Long Chalk Poems
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Walking ancient pathways on high chalk ridges,
Climbing steep sided valleys; sheep cropped slopes
Over rolling hills where the Red Kite fly
And Chalk Blue butterfly flit in sun warmed air.
Settlement names derived from Saxon tongue,
Time matured villages where the Saxon lived.
Treading shaded lanes in woods of Beech and Oak
Muntjac Deer peer from the shadowed forest’s edge.
Clear rivers eddy under old stone bridges,
Kingfisher dressed in blue and orange cloak
By brooks where white Water Crowfoot flower
The Brown Trout swim and clear chalk streams flow.
Barry Stebbings
31/12/16
a bouncing ball against a wall
conkers bashed as Autumn falls
the swish of a skipping rope:
milk bottles clinking in a crate
grate of chalk upon the slate
the tinkle of five-stones on a roll:
warning moan of an air raid
drone of bombers overhead
the whispers of prayers said:
rattle of the tin-can tommy
rasping squeak of a swing
the bus stop bell request ring:
voices chanting time-tables
snap of a teacher cane
the double hoot of the fast steam train:
raucous yell of the paper-seller
the release of the works hooter
exhaust noise from my Lambretta scooter:
peals of a Sunday morn bell
the passing funeral ....tolling,
....a death nell
Chalk was bold, pale skinned, and big boned.
A soft souled, porous, sedentary teen.
Bulky, he made a big initial impression,
but seemed to lack in true substance.
And thus, was a temporary friend,
often relied on to help others with work,
but then discarded without a second thought.
Good thing Chalk brushed off comments with ease.
Cheese was very much an acquired taste,
with hooped earlobes and a waxy complexion,
quite rugged, yet packed full of character.
He wore a baggy beanie like a protective rind,
and from a glance, he could give you nightmares.
But behind his hard exterior, was a soft nature.
Easily influenced, he was often seen in a smoky hue,
chewing salty, sour snacks outside of class.
These two were really chalk and cheese,
yet their soft nature made them good friends.
Chalk helped Cheese get a grip and find his true flavour,
and Cheese was a rock for Chalk's sense of self.
Together, they were anything but, chalk and cheese,
yet never had they been more Chalk and Cheese.
05.01.2023
Panning in frigid water for a nugget called freedom.
The seed of the dream sprouts in the mind.
Deserts are brimming with icy coyote eyes
The mountains, though lovely, grow higher.
Barely alive, the hopeful lies battered
Dust devil dreamers - roses tossed into the fire.
The worthwhile journey never has an ending.
Tough miles gather like sparrows on broken fences.
Cartels and sex barons thin out the flanks.
Hope waning-wailing-chalk hearts in the rain.
For the worthy, lady liberty patiently awaits.
Those with clean nails and fine fancy homes.
Shove barbed wire agendas down blue-collar throats.
Buzzards hover above, dreaming only of dead meat.
Anarchists and pretend patriots bloody the streets.
Front page nuggets whittled down to fine print.
Only rattlers and God know where dead dreamers lie.
The masses become immune to imminent death.
Dust devil dreamers and roses tossed into the fire.
Justice: Walk Forward, Not Back
Chided by those around you,
Rejected and forlorn, depression lurks,
In what’s supposed to be your space,
Your view blackened by just chalk marks.
They’re meant to caress you,
Even direct and entertain;
They're given a garden not a wide area,
By deposit, ‘cos they’re on faith’s train.
If you just say no in objection,
Go silent and give the quiet eye,
Their rudeness disseminates into deference,
Pushing them to revere your pie.
You must be the bigger person,
Making digs won’t ever suffice;
Your future honour is determined by,
Your courage with the ice.
That we are a minority,
Was obvious to me back then,
Now it’s better and more noble,
To have the atheistic ken.
Walking forward sometimes means,
Taking the back seat, riding low;
Swallowing your righteous pride,
That loves the other to know.
A welcome sight the lights ahead - like misty globules on ink black foam
The billboard elicits a sense of foreboding - Welcome to the Midnight Bazaar
A lack luster moon adds to the mystery – nervously I enter to ask my way home
A familiar song plays in the somewhere, the name eludes me - how bizarre
Somberly dressed people scurry past- eyes focused on illuminated screens
Refusing contact, shoving past rudely as I ask where this place would be
One of them in riddles tells me - this is home - the place to be it seems
I wonder if the scales of reality have tipped in favor of insanity
A stall arouses my curiosity and I look as a butcher of sorts places
Bleeding hearts getting desired effect - starts a pushing jostling frenzy
Uninterested in the clowns on stilts with their painted morbid faces
Children walk with sullen looks - expressionless eyes that fail to see
Crowds clamor to buy sea food - how absurd - especially as a smell of decay prevails
Fresh produce on sale with dyed color bleeding and truffles of mud is there something amiss
A man wanders around with passports on offer - Buy yourself a Life - his sign displays
Relief at last - a stall with books and maps – here is my escape from this tainted Abyss
This God forsaken place is not where I wish to stay
And I must strive to leave it before the light of day
An exorbitant sum I pay eager to escape his cloying breath, his black toothed smile
A commotion at the far end - some sort of bidding - curiously I venture courage giving me wings
A sign proclaims ‘Souls For Sale’- in rage I scream ‘you cannot sell souls - This is so Vile ‘
Dark soulless eyes in chalk white faces – Bore right through me – Look right through me
I run screaming, falling, clawing the map that shows all roads lead back to this Hell - I scream
Waking myself - knowing the name of that song still in my head - Shaking from this macabre dream
Footnote:
This was not meant to be a pretty poem. It exaggerates the state of a world that has seemingly lost its focus and empathy. Let's not let this happen
Take a bit of Dean Kontz, Stephen King and the unnatural things going on with food enhancements and you have the stage set for a macabre nightmare!
Textbooks,
chalk dust,
young men
full of lust.
School bus,
school bag,
mathematics,
what a drag!
Woodwork,
English lit,
some pass,
some quit.
Autumn leaf,
summer sun,
playin’ truant
on the run.
Fibrolite
prefab,
bunson burner,
science lab.
Trampoline,
gym rope,
girls flirt,
boys hope!
Written: 1992
———
I attended “Rangi”
1974 ~ 1977.
"The Croquis"
I draw what is required
from the Russian Doll
embracing my mind
Heart-shaped,
a planchette to guide
the necrophonic void
eternal,
recalcitrant,
answers back like a child
automatic
white chalk drawing
whispers from a Ouija board
guided by spectral voices
charcoal shadows dark
cling fast to all the sharp
cobwebbed corners
directing and pulling
invisible refined strings
the poetry's ectoplasm is outlined
in moments softened
smudged into the rough draft
canvassing the remnants of a life
unseen
yet on-demand
shards of light cut
some kind of spiralled bliss
rippling unclear
like moon gloaming ocean
waves across my nemesis
the Croquis
letters in pitman shorthand
old school hieroglyphics, to you
are all mine
some future
I will be
your most desired haunting
closer in séance
yet still moving fluid
out of view
somewhere
ashes scattered
over sea
like a siren selkie
calling you
back into me
(LadyLabyrinth / 2021)
“White Chalk” / P.J. Harvey
https://youtu.be/5YKbcWQNtE0
croquis
séance / meeting
planchette /
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Planchette
LYRICS/"White Chalk", P.J. Harvey
https://genius.com/Pj-harvey-white-chalk-lyrics
Chains on ones wrist that's unseen
The eyes chasing in a wayward keen
Which holds one unto slave of death
In this poem to seek guidance of breath
To tell of shackles of a staggering walk
The crooked lines of deception in chalk
Drawn from drunkards wine of lustful desires
In the thicket of thorns and briers
Saying, we are free to roam our own way
But, yet the entanglement of a stray
Oh, how long will ye wander
As God makes His presence known as thunder
Calling out that one might seek
To receive a new direction unto thy feet
Released from chains of guilt
To become crafted as the beauty of a quilt
Entering unto a newfound peace and joy
With this breath calls out a redemption story
Of Christ which separates wheat from chaff
The One God lifted up as Moses raised his staff
But today I am freeing you from the chains on your wrists. Come with me to Babylon, if you like, and I will look after you; but if you do not want to, then don’t come. Look, the whole country lies before you; go wherever you please.”
Jeremiah 40:4 NIV
But now that you have been set free from sin and have become slaves of God, the benefit you reap leads to holiness, and the result is eternal life.
Romans 6:22 NIV
Consider: artists paint without a word,
their colors full and characters extreme.
At first though pictures seem eccentric, blurred,
transparent symbols can begin to stream.
Success takes shape as they work out a theme
to bring mere thoughts to paper without flaw.
Consider: artists need no words to draw.
Watch close as to my sketch book comes a scene,
there's just one sheet with which to make it whole.
I trace with greens and golds - a rough ravine
upon whose depth, I place a crimson stole.
With some detail, I add a slender soul -
a milky-skinned young lass with braided hair.
Then I portray her hands raised high in prayer.
A brawny lad I put down in the gorge
providing clue to her apparent plea.
His one hand grasping for the stole, I forge
remaining hand as clinging to a tree.
Now, poet, try your hand at imagery.
This artist’s job is done, I hand the chalk
to you to finish. Make my picture talk.
written for gautami phookan’s contest Romanticism in Rime Royal
by Reason A. Poteet, 02-05-14