Long Afore Poems
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This tribute memorial poem Is collaboration between myself and Silent One - a kind, gracious man and poet.
Today 11th November 2020 would have been my mother’s 100th birthday.
Mother
1920 - 2008
Wherever I go you go with me too,
always bedside me whatever I do.
And I wouldn't have it any other way
I love you, need you every single day.
You took care of me, with your heart and hands,
till the tables turned and I took command.
I did all I could, hope it was enough,
for the mother, I loved so very much.
I held your hand at our last sad goodbye,
afore handing you to angels stood by.
You're here in spirit till the day I die,
and we meet up in heaven above sky.
~~~
I see you gazing as white clouds go by,
you struggle to smile, but you must try.
Oh my love, please don't worry about me,
I dwell in a place of divine beauty.
It's never easy when loved ones must go,
but maternal bonds live forever though.
We have that place somewhere only we know,
where in times of sorrow, we would lay low.
Live your life until your heart is content,
fulfil your dreams with determined intent.
I hope we do not meet again too soon,
my child, keep humming a sweet robin’s tune.
*+*+*
“When robins appear, an angel stands near.”
*+*+*
11th November 2020
Thank you Silent One for the collaboration and making this tribute so special, Belle
This misanthrope lived
most all his life alone,
yet upon awakening
this very early morn,
mine eyes saw me prone
naked body adrip atop
blood soaked sheets,
that glommed to mine
lacerated flesh and shone
deep red as moonlight seeped
thru chink in the stone wall,
nothing else stirred
'cept myself abed,
but sinew and bone
suddenly alarmed
what demon slashed
into red ribbons,
whence fright suddenly,
I choked, gasped,
and loosed a groan
upon e'en the slightest movement
found me to moan
with excruciating pain,
while in thine head
did sinister demon fueled,
a wounded pained animal groan
maniacal cackling gradually
increasing to an ear piercing,
hounding and deafening tone,
whence hands attempted
to clap away
evil frightful shrill
ne'er heard nor known
afore this nightmarish scene
capped when nine inch nails
caked with thick
dried blood shown
in the dim light affixed
to monster sized brown
paws not my own,
yet latched to this
gruesome near slain
(bodily heap of mine)
ogre haunted nemesis over blown
sanity, and frightfully unknown
as like an accursed beast
methought hie got catapulted
to the outer limits
of the twilight zone.
Tis sunrise my trusted friend
Hast thou no plans today
Then let us find some
fun to dwell within and play
We shall venture far
find a fitting place soon
privileged in thy tree tops
Whilst we climb until this noon
Experience in thy rivers roar
Never was one so confident
Peace be found within thy heart
Of nature calming contentment
Thy boredom shall be shed
This I will guarantee
For nature's gifts are abound
There are no lids for menories
Somber concludes our end of day
Whilst we sit afore the fire
Taking in its warmth and light
With tales of nature's satire
Curious cobblestones captured
By the painters languid brush.
Crisp and clean and clearly caught
With lines that frame the images
Of what we wish to see.
What we wish to see.
What we really see, is what we wish to see.
The long day payment for the rare scene.
The late summer, early morning warmth,
Brought to heather in a false disguise.
Winter close feigns feelings free of frost.
Yet mornings cape to follow, cloaks the lost.
And here stand I in wonder once again
To breathe the mist, digest the list
Of numbered and countless wonders.
Playing a pawn in this rare game.
Lying low, keeping tame.
All music rising to a silent breast
Spoken not to dare disturb the rest.
And this be the subtle lesson.
The shared remark of life.
The substance traded for the ethereal.
Time caught beneath
The crush of experience wheel.
And the bold thought so rarely caught
Floats and races endlessly afore
And we behind pace the moments of the longer day.
Our payment for the rare scene.
Sometimes the day more clearly is defined.
Spread before us like a Persian carpet.
Unfurled ruby red for royalty,
Each step preordained.
The pattern of each moment yet unstained.
These are the walking days.
The waking ways of strolling thoughts
Tumbled slowly outward as
A level carpet smooth unrolled.
Nary a fold nor wrinkled brow.
Unconcerned somehow.
A small relaxing voice that soothes,
Recounting whispers of a larger theme.
A quiet dream
Just a piece of the peaceful day
Footsteps of time
Along the narrow way.
What Is Life?
By: Tom Wright
October 18, 2006
Sometimes life can be just like persimmons
Eaten afore the arrival of first frost,
Sometimes it’s like a never-ending contest
That you entered time again and once more lost.
Sometimes it’ll leave you feeling your leftover
Just a faceless person with no nitch to fill,
Sometimes it shows you just enough flat ground
To keep you trudging on toward that next hill;
Some days it’ll tell you that you’re the greatest
Then later on as a doormat will others see?
But it always leaves you mindful of one thing
It’s just a prelude for the life that’s yet to be.
Sometimes life’s like a river wild and free
That carries with it no great-unlocked riddle.
So never let the daily events cloud your vision
Stay focused on the Cross Found In The Middle.
Love’s Fatality
Love is a fickle partner
One moment it is deep like the color of a red rose
The next it is melancholy like a faded yellow lily
For the slightest interpretation of the mind
Can render it to be trivial almost useless
Inevitably time will find fissures in the walls of life
These become cracks that cannot be mended
Good intentions are mere bandages to a wound
That will not close
Slowly but surely like the wilting of a flower
The inevitable occurs
Best to remove any ill will afore it spreads
Like a cancer run amok
To call a spade a spade
Before the pain becomes too great
Love lost is better than none found
This is the plague that follows us all
Andreas Simic©
Peter Perkins loved tasty pumpkin, in pies, in puddings and etcetera;
Which filled their house with tempting smells, so said his wife, Elena.
Beloved Elena was a splendid cook, to which fond Peter could attest,
With hand over his crimson heart, like rouge sun dyeing in the west.
The Perkins had a bouncy pet rabbit; and they called him 'Scamper,'
Like pretty, fall leaves forever flying, in hues red, purple and amber.
Frigid days had turned fragrant, and the friendly friends came calling,
And flirtatious, warm breezes flitted, over emerald fields, sprawling.
Finite, foggy dawn had vanished, when flattering rays flooded noon;
And fave, forever family came for visits, at the onset of mellow June.
They lived in the house of sweetness, and of delicious desserts, daily,
In the times of sun glazed windows, looking out on pretty, pink daisy.
Twilight, sapphire skies glorified stars, on their scenic, sunset street;
And they took daily scent strolls, to smile at fine people they'd meet.
Nonnegligent nature was naturally beautiful, when neighbors visited,
In noiseless, green hours of dulcet notes, and pink robin, uninhibited.
'Slime' lily's long tresses were curling, awaiting silvery drops of rain;
As 'true blood' roses lay wounded, and 'spiral' aloe soothed their pain.
Peter and Elena were planning a trip abroad, their fare already paid;
When Peter suddenly reinjured his kinee, ruining the plans they made!
As the doctor advised only limited walking, a trip was unwise for him;
But, he couldn't keep Elena from her dream, based on a fateful whim!
Their tickets were nonrefundable, and he would miss his wife dearly;
But Elena would have a wonderful time, as pretty, fall leaves do, yearly.
Elena bought a curio pumpkin house. Its rosy panes seemed to smile;
And placed inside her small photo, to stay close, across distant miles.
Whenever Peter gazed at his gift, it brought smiles, rather than sighs;
Like the last gasp of vermilion sunset, afore the silver, moonlight prize!
'Peter, Peter pumpkin eater,
Had a wife but couldn't keep her;
He put her in a pumpkin shell
And there he kept her very well.'
September nights, reflecting moon’s soft glow,
Whispering in wind’s song afore leaves start to blow.
Haunting tales spun from the wood’s still blush,
Gentle moments reveal the Creator’s clever brush.
Oaks and maples begin to lose their summer hues,
As laughing pines sigh and dance to squalls who bruise.
October reasons with the heavy hand of twilight,
Ripening in star studded skies, glittering so bright.
Healing hearts and soul with melodies of rustling leaves,
Spending the sunny days with a mood who grieves.
Lost in the season, feelings bleed through the shadows,
Lasting through hesitant reflections, gales decompose.
November lends her mystery to the heavy scent of glory,
Falling beneath the frosty mornings, telling autumn’s story.
Bitter groans from the dark gray skies, leave a trail of woe,
Bringing autumn to a close with the first warnings of snow.
Resonating breaths of fall reveal the ache of mourning doves,
Those who know autumn’s trail leads to alluring leave’s last loves.
December quiets the spirit who is taunted by summer’s death,
Reassuring the soul that, despite it all, there is a silent breath.
Rustling leaves and hissing winds feed the mind with hope,
Restoring moments of darkest doubts with the strength to cope.
Beyond the vibrant life of summer, beyond fall’s murmured peace,
There lives a dream, so alive it seems, that it’s grip will not release.
Spring echoes through summer’s grace, abiding into the fall,
While the close of every season sends excitement through us all!
Sailing the oceans of my mind, i dream that i am free
No compass tells me where i am, or where i ought to be.
I drift along on summers breeze, and gaze at starlit skies.
They guide me where the sun goes down, that's when i fantasize
Of fabled fish from treasure ships, in mighty oceans deep.
Bejewelled scales and silver tails, their diamond eyes don't sleep.
This world has no dimensions; so far out, in time and space.
And, i am the lonesome sailor who navigates solace.
Pure ivory for coral reefs and strings of pearls its sands.
Where lantern fish light up the shores, of many distant lands
The ocean floor's a carnival, awash with style and grace.
Exotic fish like sailing ships festooned with silver lace.
When; sea horses clad in marcasite race the coming tide.
It's time to leave this fantasy before my dreams subside.
As rainbow coloured flying fish will guide me home each night
They turn starboard to safe harbour, afore the morning light.
Sailing poetry contest.
Sponsor Julia Ward.
Old sounding promises seemed sorta true,
unless it happened otherwise for you?
convenience sake or perhaps just is
planetary alignments making your “fizz”
complexity resurrects a new hopeful night
inviting you always to flick bic your light
emboldened by others who don’t really see
leaving you fearful to simply just be...
tagging you on to another track of time
creating yet another filigreed tale of rhyme
thinking of all things in a no thing kind of way
saying yes to life makes for fun along the quay
sun dance and moon dance promising more
opening your mind, opening your score
never forsaking the opportunity to
come into the light, come into the few
possibilities pool at the base of your soul
near death glory roundin’ a false flag pole
of desire not met, direction never held
push pull of reality, always a dread
magnanimous inquiry filed in countless minds
finalizing the truth, does it serve our kind?
slots of intentionality reign like fine dust
slipping and sliding, its so nearly lost
pilgrims on march, going some where soon
playing that game, never awakens afore noon
denial rests, plots thicken to stew... creating this
profound visions of you - at your best this
coming new year, hallelujah, heavens just waiting for you...