Long Blackouts Poems
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Last seen in the forest
These sisters three
Sightings in the Nordic region
Ice masses in melting spree
Glaciers that roamed
Like reindeer herds
Their speed of demise
Had never been heard
Lowlands in countries
Lost to the mass
Populations shifting
Like herds on the grass
Climates changing
Overnight
The dangers out there
The worlds in blight
Floods encroaching
Power Stations
Blackouts throughout
Many nations
Events are happening
All the world over
These sisters three
In their evil of clover
The waters rise
As many animals drown
Diseased neighbourhoods
In our cities and towns
Carcases floating
Bloated, infested
The might of the right
Once again to be tested
For many generations
The world is in fight
Once again we unite
To turn black into white
First part was " Their Ritual in the Forest "
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/fantasy4.php
He leads me through East London,
docks, pubs, among the stray dogs, the
River Thames lapping at low clouds.
We find the second-hand player in a street
where the shops are dusty holes under the arches
of viaducts and railway bridges,
Me carrying the portable Dancette record player
in its hard Bakelite box,
lifting it by its leatherette handle, and I,
small for my age
but wanting so much to lug it all the way home.
The plastic cuts my fingers,
sharp corners bark my shins.
Father talks of his life here, the blackouts
and bombs, rationing,
and the bloody Saturday night street fights.
He whistles tunes
from a songbook of dead crooners.
That evening sitting together, with Sinatra -
watching the dark blue Capitol label
spiral and blur,
hearing the unseen belt under the bobbing needle
as it chewed vinyl -
reliving the clunk-clunk of our boots
as we pushed back fog-muted miles.
Years later, finding that player again
in mother's attic, lifting the machine
feeling how light, it is,
willing to take another walk with him
yet not knowing how to catch up.
I have written 100 poems since my sobriety and I hope my poetic share is helpful ...
I'm not drunk
Wasting my days away
I'm not drunk
Serenity has shown today
I'm not drunk
Supporting my daughter
I'm not drunk
Her gratitude for all I have taught her
I'm not drunk
I love being sober
I'm not drunk
I remember the days
No more blackouts
No more life haze
I'm not drunk
It's great to be me
I'm not drunk
6 years of sobriety
I'm not drunk
I go to meetings
I'm not drunk
I share my truth my feelings
Welcome to AA
I hope this poem
Finds you
Just For Today
"I baptized you in the name of Father
and of the Son of the Holy Spirit...."
Our relationship has began...
I was welcomed to the life of Christianity
Taught to walk and be Christ-like...
I have professed my faith but do I really know Jesus?
From Virgin Mary to God's only Begotten son...
Do I really know Him?
Do - I - really - know - Him?
I am put to shame of how I was like before...
But never have I not fully realize until then...
Unperceivable by the naked eye
Into the out-pour of trials and troubles
He remain my faithful enduring friend
To Him no pre-paid loads or high even low - signals
One heartfelt sincere whisper in the air
On the right time, always, He answered my prayer
Into raging storms, where there are brownouts or blackouts
Through His inspired writers of the Bible, I read
By His stories, His living words, light is aglow no doubt!
Down to my confusions to my staggering thoughts
I look to my surroundings: sunrises; seas, butterflies and flower buds
He is there consoling my woos, refreshing me, keeping me appease
From my weaknesses to sins I have wrongfully committed
By persons He sends, there are corrected misbehavior..
There is forgiveness, healing and whole restoration
He is my teacher; my Spirit lifter and my ultimate Savior...
I have not much of pennies and goodies
But my soul rejoices for by His amazing grace
I am provided; I am being loved
If am alone and got no one...
I close my eyes, with the gust of the wind
In the stillness of everything
He saturates me with His Holy Spirit, His Holy presence
For He is my Jesus, the Lover of my soul...
by
olive_eloi
1:42 am
04/02/2014
--------------------------------------
CONTEST: JESUS AND MARY FOR EASTER
SPONSOR: DEBBIE GUZZI
3RD PLACE, PRAISE GOD.. :)
Time, to buy our poppies
To remember once again
remember those who died for us
And those who were just maimed
We must also remember
Those, who lost their loved ones
Mothers, sister’s, daughters
Fathers, brothers, son's
What a lot of us can't imagine
What torment that must be
But they all gave their lives for us
To make our country free
In one hundred years
Two wars some endured
lost fathers in the 1st, sons in the last
This fighting is absurd
And still we send our menfolk
To fight the wars abroad
Please end this madness
I beg thee dear lord...
We think we're in recession
But do we really know
The hardships that our grandparents
Suffered against the foe
Bombed out of house and home
Nowhere else to go
Then all neighbours rallied round
To help they were not slow
Rationing came about
For food, for clothes, for fuel
From just scrag ends of meat
Made appetizing gruel
Women took over men’s jobs
In factories, farms and such
Blackouts, sirens, shelters
Hardship there was much
Army, air force and navy
Were not the only ones
But fire-fighters, nurses, doctors
Air raid wardens, everyone
They all played some part
In winning against the foe
Many lost their lives
A dreadful way to go
Some might say its better
To die instantly my friends
For many, many suffered
In agony till the end
We can’t possibly imagine
What it's like there at the front
Many months of fighting
With no end in sight
In trenches,
Your comrades all about you lying
Water logged and stinking,
Lying, crying, dying.
So please stand in silence
Remember, remember them
They fought for our freedom
Our women and our men
This whole place is a palace.
A palace for criminals like me.
The straps were undone.
And so was some dream that made me embarrassed.
All I am is altered.
All I have is one crisis to the next.
I am only here to be corrupted.
I would rather face the blackouts.
I would rather remember less each day until I am like a child.
Because what I can’t remember can’t scare me.
But a parent’s anger can.
I guess this is what it’s like to be estranged.
All I have are people cheering me on from afar.
As if their indistinct voices are coming from nowhere.
All I am is this bracelet.
That tells me my name so I don’t forget.
Everything and everyone that wants to hurt me.
Only exists in the void beyond these walls.
We looked at the world through rose-colored glasses,
sped through the night under blue moons,
parked in cars and gave boys the green light.
Explored gray areas, dreamed of golden boys,
painted the town red and got caught red-handed.
We saw adult freedoms and were green with envy,
we experienced blackouts (I’m talkin’ to you 151 rum),
swam in black water alone and talked to strangers,
told little white lies, yet somehow, we didn’t die young.
I think of college students as dyed-in-the-wool adults.
The grass always looked greener on the adult side,
and we’re tickled pink not to be infantilized any more.
We’ll show the world our true colors
and pass college with flying colors.
Life won't be handed to us on silver platters,
we’ll get white collar jobs.
Of course, as adults, we’ll have to deal with red tape,
and we can’t be yellow-bellied or try to whitewash things.
We’ll stay out of the red or sing the blues.
We’ll stay off the yellow lines, seek golden opportunities,
attend black tie events, obey the golden rule, avoid pink slips,
support our men in blue and look for silver linings.
Adulthood sounds exhausting.
On the positive side, I’m told adults practice safe sex.
Practice means what it’s always meant - right?
Is that why adults go to bed so early?
Besides, as adults, we won’t be kept in the dark anymore,
and we’ll get to chase rainbows!
This would be just prior to circa 2000. I'm guessing it's closer to the 80s, but my memory fails, The Philippines was one of three Southeast Asiatic island nations that I went to with my missionary mother on three separate trips.
Arrived in Manila at night,
Marcos was still in power,
and Manila's power was not cooperating quite a bit
--frequent blackouts.
It's hot there melting in the bayan tree shade in Olongopo.
I tagged along with my cousins who live in Dagupan, Pagansinan
--their MilkFish is to die for!!!!!
Stayed in a hotel in Baguio very nice tourist area a little snow there
--bit of a contrast.
Visited with more cousins (same family w/Dagupan)
in Baccarat, Ilocos Norte.
Their Filipino dad (d. 101 y.o.) married my Hawaiian cousin (d. 80 y.o.),
and they've both passed now,
but half of their family lives in The Philippines and the other half in Hawaii.
Mom's here, so heading back to Manila.
They have these massive shopping malls that are built there in Manila
just so that you lose your mom.
Flying south to Zamboanga,
for the tail-end of the mission,
[not a thing I want to add here]
I agree,
Pearl of the Orient,
mayhaps a bit biased
but my family there are real gems to me.
~*~*~*~*~
A little girl with dark brown braids.
White blouse, gold-colored wool skirt
and patent leather Mary Janes.
An only child with a wired haired fox
terrier that lived with Grandpa,
Mother and Father.
Her Mother, sweet, who saw to it
that she had ballet lessons, went
to a private school and Mother read
her poetry for hours.
A book collection she did have and
loved to read even before she really
could.
Playing with friends, riding her bike,
loved sparklers on warm, July Fourth
nights.
Saw men proud to wear a uniform,
who never came back from the war.
She did not understand when someone
stole her Teddy Bear during one of
many blackouts during the war.
Whoever would do such a thing?
No TV, no technology, just cut-outs,
crayons and she was taught to salute
the flag, because she lived in the land
of the free.
Children were safe, could go on the
train downtown.
But she cherished it the most when
hiding like a cub, under her Mother's
warm coat. The snow sticking to train
windows, peeking in.
Swimming at small lakes in summer how
she loved that the most. So suntanned,
she, the color of warm toast.
The girl knew song lyrics, she never forgot.
They live in her mind and heart and cannot
be turned off.
Years passed, the autumns and summers.
Family now almost all gone, yet somehow,
she remains young.
Always desirous of being herself, you won't
find the braided girl wanting to belong to
any crowd.
The music, the dance, her life, somehow
made her become a poetess.
Surely, not the best!
Being genuine is the gold standard for
all she writes. It must past this test!
She does not write to impress with great
finesse. Just to keep it simple as can be.
Thus~you will experience her poetry!
September 12, 2020
8pm PST
Her current space cannot be traced
exactly how he programmed it
a strategic system of files, unreconciled
feminine frequencies pleading to split
white picket fences, painted in perfect pretenses
circuits circumvent so not to crash
the matrix, masked by flourishing flowers
when does beauty rise from the ash?
opposites attract, so they say
her inner self, silently suffocating
crafted by his cunning conversations,
sudden lightning sparks, blackouts bring
the shattering shock, sending signals, commencing strength
step outside the interchange.
now, wait.
His hold on hold...
and she is safe.
Courage, grit, unwavering faith.
Free to pen a brand-new page.