because I was never that kind.
She will be more useful at her resurrection
after sleep closed her lazy brown eyes.
The world had left her, I was gone 4 steps,
but my conscience ... My heart walked
through shrubs and razor bumps.
Not that I want to. I was seduced
by this cause of injury to our children. It was enough
for the world to see via social media. So, June 15th, 2009,
I became Shem and Japheth; I took a towel,
laid it across my children's shoulders,
telling them to walk leeward
and hide their mother's nakedness.
If you look closely, you will see
the masterpiece Winter painted
along mighty Erie’s shore
in the darkness, well into the early morning light.
You will see his fondness for delicate shades of gray,
How one by one he bends and sheaths the tall ornamental grass
in rounded silvery whiteness, and
how he paints ripply footprints at the water’s edge.
If you look closely, you will see
the fluttering gulls in the distance,
Seemingly small, yet not insignificant,
Every detail a pixel of life.
There’s more, if you look closer,
If you’re willing to brazen the biting wind,
Like the pile of jagged sticks, and mossy green rocks from summer,
Now a single creamy white ice sculpture.
And if you hold your eyes and heart wide open,
you can read the painter’s signature
written in the battleship gray sky—
December
Murky water left to drink
floating particles of death
Erie presence leaves discontent
As something wicked floats in it.
The bone chilling chilly wind doth blow
off Lake Erie with flurry snow.
Late at night off cold dark shores
Shadows of a floating barge
Clouds of soot from steamers clogged
Pollutes the air with killer smog
when something wicked this way blows.
Perverts creep on angry streets
Children homeless are their prey
desperately at the mercy of
She gets plucked like a sweet ripe plumb
as something wicked this way comes.
There were no herbs, left to purge her
This was strictly death by murder
Blood dripping from their lips/
Every scary thing they fling as;
Vampires odors fumigates,
the evil deeds, their gluttony brings.
They've Desecrated the graves of men;
Though we stand by, we cannot extend,
at least a stick to beat the bush;
Or make loud noises and pretend;
While something evil this way spins.
© Vicki Acquah | Year Posted 2014
Inspired by Ray Bradbury
reposted 2017
Ole Lake Erie knows how to make snow
Cold wind blowing across the warm lake
Like a giant machine the snow make
Blinding blizzard then sun will break
Ole Lake Erie puts on a grand show
I used to call Michigan my sweet home,
growing up used to camp by Lake Erie,
now this state has left me sad and alone,
honestly there’s nothing left there for me.
Jet’s Pizza was my most favorite food,
Jimmy’s Coney Island every Tuesday,
now all the loss and death has changed my mood,
and to leave this state is all I can pray.
Renaissance Festival in the summer,
used to be a place of laughter and fun,
but now Michigan is a big bummer,
and pleasurable moments I have none.
Michigan used to feel like home to me,
but maybe I should move to Tennessee.
December 29, 2016
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