Long Boxes Poems
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ASSAULT
I feel the light assault my tender optics.
I see the elections flow and ebb.
The particles of reality assault my mind.
Can you feel my thoughts my inner desolations.
Spare me the moments you don’t understand, my crime.
Crimson are my hands, thick with a dark fluid
I know not were it arrives only my mind
can not combine the things I have seen,
felt and discarded.
I can not define.
Feel the elections fly,
against my perception.
I see my Parade; black infernal,
see my demons march, my nightmares dance.
My thoughts scamper and run.
They are corpses shambling in the back of my mind.
The dark depths of my soul.
Like boxes stacked neatly nine by nine.
Memories assault my sight.
Ravage my minds second sight.
They drift though my visions like wraiths of time.
My crimes.
Crimson are my fingers drip something
I can not, will not define.
I feel the light assault my fragile optics.
I see the elections wax & wane course through my vaines.
The splinters of reality storm my thoughts.
Something stuck in my throat. Jagged. Raw.
Can you feel my minds inner desolations?
Spare me your thoughts as you
You can’t or won’t understand
So don’t try to comprehend,
or pretend to know
my crime, my pain, my mind.
you tell me whatever's fair
my rebuttal to you is without flair
we bask in the lost wonder of anyway
no muscles are flexed, and it's two minutes later
staring at the moon in deep conversation
i wonder if the apex of our love is descending due to constipation
i am past iffy and am now good friends with surewhen
no grunts of benevolence, and it's two minutes later
understood are we of our normalcy
we shine up the monotony by cleaning it thoroughly
you are way past tolerance and both feet over halfway into done deal
no frolicking in in any sweet sticky puddles, and it's two minutes later
now the truth patents its methodical expressions
this is by far the most dire of all our great depressions
bags and boxes belittle once brilliantly sculptured brains
no more essential scents of inspiration and reaasurance, it's two minutes till good as gone....
Shadowed in the silent room, the daylight's nearly gone
Dusk climbs in through window glass, with one last ray of sun
I start the task, climb on a chair, reach up to shelves so high
to mother's boxes neatly stacked, and dust gets in my eyes
I take one down, to look inside and sit upon a chair
I find some musty linens, laces needing some repair
Discovering old photographs, the year was '42
Her face was smooth as porcelain, unblemished, young and new
Old documents and letters, a history unveiled
Her letters, torn and yellowed, such stories they would tell
The next box held small china cups, so lovingly embellished
And then I found a book of verse, inscribed with poems she relished
Some dresses stained and wrinkled, their fabric thin and tattered
Were once a thing of beauty, as if they really mattered
Her jewelry, gold and silver, some lovely rings and brooches
A warm sensation circles me, her presence now approaches
I sense a change come over me, and fleeting leave of gloom
The darkness of the evening lifts, as sunlight fills the room
She wraps her warmth around me, her fragrance in the air
My loneliness is free to go, I know that she is there
Among these things, I find the last, the smallest box of all
Inside it are the baby clothes, I wore when I was small
A letter there to tell me that she knows the tears I've cried
Her words of love that never died, they fill me up inside
These treasures speak her words to me, and now that I am grown
She wants to tell her story, those parts I've never known
I've heard her voice, while sitting here, among her china flowers
I"ve found such peace, she's next to me, to spend these quiet hours
____________________________________________________________
Written 6/8/2008
Submitted to Contest: "Old Jewelry or Just Old Things or Old,
Old Poems/Poetry Contest "
Sponsor: Broken Wings
"She turned to the sunlight and shook her yellow
head, and whispered to her neighbor, Winter is dead. "
Quote _A.A. Milne
Waiting for the Aspens to put on their emerald gowns,
oh, I have been busy preparing my garden space;
so ready to say farewell to all the faded browns,
ready to plant seeds and to Spring totally embrace !
My sweet window boxes are full of earth just waiting,
hanging baskets are dangling in anticipation;
waiting to create my Spring garden is frustrating,
but, soon I will be the envy- for with my creation !
I will have herbs and Sunflowers and Nasturtium in one box,
and boxes with nectar wildflowers for butters' and bees;
I will have purple, yellow and pink blooms and Phlox
and baskets will be cascading jewels in the breeze !
______________________
April 26, 2022
Poetry/Rhyme/Getting Ready For Spring
Copyright Protected, ID 04-1451-105-26
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Spring Rhyme 8-12 Lines
sponsor, Tania Kitchin, Judged 05/14/2022
First Place
A musical throng of 400,000 strong invaded a dairy farm in New York in 1969,
which set fire to the 70’s; but there was no chance of me being there;
I was a good girl, 17 years young; sheltered, not knowing about the real world.
Working in a grocery store 28 hours a week, while
attending my senior year of high school, in my home town of Chariton, Iowa.
There were gang-inspired movies of sheer horror and terror out about this time.
I did not see any except Billy Jack, and the Glory Stompers.
Both traumatized me so hard, I am still terrified of them.
I was making macramé planters, Modge Podge boxes, and latch hook rugs if I could
Get the money; the boxes were expensive.
Some people were pretend hippies, wearing long hair. I grew my hair long
For my yearbook photo, but then was sad because it had looked lots better short.
By 1971, I was married, after being forced to view myself as an old maid
By my peers who had all wed a month out of high school.
I was wearing a large, black, bushy afro, and thought of myself as liberated.
Not even close, honey, the Equal Rights Amendment did not even pass.
By ’74 I had two babies; I remember getting a flat tummy after
childbirth and being insanely unhappy that the new style was maternity-looking tops.
Who made THAT decision?
I was still wearing the hip-hugging bell bottom pants now, but without the wide belt.
Mary Tyler Moore was on TV, shocking everyone with disbelief that a single woman could
Make it on her own, without man, or marriage.
“My Three Sons” and “The Brady Bunch” had been startling pushed out of the way by “All in the Family.”
I had never known the word ‘bigot before’, I’m not sure I ever wanted to.
By ’79 I had my third baby, was living in a large house in Des Moines, Iowa, and was a Girl Scout Troop Leader.
The Thought Process
David J Walker
I never thought it would be like this
I never thought it would be
I never thought
Much
About much at all
I never thought Life
would ever stop
I never thought about it
Coming to an end
And getting off
This uncomfortable passenger bus
That brought us
And dropped us off
At a greasy spoon diner that double
As a post office with no boxes
And a one-street town with
One eternal yellow traffic light
perpetually blinking
caution
caution
caution
When we were looking for
Passion
passion
passion
In Efficacious Fashion
That sublimates the scenery
As it passes
From town to
dissolute town
I never thought it would be like this
I never thought it would be
I never thought about us
Coming and going
One by one
As the day is done for
Another son
of the 20th century
Who ran the gauntlet beside us
Real house wife at Christmas
Another Christmas is around the
Corner
Here she goes with her plans again
The saving all those while
now speaks
As boxes of gifts keep showing up
Oh Adele
Real house wife at Christmas
Adele is a wife
A working class lady
Adele Cook not but only
At Christmas
As one is around the corner
Hmmmm......, happy he hope
To enjoy a real house wife
For a day
Real house wife at Christmas
Like every Xmas
The house is all clean
The Christmas decorations
is at it best
As Christmas tree
Is surrounded by gifts
All done by Adele
she cooks in kitchen
While her husband and kids
just sit and watch movies
She want it so at Christmas
He must do nothing but enjoy
The day was Adele goal all Christmas
Oh Adele
A real wife at Christmas
Real house wife at Christmas
Is another Xmas to come
Now she preparing for the
Day again
When all it take to make Christmas
A Wonderful one
is done only by her
No house help on Christmas
No cleaners on adele Christmas
No babysitter
All done as a wife by Adele
As is only on 25th December
Adele choice to be a
Real house wife at Christmas
Small Gifts Big Gifts
Fear burns souls, hate burns lives, turns them into smoke
Gold, silver, wealth, do nothing to extinguish these
Age and time take us by surprise
Strangers, like so many unknown, unseen, untouched flowers on a mountain side
Wither and die inside society, unseen, no sense of fragrances
All their beauty and their splendor gone in a mystery
Each person is like a snow flake, unique, no two alike
Love comes in a tiny box to put out fires of fear and hate
Given with compassion to a stranger can quench bad things
Life is much more than just a dream
But I dream of this
To line up thousands of tiny boxes filled with love
Wrap each one in gold, silver paper with a tiny bow on top
Pass them out for happiness and the common good
Empathy is stronger than you know
Big things come in small packages too
These boxes never empty
No money in the world can save a soul
Smiles come in small boxes for the forgotten
So many people deserving of a gift
Instead of cookies we would give out wondrous things
Tiny boxes, wrapped in gold, red and silver with a bow
Inside a key to their new auto or perhaps a check
Money is the best gift ever
Financial security is a girl or boys best friend
People close to wisdom already know
We should place the needy in new homes or mansions if they wished
A Learjet would be nice for me
With lessons for a pilot’s license to fly friends, family and strangers about
Germany for breakfast, France for lunch, than off to Egypt
Finding mummies together would be interesting
More strangers added to our gift list
More strangers means more fun to give
Small Gifts - Contributing to Other's Happiness- Poetry Contest
in 2020 and beyond- chrismas could be different
gone the traditional tree
you may have one of
twisted wire
colored LED and pipes
maybe upside down for space
perhaps environmentally friendly trees
made with water bottles and PVC pipes
or a simple gold painted plywood tree shape
gone the traditional
santa will have a shiny silver electric car
the reindeer retired unwanted not needed
or he may have his own bright red jet
oh and no more jolly santa
he went on fiber super diet
and mrs santa he dumped
and no more down the chimney for santa
most of your gifts will be sent by federal express
all he will do is make a showing on christmas eve
with empty boxes to make an impression
no more baby dolls or barbie dolls or fire engines
for kids- they will get techno savy gadgets
and on line data as gifts or maybe a gift card
call me old fashion I think I will keep
the traditional for all of my life
and maybe I will give an unwanted reindeer
a forever home -
____________________________
November 17, 2015
Free Verse
Improvements fuse to Inventor's efforts
Nous flowers to dissect design
Nurturing device surpasses old methods
Onerous abattoir livestock conclusion
Vexes an astutely tuned mind
Amplifies ideas for far kinder solution
Thoughtful additions shifts boxes existing
Overhauls, rough edges refined
Regulates treatment within meat industry
Considers fixes to infrequent quandaries
Aptitude reaches each dimension
Pragmatic contraption, rapid responsive
Tirelessly hones entire bovine benevolence
Inspects with scrupulous attention
Verifies every integral nut bolt's relevance
Accolades awarded by national dignitaries
Tribute Stealth slaughter invention
Essential kills occur unforeseen, soft, swiftly
Success above fitter turner veterans,
his brain superlative
11th October 2022
Written for Contest: Captivation
Sponsor: Julia Ward
Robert Haworth,
Finest Inventor
My Man Forever
On Deserved Display
In Melbourne this week
Here's to Future Fortune