Long Blazers Poems
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For my adopted grandmother Nancy Enloe
I met you at a friend’s house,
standing stately on your cane,
tall and rosy-cheeked like me.
In your smile, I basked and thought,
“Long-lost cousin, could you be?”
Like my great aunt long ago,
when you learned I love to write,
you gave me three r’s of verse:
Robert Wash, Service, and Frost,
and asked to read my own work.
Like my aunt in my childhood,
you invited me for swims.
In your pool, I splashed and laughed.
Like her, you asked to hear me play
my organ -the whole grand staff!
On a ten-day Rockies trip,
Jasper, Banff, and Lake Louise,
friends asked if you were my mom.
We smiled at that pleasing word
like Gilead’s healing balm.
One day, as we drove along,
you said just out of the blue,
that you’d be Grandma to me.
As if you spoke my own thoughts,
I grinned as wide as you could see.
Oh, once we got to be twins
in blazers you bought for us.
You knitted us two rainbow scarves
for walking in wintry air
or through the winds on the wharves.
You’ve been family to me,
all six relations in one.
How fun it would be to find
on genealogy sites
if we’re related for real.
No matter! It feels just right!
I am from low cars
From classic old cars and car shows
To race cars and race events
From street racing and on the track
To sunset and sunrise joyrides
From cheers, victories, and even trophies
To boos and losses
But everyday is great when you’re from low cars
I am from lifted trucks
From Chevys and diesels
To offroad Jeeps and lifted Blazers
From black smoke and burnouts
To speeding tickets and even citations
From big, wide, tires and mud flaps
To the beautiful sound of the roaring engine
But everyday is great when you’re from lifted trucks
I am from a shop
From once clean clothes to work clothes
To a dirty cement floor
From mud everywhere and oil spills covering the ground
To working hard and getting your hands dirty
From cars and trucks that enter broken
To repairing and restoring, where they leave fixed
But everyday is great when you’re from a shop
No matter where I am, I am always
from low cars, lifted trucks, and a shop
Thanks to all those brave souls,
the trail blazers
that has gone before us.
They who fell in love,
back when white society
wasn't so excepting or
was intolerant of mix marriage.
Love is made of tough stuff,
couples had it ruff.
So, for a while, some lovers even
kept a low profile.
This has been going on for a long while.
But they took a leap of faith anyway,
staying to themselves.
Love will not be denied.
Now days you see mixed couples everywhere...
Not just in and around military bases.
Today it’s not a shock,
but a pleasant surprise.
Seeing couples and their kids,
from different ethnic back grounds.
And even different size,
skinny and obese.
Both straight and Gay,
more than just Black and white.
As Day follows Night,
all kinds of races mixing it up.
One has only to open your eyes to see,
the mixing of the of the melting pot.
Which is hot!!
Love truly concurs all.
God has taken the spoon
and stirred the melting pot,
from the top of the rim
to the bottom of the bowl.
Find me where the papers thin as these sweet n sour bones, yet scripted as plenty then all the worlds woes, as I plunder the stories stocked to the highs and lows, as I plunge deeper fighting imaginary foes,
Find me where the folklore goes or the mythology section how tales are spun upon rows and rows, even crime and romance can sit me down as they like to go toe to toe, in pop's words "jolly good show",
Find me where history is written continuously till the days of old, sprawled out on plump cushion chairs quite furnished, once birch and cold, I'd forsaken these sacred scrolls as I were only rash and bold,
Find me where seas of knowledge sprinkle spring from books, four seasons experienced not through a screen nor chalk, once living, still living, in our dreams and outlooks, trails by blazers linger between pristine covers
Find me where we said we'd met, no not at the 'met', my dancing nights are over till I feel I'm good enough, well and kept, maybe it would have been different In another setting I regret, reclused in the library, by the bending lake, there I'm forced to forget.
Apparel in my closet adorns my modesty midst self-multiplicity
Blending along blouses that bear dignity
Confidently exuding elegant beauty…
Dresses distinctly define my femininity
Exposing woman-roles and their variety
Floral skirts mark motherhood’s blooming serenity…
Green and golden blazers gripped my mentorship tenacity
Hoisted by scarfs and shawls of freedom certainty
In persevering to reach-out, creating impact in the community…
Jogging attire shows my health and wellness versatility
Keeping household chores midst working shirts for flexibility
Living in thanksgiving* to God with robe of gratitude’s purity...
Mysterious self of mine shows my faith's certainty
Never hidden by numerous t-shirts of Bible verses so pretty
Open to miracles in every opportunity.
Poised for my faculty membership is my uniforms' integrity
Quiet against qualms, I have my handkerchief of colorful quality
Rightfully highlighting how self handles pressures' severity...
Sweetly soothing special child along caring sincerity
Tidy pajamas aid me in tucking him midst his hyperactivity
Understanding his idiosyncrasy while being aware of mine with humility.
July 8, 2024
edited on July 25, 2025 for Alice Reynolds' Contest, "Multiplicity of the Self"
*Philippians 4:6 - "Be careful for nothing; but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God."
So many dreams
Both day and night
Awake or asleep
It's you in my sight
What do I dream about?
So many things
All bases are covered
The pendulum swings
From ones I can't speak of
To ones that I can
But all of these dreams
I would dream of again
If I had my druthers
These dreams would come true
It'd be amazing
To live them with you
There's lakes and there's rivers
There's oceans and seas
Red coats and blue blazers
Pink dresses, black jeans
Lilacs and perfume
Airplanes and guitars
Big snowstorms, warm blankets
Long drives, Nashville bars
Going to places
Where nobody goes
Coming back sometime
When? Nobody knows
I'll court you and woo you
All while we're away
Serenades in tuxedos
My love on display
And under the moonlight
I'd ask of you this,
"Would it be ok
If I gave you a kiss?"
Fireworks, rockets
Inside of me
If that were to happen
If that were to be
My creativity's vivid
Plans, other things
I'd put all together
To make Bluebird sing
It's all 'cause I love her
I say it alot
But if it's getting too much
Just tell me, I'll stop
Fear The Walking Dead
Moaning groaning growling too
they stumble in the night.
Looking for someone like you
so they can grab a bite.
Bumping up against the door
and peeking through the crack.
They no longer know the time
but want a midnight snack.
Heed the warnings that I give
listen to the words I said.
Lock your windows and your doors
and fear the walking dead.
Wearing clothes for every day
like night gowns ties or blazers.
Eyes are glowing in the night
and teeth as sharp as razors.
Scratching clawing at the glass
their back broken in two.
Just another day undead
they want a taste of you.
Running gunning fear inside
they gather in a bunch.
Today you're guest of honor
and they're having you for lunch.
Not safe in a school or church
not safe beneath your bed.
Lock your windows and your doors
and fear the walking dead
Edwin C Hofert
If I suffer from an affliction
If I stutter
If my grammar is gutteral
If the words I utter
Failed English at School
Sorry I am not cool
Pity me or the fool
Who uses education as tool
To dismiss what I write
Because it is not spelt or gramatically correct
As you supersede the common collective
Consciousness up for discussion
My feeble poem tried to address
Your disregarding says it best
Speaks volumes
Look at me
Mother Superior
Administrator of the Interior
Sub Editor for closed book's
That overlooks
And overseas
Conservative committees
In self righteous sicophantic indignation
No correlation can unearth
Or has no worth
For the meek
Who seek
To interject
Blazers and Ties
Ivy institutions for fear of exclusion
Poison classes wood trenches
Desks protect from xenophobic zeitgeists
That conform to questioning
Hellacious howls tickle and titillate
the trompeleil scene
in the pastel Court of Kings.
Flamboyancy rings as the
fluttering coo of a rapiers dance in the hands of fops,
through the high ceilinged corriders of castle in the chill air
buzzing past the ears
of the mischievous lillipitians, yearning,
egging on yearlings with antiquated filigreed foils.
Ludicrousity runs riot
trolloping in fandango-clicks of hooker-red
across the quilt-stitched batten puffed blazers
of Dukes and Pimpernels pompously prancing
before beatific, porcelain, wig-topped dolls
rouged and hollow-eyed.
Chroniclers cavort in the manner of angry bees
on spindle-pins, their stocking encased legs
pawing at pedagogs who gawk slack jawed.
Only the puncture of flesh-framed torsos
brings an end to the melee.
*Melee, generally refers to disorganized close combat
involving a group of fighters.
that carves out a space of measured boundaries
that's given shape by force of will
that makes one smaller in walled existence
to think outside the box
to forge a different understanding
to upend expectations
to act on words that burn with fire
trail blazers
like seniors lapsing marathons
what's blocking the exit?
a box of familiarity that isn't freedom
when shadows stand in for substance
a lethargy of vision
where no fresh colors flash their sheen
what can be wrenched apart?
the box that traps us in seclusion
to re-imagine music
to elevate like choosing
Poem written April 30, 2023