What was I made for
The last question I ask myself at night
As I fade away
Everything so grey
The fight in my head
The silence tries to stay
The demons force it away
All the progress I made that day
I watch it wash down the drain
I try to imagine the rain
The rain that we danced in all night
It sends a shiver down my spine
The fury in my bones
It’s hard not to let it ignite
The memories try to hide
In the back of my mind
Shelter
That’s what it used to be
I just want to be set free
I’m tired of trying to hide
What’s really happening inside
I’ve tried to soar high
But I crash and burn instead
It must all be in my head
These thoughts that play on repeat
I think it’s time to switch beats
Turn me on something happy
Maybe a little rock
Because at the end of the day
The question still remains
What was I really made for?
This is not a desirable write but an unforgettable narrative.
When I first heard Stevie Wonder's song about being born in
Little Rock and having a childhood sweetheart, I immediately
thought about my own childhood sweetheart. The song title
was, 'I was made to love her'.
I was born in a little community called Mattson.
She was born in the big city of Memphis.
Our relationship was not like Stevie's.
I do not recall ever holding her hand, and
the possibilities were hard to understand.
Sweetheart doesn't always mean
satisfying, touching, and mutuality.
From start to finish, it seemed we were always
worlds apart. We met because she occasionally visited
her grandparents who lived near me and my folks.
Some childhood heart warmers are just that, and
are never meant to proceed beyond into adulthood.
Stevie's song title, "I Was Made To Love Her",
could not apply to my childhood sweetheart.
Destiny often calls for a different drum beat.
We went our separate ways both emotionally and
physically, and I found the real love of my life. I'm
happy to say that our hearts have been sweet toward
each other for more than 50 years.
Welcome to the planet Earth
The little rock of my birth
We've got fish by the score
And all critters galore
Most of the people seem odd
From Beijing to Cape Cod
We live in fear of dying
But we keep multiplying
We're obsessed with just winning
While the world keeps on spinning
The stars watch from the sky
As our lives pass us by
Wham-o’s old Pluto Platter,
gets a brand-new name.
Fred and Ethel say farewell,
Dick Clarke gets his fame.
The Cat in the Hat is born,
Bogie has moved on.
Hurricane Audrey rages,
while Paul meets with John.
Sputnik said that space is now,
the brand new frontier.
Russia’s I. C. B. M makes,
their intentions clear.
Four hundred officials killed,
by Vietcong hands.
Elvis starts his life behind,
the walls of Graceland.
Seventy thousand more lives,
lost to Asian flu.
We were losing the space race,
as Vanguard dies too.
In Arkansas the guard blocks,
the Little Rock Nine.
Eisenhower sends his troops,
to settle the times.
McGovern points a finger,
says they're Commie Reds.
Soviets test the H Bomb,
brings ultimate dread.
Laika makes it into space,
U.S. is grounded.
Great Britain test their bomb and,
alarms are sounded.
Great innovations in births,
and technology.
Electric watch, Edsel,
Jayne Torvill and me.
If you have a little rock in your shoe,
You will not cross Alabama,
You will not cross Louisiana,
You’ll have to remove it first,
In poetry, it is the opposite,
If you have a small pebble in your shoe,
Do not remove it, think about it
Make it into a poem.
Clear this clutter from my mind
So I can sleep and rest I will find
No more thoughts heading no-where
No more circles as if time to spare
Clutter be gone so tomorrow is clear
Of harrowing experiences that invite fear
Who needs all this clutter anyway?
Wouldn't it be better to simplify the day?
Make room for flowers, scents and sight
Hold a colored pebble to be found tonight
Just a little rock in a big dream
To carry through dark, to the next sunbeam
Heidi Sands
7/15/23
I
I travel alone, sometimes with Wendolene
But shorter trips done alone if I feel bored
I talk to weeds. Some bear brilliant buds, beings
II
Little rocks jump up and converse, too -
Take me home, paint a cross, for children
Call it your little rock ministry
III
Across the miles, weeds & rocks console me
They nurture what's hurt, need another touch
Not always human, but more sensitive?
Stillness of Mind and Mouth
Josh in Little Rock, talking.
Micah in Oklahoma City, talking.
James in Lake Charles, talking.
Ailcia in Atlanta, talking.
Jennifer in NYC, talking.
Bonnie in Los Angeles, talking.
Li Wei in Shanghai, talking.
Christiane in Brussels, talking.
Owe ve, in quiet and stillness
answers are often found.
The ocelot wound up the clock
It was the fastest now on our block
The minute hand ran, not a walk
I learned this from a magic beanstalk
‘Twas announced also by barnyard cock
The one who lived south of Little Rock
Sheep all around did flock
Terrific place for a savvy pickpock
Wearing a dress with a special smock
She stole everything from the sheep, a walk…
Clock entered the field with a loud tick tock
New race was announced with streak of chalk
I was there also, wearing a frilly frock
Clock took off at the sound of a Glock
Diary took off next, waving her lock
Door joined the race without a knock
They ran toward town of Woodstock
Clock lost a pound and a red sock
Door won the race which was a shock
At the finish line we all did flock.
Route 66ish No 11
A farmer was in Little Rock
To sell all his chicks and a cock,
He had scars on his neck
Where the critters would peck,
And feathers stuffed inside his sock!
There is a world above ours
Built opon fire and flowers
Where the other's live
Who only the enlightened can see
Who sound like dried up scratching
crusty leaves
Tumbling down your garden path after dark
As the leftovers soundly sleep
Never knowing the sunset of the moon
Glows more fierce on this little rock
Than all the star's we can't see shine
Because they now reside inside a black hole
Swallowed up by this unfathomable virus
Circling like a vulture above our sunken universe
Nail hitting with a hammer too heavy to bear
Smashed emotions; hammered, without care
Boards held together, but; will soon fall apart
No care given to the sad boards broken heart
Left out in the cold to weather the icy storms
This is to be the narcissist’s, bad cruel norms
You take as I give you; prove to me your love
Stand loyal; and obedient, my little rock dove
Your soul long forgotten; remains, unearthed
Until you find within you, your own self worth
Arise from the splintered and shattered wood
And fly to freedom; as only a rock dove could
But don’t play the victim it was your own fault
By playing the victim by your own sad default
Living in meadows
That's what they chose
Everyone knows
That they have little toes
What are these creatures
With crazy features
You know what they are
Little rock stars
They are rabbits
With cute little habits
A rare gem you are,
Even the stars wonder what you are,
As priceless as your name,
Yet you don't struggle for fame,
In the hands of the poor you make him rich,
Not everyone can stretch out for your reach,
People who see you as a mere stone,
Are the ones who miss what you can bestow,
Oh Emerald, what a rare gem you are!!!
Kola lasts in the mouth of those who knows it value,
So you have dwelt with those who know your value,
You like being private, hence the diamond thinks it alone can vibrate,
A few can sing of your awe,
But I can write of your all,
For I have been influenced by your touch,
Your gentle, calm light has engulfed me like a pouch.
Oh Emerald, what a rare gem you are!!!
I held on to you and you took me onshore,
I swam against the tides even when hopes were unsure,
You are the little rock that gave me a purpose,
Hold on to me you said or drown alone I suppose,
My last stone slipped off my grip,
There you came,gave me support lest I trip,
Now I'm standing head high,
Because I have you held high.
Oh Emerald, what a rare gem you are!!!
Little Trucker
Little trucker in your little truck,
rolling down the road with a little luck.
Chicken fried steak, napkin on the floor.
Pulling your pants up as you exit the door.
Pull out of the truck stop, another load picked up.
Heading to Little Rock with a 100,000 Styrofoam cups
Lights at night, blur with the lines.
300 more miles according to the sign.
Glow of the panel keeps company with you.
Song of the wheels can make you feel blue.
Alone on the road, it looks the same.
telephone lines, occasional train
Pulling over, as required by law.
A few Z's caught, that’s about all.
Another load, another town,
another drink, another round.
Twenty years of roads come and gone.
One day, you tell yourself, you'll move on.
But you never did, you never will.
Worst thing for you little trucker,
is just standing still.
daniel- 5/2013
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