Long Callus Poems
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The sun slides down the crimson sky.
I watch the shadows on her face.
The sea is calm, the seagulls cry.
The sun slides down the crimson sky.
My hand is resting on her thigh
Below the silk and braided lace.
The sun slides down the crimson sky.
I watch the shadows on her face.
The evening star comes out to see
My love who tempts with warm caress.
The moon is chiding, "Let them be".
The evening star comes out to see
The hands that bind eternity;
They stray beneath my flowing dress.
The evening star comes out to see
My love who tempts with warm caress.
There is no rush, the night is long.
We know that time is on our side.
An understanding to prolong.
There is no rush, the night is long.
Controlling feelings that are strong;
We know that they won’t be denied.
There is no rush, the night is long.
We know that time is on our side.
The tide of passion ebbs and flows
Like ocean swell, and then recedes.
His ardour for fulfilment grows.
The tide of passion ebbs and flows.
For full release my body pleads.
He sends me high; he makes me glow.
The tide of passion ebbs and flows
Like ocean swell, and then recedes.
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A co-write: Paul Callus & Eileen Manassian
@ June 2015
With finespun fingers of silky words
brushed with passionate warmth cashmere,
fill my pillow here with your lush and luscious thoughts
so my starry-eyes may wander hushed sighs, as mere
sleepy sweet nothings whisper flushed forget-me-nots.
Dress my dreams agleam your soft sterling tiffany,
upon moonbeams of cream chiffon fly your mused rapture
in glimmers; so shimmers swooned stream’s epiphany
of silky words cashmere - dream’s cocoon you capture.
Susan Ashley
November 24, 2017
~ Fifth Place ~
Premiere Contest: Early Feb. 2018
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Poet’s note; In honor of my friendship with the wonderful and talented poet, Paul Callus, I would like to express my heartfelt appreciation. His lovely response to my comment on his beautiful poem 'Whispers of Love' lit the fuse to my muse, inspiring this poem...
Thank you, my dear friend Paul,
your artistry inspirits me.
On a Sunday in the evening
The old barn becomes a hall
Social place where every weekend
The town folk go for a ball.
The inside is decorated
Lights are lit, the banners sway
By the walls barrels and cartwheels
Wooden stools and bales of hay.
Everybody loves a shindig
Where square dancing is the craze
Violins, guitars and banjos
Loud hillbilly music plays.
There’s a guy who’s always present
He’s the handsome Cowboy Kurt
On his head a leather Stetson
Dressed in jeans and chequered shirt.
Carol comes in golden pigtails
Gorgeous looking in flared skirt
She stands out; her smile is charming
She is hot and likes to flirt.
Cowboy Kurt looks quite appealing
He taps his feet to the beat
As other couples are reeling
Pretty Carol takes a seat.
Kurt decides to mosey on up
And lay his heart on the line
See if Carol would share some grub
Perhaps a swig of moonshine.
Tiny Carol surprises Kurt
Chugging down half a bottle
She eyes him coyly, looking pert
Then starts to jig full throttle.
Stunned Kurt is reeling to and fro
As wee Carol takes the lead
Dance floor clears; they put on a show
Kurt looks like a tumbleweed.
Music wouldn’t stop fast enough
For Kurt who couldn’t square dance
Carol is made of tougher stuff
And has high hopes for romance.
Totally lit and loving it
Carol trots to the outhouse
But when she returns, Kurt has split
“Where’s my man?” Carol does grouse
In his truck Kurt has hit the trail
Head still spinning from the dance
Carol sits upon a hay bale
Hoping he’ll return to prance
After the hoe down was over
Banjos and fiddles tucked away
Cowboy Kurt was still a rover
Out cold on the hay Carol lay.
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Written 6th October, 2014
A collaboration by Paul Callus and Carolyn Devonshire
The lighthouse shivered in relentless gales on its rocky foundation
Stood the test of time but now it seemed that the clock had gone back
The keeper was sidelined to retire in the Sea Mission’s Nursing Abode
Had paid his fare and was reduced to cups of tea and mushy pea’s gruel
Once a pacemaker of modernity he quietly waited for dementia to settle
His heart was broken like the tower’s shattered beacon and Oliver sobbed
Tears flooded his kerchief with salty reminders of his ultimate companion
Waves of infinite tides swallowed his reason for being in cascades of pain
Cataracts pointed him inside with hearing aids hinged on precarious sight
The fragile walking stick had been bestowed by the Queen God knows when
At least that was his yarn which would not repair his threadbare cardigan
The callus on his weather worn hand had meta-morphed in soft baby skin
Be a good boy now and take your sedative pills they will rock you to sleep
Slowly fog horns of destiny sounded a creaky lullaby of reticent surrender
Once a trendsetter in dashing uniform and seafarer’s wind shaken attire
He could not even turn a famous blind eye to his room mate’s flatulence
But like clamshell lenses on a leap water catwalk he stood firm in defeat
Oliver’s lantern seemed vacant but a passionate fire kept raging his mind
Had they no respect for history had he not been the guardian of passage
Was he a spiral staircase with only one way to stumble on rusty descent
The counterweight well powered by gravity sunk like an anchor cut loose
Lightening rods flashed through his thoughts and he still could not sleep
But the night nurse had more important matters than ancient emotions
Pillows scratched his receding hair as the moon kept count of lost slumber
Once a bell whether of transit the old man felt the graveyard shift nigh
He wished he was a pirate and would sink his hook into pitiless crests
11th February 2020
three rhymed sestets written as a cento (see below)
PC I muse, while the heaving waves of life are rising,
SO earth’s rampant tides drag one deeper. Unsurprising
CR memories burn again, ‘ever brighter, higher,
NO serenades from elders gath’ring in a bonfire.
PC The sea of our mind has no mercy in its reach
AD Embrace these lines, imagine life without a beach?
NO Consider a spectacle tryst with my rice field.
CR The field of grass, I lay in once where I was healed
SH in a mixture of emerald and shamrock hues,
SO simply confined in momentary thoughts and views.
SH I wish to paint our landscape again with new breadth.
AD Embrace these lines to come back from ocean’s depths.
NO Lanterns glow near the plain, rivers blue twirl on clay,
AD It is a time to relax, to stay calm, to pray.
SH Green embraces every lake, tree tops kiss the sky
CR Sweet tender days on which we look back, unsure why
PC dangers still hide in dark corners unknown before.
SO Embrace these lines, hope to be washed upon the shore.
I used June 2016 poems written by these six PS poets.
Author's initials precede lines which are attributed to each.
My thanks to each one of you for your permission to use your pieces
to write mine.
The Sea of My Life – Paul Callus
Drowning in Tears – Silent One
Forever Bright – Carrie Richards
A Sunny Beach – Andrea Dietrich
Rice Fields – Nette Onclaud
Green is Serene – Sandra Haight
July 4, 2016
A plow horse woman without ribbons or accolades
outworking the glittering high-stepping
show horse parade.
She'll never get promotion; she doesn't play their game,
She just puts in an honest forty- eight
lays another callus on the day.
You'll never see cherries on her knees.
From climbing slippery corporate ladders.
There's no aces up her tattered sleeve.
Her conscience is free from clutter and clatter.
Year after year she mans the boats and rows.
Making "the man"-another pot of gold.
Her sparkling soul is made of blood and sweat.
Not from stabbing flanks or tossing stones.
In the fading season when all crops are in.
She's earned that dapple of golden shade.
The show horses are parading plastic ribbons.
While wiping her blood from their muzzles
without a bit of guilt or a hint of shame.
The crows rise up into the summer sky
Horizon's orange fills with dots of black
The murder glides through air, alert and spry,
The crows rise up into the summer sky.
They dip their wings in water, then they cry -
The 'caws' resound beyond the sea and back
The crows rise up into the summer sky,
Horizon's orange fills with dots of black.
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Iambic Pentameter
My first Triolet
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Big thanks to Paul Callus and Craig Cornish for helping me improve the form, meter and poem!
Why do you tempt me with mischievous eyes
Playful and naughty; do they tell or dare?
Are you an angel, devil in disguise,
Should I be trustful, or should I beware?
Why do you tempt me with a winsome smile
Not all-revealing, but denoting more.
Chinks in my armour ... should I stay awhile?
Fatal attraction which I can’t ignore.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Oh, stay awhile and find out what you will
My eyes reveal the pleasures that await
Take off that armor if you want this thrill
You know your hunger only I can sate
So take a risk, and bare to me your all
If angel or if demon, do you care?
Into my searing arms you’re meant to fall
Now take a step, move forward, if you dare!
Paul Callus and Eileen Manassian Collaboration
December 11, 2017
Late at night
on our favourite bench
we sit beside the shimmering lake
as hand in hand we talk in mellow undertones;
wrapped in moonlight’s embrace we kiss, a taste of burgundy lips,
hearts beating to the rhythm of the lapping waves – a lovers’ serenade.
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Paul Callus ~ 24th December 2014
Contest: Enchantment through a Prism
Sponsor: Nette Onclaud
(3) Moonlight Serenade
Placed: 4th
callus the analysis
of the hand that was bruised
cold and bare
the glove to fit
of course refritt
it was worned from a tare
that requirements fixing
and the remonising
of how the hole came to be
my hands smell bad
and were dirty
of the stains of
the filth from soil
the order spoiled
the hunger I had
a hunger I worked hard
to achieve
as I washed
the stains of work
would slow but
surely leave
hunger returns
and food I feed
my tired and weary soul
I relax to rest
and I must confess
The aroma of the soap
takes control
I feel refreshed
and if this
is a test
the soap I used has passed
As I return to chore
I must explore
the scent of
my freshly cleaned hands