Long Ago Poems
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2026.01.16
Today, Thursday 52 weeks ago,
Someone summoned up the courage,
Decided to approach me,
While I was standing in a queue.
He introduced me his name was JC.
He, somehow, knew I was in need,
To find a website to share my writing,
Which wrapped up all my feelings,
Of the short, sweet and lovely friendship with BB.
JC was a young, and seemed to be a shy man,
But he took the initiative to reach out to me,
To start a friendship which was
Even shorter than I was with BB.
It was so short it lasted only 88 days,
With lot of waiting, and promising.
It ended on a Sunday 2025.4.13.
When he messaged me in the morning.
With lot of anguishes and hatred.
Strangely enough, I had mix feelings for him.
I wished he never asked me,
To read his author book,
In which I found him a person with adhorent actions,
I was dismay and disappointed with his immature and irresponsible person.
Actually, it was how he treated me,
That I retaliated and described my true feelings,
And being unfriendly towarded him in my writing,
He should judge me from my behaviours,
Instead of my words.
How I had always been nice to him.
I supposed, pen is mightier than sword.
Nevertheless, if it was not for him,
All my feelings and diary writing,
Would still be bottled up and burried in my heart.
Thank you JC.
As I wrote before, it was faith letting us meet,
It was our behaviours and characters,
Driven our friendships fell apart.
Just wished to say "Hello JC, take care and goodbye."
To commemorate our friendship,
However, short and bitter sweet,
I have started playing your song,
The one you wrote last year,
The one you shared with me,
Just 10 days before you ended our relationship.
The only one I loved to read, sing and play.
I wish all your dreams come true,
Form a band to play your songs,
Publish and produce the albums.
Finally, complete your author book,
With interesting and lovely stories.
When I look at myself
in the mirror, I see an
18-year-old teen who
grew up too young.
10 years before 18,
I was an 8-year-old
girl living off food
stamps and strangers.
10 years before 8,
my mom was 27
and my brother
was born.
10 years before 27,
my mom was 17
and attending a
tailoring school
her uncle had paid.
10 years before 17,
my mom was 7 and
had her first comm-
union. 6 years later,
she would lose
an arm.
50 years later,
I am 28 years old,
and when I look
in the mirror,
I'm still 18 years.
It's been 10 years
since then,
nothing has changed,
not for the better,
not for the worse.
10 years of continuous
time loop and I stay
stranded in my thoughts.
My brother left,
My sisters are still kids,
my parents needing help,
I stay stranded along
the way.
Has God left me since then?
I wish I knew his thoughts,
I wish I knew his plans,
I wish I knew what comes
after this life if at all
I make it.
Sometimes I wonder
if I followed a different
path back then,
would 10 years ago
made a difference?
A CHRISTMAS AGO
My Christmas present list
Every year
Got longer and longer,
What to buy
Whether far or near
I certainly have always got joy
Out of giving,
Just two months ago, I thought
Things are getting out of hand,
What is Christmas all about,
Faith and family and
Being together,
No matter in Iceland
Or at the equator
Whether you are freezing,
Or in frazzling hot weather,
Most important, is
To be all together!
Used to rush out and shop
Up to Christmas Eve,
Ticking off this one and that,
Is this perhaps true,
Do you see yourself,
Is this a fact?
When as before,
Read, or today 'Googled'
Before World War one
Money was scarce,
Yet Christmas was fun!
Enjoy this wonderful day
For what it is,
Buy Christmas crackers I agree,
Pull them, bang, between
You with glee,
Hear the Christmas carols,
On Christmas morn,
Perhaps make a toy
For your boy,
Dad has tools and imagination
Feel free to craft with
With creative fascination,
And mummy,
Can make her yummy
Christmas cookies and
Perhaps write a poem,
To her little girl
Put a rag doll together,
Out of straw, material
Feather and leather!
Smell the turkey,
And potatoes, roasting,
Hear them sizzling,
Laughter and merriment
For the less fortunate,
Eating a piece of bread
Under a bridge on cement
We should take stock,
Not easy when your
World is a whirlpool,
A rat race,
Begin to face,
Reality and give to the poor,
Next Christmas to enter
This door,
You will do with
More ease
Give to the poor, please!
Save the world from plastics,
And fake gifts,
And Christmas suddenly
Will have meaning,
The world slowly
Recovers and shifts.
devastatingly, grievously, inconsolably,
got hexed, issued jilted livingsocial, a less
son learned to late, how maddeningly mess
say yon nick lee infuriated, not accepting press
sing ill fate, nor countenancing fatal injustice,
refusing to curtsy fiendish inxs did piss
her off (poisoned scorpion sting) remiss
cheekily peppering psyche as if Swiss
cheese, a once spunky Arthur Murray shored
dance instructor, who scored
door prize in the guise of thee less torte sured
near nonagenarian papa, where meanness poured
from grim mortal outlook parlayed moored
deadly reaper, quashed, ruined as lord
stole, sacred maternal tribal nurse, unfairly did hoard
final precious seconds unexpectedly meant un explored
positive rapport forever undergirded "door"
closed to resolve ambivalence with venerable bead
did association between
kith and kin, unfairly
dead poet society lettered deed
wrested a vibrant life despite zest that freed
a vibrant gal to coast along dialed up esprit
de corps spirit to live, yet greed
of metastatic cancer upended lead,
where mind over matter, sans power
in positive thinking rubric and plead
ding didst kill last ditch homeopathic screed
ambitions trumped, thus giving up the ghost
wracking sadness, sinking sorrow spilling most
lee tears of loss, among family, fellow Unitarians
of the Thomas Paine Fellowship
included with your obituary post.
twenty years ago you came to Berean and as pastor took up the reins
you've led us on a spiritual journey and we've never been the same
and like the Brooklyn Bridge your foundation has stood the test of time
you preach to us the Gospel and demonstrate to us God's Kind
like the Brooklyn Bridge you stretch out your hands and bring people together
you've showed us how to be better fishers of men in any and all types of weather
it's maroon and not burgundy that is your favorite color of preference
and if any one should ever ask you why you'll give them the historical reference
you're passionate in your preaching and teaching of the word of God
and when you give the proclamation we feel it coming from your heart
twenty years ago you were the youngest man to ever take up the towel of service
it was your God-given destiny to serve Berean in this purpose
twenty years ago you and your family to Brooklyn did arrive
and blessed us with a leadership that has made Berean thrive
twenty years ago and not many would ever have perceived
that you would be the perfect pastor that Berean could ever receive
CONGRATULATIONS on achieving this milestone
and may you have another 20 years and more
WE LOVE YOU, WE SALUTE YOU, PASTOR GRIFFIN IT'S YOU WE ADORE
68 years ago
68 years ago, I was onboard the world's oldest tank ship
wooden decks and looking like a sailing ship more than
a tanker in the Black Sea on the way to Odesa.
The sea had ice flakes, fishing vessels got stuck, and a Russian
minesweeper was on its way to help it was painted dark
blue and red; the sky was slightly overcast.
What I remember best was the silence, no TV. no noise
from constant communication in the cold air, above all
no mobile phones had yet to intrude.
Now, ships loaded with grain follow a mine-free lane
on the way to the Dardanelles for inspection by men
in uniform before heading for Africa.
Not destined for the famished population, not yet
the grain is stored in gigantic silos by trying governments
distributed by them at an inflated price, the poor
cannot afford the starvation continues unabated.
We have been here before, in the winter of 1949, people
froze to death when fishing and fell like nine pins when
spring came; few families had any furniture left.
68 years ago, I recall the unmoving stillness, now
there is a cacophony of angry voices protesting against
the burden they are asked to carry for our leaders.
Twenty one Earth orbitz ago...
February fourth two thousand and twenty...
Shana Aubrey Harris
HAPPY BIRTHDAY GREETING,
albeit eleven days early
Countless years after papa
took thee and Eden
to favorite outing namely five below
other go to places included
Target, Old Navy, Chipotle,
and Santa Fe Burrito
four other bricks and
mortar sites thee dough
ting dada availed himself
ah... memories still echo
with sentimental emotions that flow
despite blur of intervening years
geesh...,how quickly ye did grow
already now high ho high ho
off to work and/or school ye go
still at times, I get teary eyed
sniffle... sniffle... sniffle
think drama and Shakespeare's Iago
analogous emotional family tension
my humblest apologies,
I may not really know
if high dudgeon ye felt toward me
opprobrious indiscretions
shenanigans (mine) generic Joe
cur overstepped bounds of decency,
whereat family dynamics attained little low
coe motion unfairly inflicting mo'
harm than good on innocent lass
forced to weather no
peace of mind, especially when living
at 1148 Greentree Lane - oh
when battle axe and henchmen
demanded we move
(reed get evicted) pronto
Harris family crisis took kamikaze nosedive
in one direction,
now I strive for status quo
and love how lee thee row... row... row
your boat gently down the stream.
Remember Pearl Harbor
Seventy-eight Years Ago
By Franklin Price
12/07/2019
Seventy-eight years ago,
At the rising of the sun
Came the day of infamy;
Our present times begun
The sleeping giant awakened,
To become the greatest power
Would take four years and many lives
To have our finest hour
A country made for freedom,
For each citizen to choose,
Stood up to be counted,
Still the biggest in the news
Unlike those whom we had beaten
Did not try to take it all
But fought to bring to others
What we knew was freedom's call
The path that then was chosen
Was an ego boosting way
The world's supposed to cling to
Every single word we say
When we're in disagreement
With the ways that others go
We try to force what works for us
All is better, that we know
We're not the be all or the end all
For any other foreign land
The government at present
Our own people cannot stand
Need to respond, as we did then
Yes, back in forty-one
Fight to win the war we're in
Or it's over and we're done
watching people go by
footprints of carelessness on my existence
two pancake corndogs, two hot dog specials, and a fruitopia
plasma donation money, wet hiking boots, and tired legs from endless walking
metabolism and starvation....images of homemade cheese grits and a bacon and cheese omelette with mushrooms
at the library constantly looking at cookbook pictures
imagining the way i will eat the art on every page
swallowing my saliva mixed with phlegm and pretending
my gonads are even shaking and yearning for nourishment
my legs are damn near jelly and i suddenly break out in a strange type of sweat
thoughts all over the place till abstract insanity
my eyes are bouncing balls devoid of real world time
....as i watch people go by....living life like regular with no hint of inflated flatulence
We used to swing a swing
And the Merry’d go round
But only in my dreams
Can such things now be found
Turn back the clock
And let it be so …
That was another realm
A long lifetime ago
One less plate is set
At the dinner’s table now
He’ll never be back
And I still wonder how
Turn back the clock
And we’ll have one more go
But that’s another realm
A long lifetime ago
Christmas mantel stockings
Should be just one more
Where it was a-hangin’ there
Many years before
Turn back the clock
Want again to hug him so
But that’s another realm
A long lifetime ago
The war that took his life
Was motivated greed
No matter how we pray
No matter how we plead
Turn back the clock
And we won’t let him go
But that’s another realm
A long lifetime ago