Long Clear as a bell Poems
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The haunted train of Schwenksville
After dark every Halloween
since living social in Perkiomen Valley
for seven long years,
a shrill whistle train whistle
(often compared to the sound
of a bird's call, particularly
a large bird like a hawk or a crane,
due to its piercing, high-pitched
and long-lasting whistle-like quality)
soundcloud heard
from afar clear as a bell,
yet nary a train present
since locomotives stopped running
through Schwenksville, Pennsylvania valley in 1976,
when Pennsylvania Railroad
gave up its rail assets
to Consolidated Rail Corporation (Conrail).
However, some passenger "rambles" took place
from Reading to Schwenksville in the late 1960s.
Matter of fact beginning at the junction
of the Schuylkill River Trail in Oaks,
the trail uses much of the former rail bed
of the Perkiomen Line of the Reading Railroad.
The Perkiomen Trail
created in 2003, often called, the “Perky”,
the trail rolls down the valley
of Perkiomen Creek,
which may have been a reference
by local American Indians
to the surrounding cranberry bogs.
The northern end of the trail begins
at Morrow Pavilion in Green Lane Park,
where trail users can find parking and restrooms.
The 20-mile Perkiomen Trail
follows the route of the Perkiomen Creek
from Oaks to Green Lane Borough.
It connects to the Schuylkill River Trail
and the Audubon Loop.
For most of its length, the "Perky,"
known by many, uses the former rail bed
(as iterated earlier)
of the Perkiomen Line of the Reading Railroad.
Every other time of year
outer limits of the twilight zone
spread dark shadows,
which creep along the edge of night
startling a driver unexpectedly
yet instinctually to veer
away from harm's way
courtesy a nocturnal creature,
now ghost rail activity heard to scare
the living daylights
out of atheists like myself,
who quickly utter a prayer
immediately afraid then jubilant,
cuz prevarication (housed within
a ghastly fashion) my métier,
which brilliant notion
sparked immediately, née instantaneously
after discerning unquestionable choo-choo
within a kiloampere,
a unit of measurement equal
to one thousand amperes.
An ampere is defined
as the amount of current
that flows through a conductor
when one coulomb of charge
passes through it in one second.
A room filled with sadness
Standing alone in a room filled with sadness
Photograph smiles in a frame on the shelf
Ashtrays are filled with a death wish still breathing
Lighting another in spite of myself
A hand full of pills and a glass of Jack Daniels
The tube shows a movie, Bogart and Bacall
Through heavy eyes, I am still thinking of you
Only the floor there to meet as I fall
When on the door comes a knock unexpected
Shattering plans that I must put on hold
Closing one eye as I look through the peep hole
A shadowy figure is there in the cold
Twisting the lock and then turning the handle
Chilled is the blast that runs into my face
There I find death with his sickle untarnished
Needless to say my sad heart starts to race
“What are you doing, you can’t be that stupid
It’s not your time for this world to depart
Just for some girl who has left you here crying
Wanting to die for a damn broken heart”
I stopped and I thought as I heard this thing speaking
Then shoved my finger inside of its chest
“I’ll do as I please you know not what you’re saying
It’s my time to go and I think it is best”
“God what a loser, oh wait, I meant Satan
Fine, suit your self, we’ve a place you can lie
Swallow those pills but I’ll take that Jack Daniels
I will get thirsty while watching you die”
I thought of us and what I would be leaving
How much it hurt you had found someone new
Then of my heart that was shattered in pieces
The sound of your voice when you shouted, “we’re through”
That you are happy with some other poet
How every scar of my life has now bled
Why would I want to give you satisfaction
Knowing you’d smile when you heard I was dead
Then like a bolt or a light bulb exploding
Came a decision as clear as a bell
I’ll stick around in this room filled with sadness
It’s got to be worse than that place he calls hell
This is one of two poems I have written for John Hamilton’s Lost Love poetry contest, but haven’t decided which I will enter. I will post the other in a little while. : )
As the wind blows and whistel's in anger makeing an uproar quiet is the Kingdom of
Death.
As bombs go off and guns fire all around makeing people cry out quiet is the Kingdom of
Death.
As the fire trucks go by screaming and wailing. Quiet is the Kingdom of Death.
When people are dieing screaming, or begging, or not saying a word. Death is there
reasuring them silently that there is nothing to fear.
But when is the Kingdom of Death filled with noise you ask?
Death is there and say's softley in your ear "We are noisey when someone in Death
comes back to life".
As the denizens of Death sit silently in their kingdom they wonder "Why are we feared?
We offer shelter from the chaos and we protect them in are
kingdom." But then they here an answer in the quiet Kingdom of Death. They here it
clear as a bell as they ferry a person over that person he sobed
"NO! Please don't take me to your kingdom I'm afraid to die."
As they here the person crying sense he can't be revived one denizen drift's to the
person and ask's him quietley Why are you afraid to die?
The person stops his crying and looks at the Pale ghostly figure and say's I'm afraid
because I don't know were I am Heaven or Hell.
The denizen is quiet for a strech of time and finall answers the person saying That he is
Heaven for Hell is not quite it is loud and noisy and sad
you are in Heaven which is quiet and filled with silent joy. So young one don't be afraid
to be dead it is peacfull here.
And as the person walk's away quiet is the kingdom of Death.
As car's scream by office buildings and people yell quiet is the Kingdom of Death.
As people cry in pain and fear quiet is the Kingdom of Death.
As war's rage on both sides fight and then one win's quiet is the Kingdom of Death.
In those war's even when one side think's it's won The kingdom of Death is real victor
for they ferry the dead and thus cause the losses Death
forever win's. But they stay quiet in the Kingdom of Death.
Fore quite is the Kingdom of death.
Form:
“holy candle blues”
in the rust red sunset - angel brother bends his blown glass ear over the wall of eternity listening in on my sweet restless rathouse jam
she entered peeling story-caked walls riding a lightning broom swept me
out to half dippermoon bridge
we swung downtown where
waltzing heirs warmed six-figure derrieres above smorgasbord fires
I faked all the right questions into hell’s Paradise
panting at the emerald city ****** waiting beneath her olive skin gypsy thin cocktail feast
ignoring the runaway beast
and someone beamed—they make a great couple
as we sweat to god’s blistering last-chance desperate romance bugle call
my ragged sailor heart pirouetting out the hornpipe door over muddy cliffs
on the way down a devil in white linen gown serving dark red obsession wine flaming flambé soft brown coconut limbs
the fly doing backflips in a honey pot
over the lava baked sea
a million miles away
the moaning rusted ship creaked like a red infection begging to be freed from the last ripples in a skin game port
You knew all along prophet of the beautiful tracks
That my ramble played in a forest of doom
I surrender dear monk in the sad samba night
that wind pushed me mountains away
flushed me out of hiding in the prehistoric pubescent
road-burnt grotto
at the piano bar you played me like a thundering chord…till a
midnight candle grabbed the shades
and a fire came roaring down in flames
we crawled like god’s sweet snails to the clear-as-a bell day
glaring up to the dark blue smoke where a cherry red sunset angel rained wild woolen ashes down on love’s last twitch…applauding the singed curtain call
live! live! ... he cried from his bongo perch on heaven street
hot orange coals fading in the chilled breeze
words we’ll never speak again you and I
Unless fate has too much time to deal strange train cards
this harp strung midnight reverie
sad violins hijack innocent dreams and twist the arm of violet coated wishes
In my hidden dark room
holy candle blues…
whispers of sea wind blowing
While walking I saw
something move in the corner of my eye.
When I gazed straight at it,
it was gone.
But, on second glance, askance,
there it was, again.
To and fro, direct and peripheral,
it appeared and disappeared on cue.
Head down, focused, tunnel-eyed:
I missed the cherry blossom burst.
I missed the fledgling bird's first flight.
I missed seeing clouds both sides now.
I missed the birth of mirth in common in crowds.
I missed the context of milieu's view wide-angled
With eyes binocular.
Head down, glued to the viewfinder, set to myopic focus,
I had no inkling of what I missed
as I walked.
Night fell.
I back-tracked the path in the dark,
under the gaze of the crescent moon.
But, the path was vague in darkness.
The harder I looked,
the more I focused straight-ahead,
the less I could see the path.
It disappeared from view.
I stumbled into side-walk bushes.
I tripped over a log.
Weirdly, the path loomed up clear,
outta the gloom, in every sideways glace I made,
Clearly spelled-out in peripheral.
Whenever I picked myself up from a fall.
or glanced back askew from the side-walk,
the path was clear as a bell,
in sideways view peripheral.
But, if I looked back directly dead-ahead,
to see the path clearly defined, in twenty-twenty,
it was gone.
The only way to track the path
was to flick the eyes
to and fro in glances,
into and out of the corners.
Like a boxer in three minute rounds.
I struggled ahead along the path dark and gloomy.
Weaving like a wayward drunkard
pledged to be sober as a judge.
Plying the wobbly peripheral path
with view finder
set to landscape,
lens set to fish-eye.
-----------------------------
21 July 2021
Central vision is weak in the dark. Peripheral vision can detect faint light sources at night hidden from central focused gaze. Peripheral vision is better for detecting motion, especially flickers. Perchance ponder the implications if you will.
----------------------------
The female Black Widow Spider, they all do the same
When they copulate with their mate, the next thing you know he is dead
And so goes the cycle, kind of like the game you play
The Statues of Limitations, it has no time frame
But little lady, God has a price on your head
You will pay, come Judgment Day
Old Joe, was a proud Mexican man when he was alive
They said that he could fix anything, Helluva mechanic
After work, would always have a few beers with his friends
But you made it to where he could not survive
God, the way that he died was traumatic
They all remember, he had a lot of friends
They maybe be old and can't remember five minutes ago, yesterday is clear as a bell
Of all the good times they had with Old Joe, the tales they told me
They way that he died, left a bad taste in their mouth that will not go away
They get to talking, do they have a story to tell
Sooner or later you will have to plead guilty
I figure that old cocaine, will run out on you someday
Old Joe is in the grave, cause you put him there
But his spirit will come to visit you, when you are trying to sleep
You see sweetheart, God has a way of not leaving you alone
If I were a gambling man I bet you don't have a prayer
At night, I reckon you will be counting sheep
The thoughts of Old Joe's ghost will be chilling you to the bone
"Just thought I would drop by and leave a few recollections in your head"
"Not to worry you any, just something for you to think about"
"I know you keep telling everyone that you are not guilty"
"But we have to remember, that is not what all of his friends have said"
"When the jury come back, I don't think that there will be any doubt"
"Sooner or later, we all have to face reality"
Form:
Our local Church is falling down; it’s in total disrepair,
Father Murphy is beside himself for no one seems to care.
The coffers are near empty so there’s need of volunteers
to refurbish what neglect has caused over many years.
But a call from Father Murphy didn’t quite have the effect
he believed would offer him support, the way he did expect,
for on the day that he proposed to have a working bee,
the promised helpers on his books had whittled down to me.
And I am not a carpenter; a sparky or a plumber.
If he’s looking for a tradesman, he won’t find no one dumber.
I listened to his explanation and his fears that our dear Church
without a huge influx of cash will leave us in the lurch.
Father Murphy stated fetes and card nights hardly even rate,
and lately there has been so little dropped into the plate.
And no amount of threats can intimidate his flock,
and then the room went quiet when we heard a knock.
Opening up the manse front door there standing face to face,
is Father Murphy with a well-dressed man who carries a briefcase.
But who he is, is still unclear … is he a spiritual debater?
One minute and clear as a bell … he’s a tax investigator.
And information that he’s seeking concerns one of the flock,
Ted Hourigan has made a claim that’s not as solid as a rock.
Father admitted he knew Ted, and in his flock he’s one,
but Father Murphy’s apprehensive about what Ted has done ...
... until the investigator nearly blew him off his perch …
“Did Ted Hourigan donate ten thousand dollars to your Church?”
Father Murphy’s prayers are answered; to tell the truth he’d be a dill;
so he looked this bloke fair in the eye - and said “Oh yes, he will.”
The world, his wife, or her partner, and the kids
Are mostly upsized, overweight, bloated or even worse obese.
Millions of scientists, doctors and nutrients can't figure out why
Too many theories, too many claims and counter claims, conflicting.
Finger of blame swings wildly around like roundabout in the park swinging in the wind
Fat, carbs, protein, meat, dairy, fast food, you named it has been blamed.
Diets galore, too many to mention, all tried in vain as more weight is gained.
The equation is simple: Calories eaten in food versus calories burnt in activity.
A Calorie excess means body stores fat, you get fat.
A Calorie deficit, more burnt than eaten, means body burns fat and mass, and you lose weight.
The sad fact is that modern Western food is far to rich.
It is processed and enhanced to be bloated with sugar, fat, protein and calories.
You and me get fat, even when we eat three 'normal' healthy meals a day.
The food is too rich, the portions too large, so we each too much, even without eating fast foods and junk.
Exercise helps, but what you put in your mouth matters most.
The evidence out there is clear as a bell.
The obesity epidemic started in the 1970's when the food processing revolution began.
Primitive communities that adopt Western foods get fatter and fatter.
The problem lies in the food we eat: We eat too much; and the food we eat is far too rich.
The solution: Only eat the better half of each meal, eliminate processed foods, and fast for longer each day.
Eat well, eat less, watch what you eat, enjoy the little you eat, enjoy fasting, and be more active.
My friend had a Christmas gift
He wanted to give me;
He shushed it was a secret
And I couldn't see.
It's awful not knowing
What a present is:
It's like getting stuck
In a cryptogrammic quiz.
He laughed
When I begged for a hint,
With an evil snicker
At my hapless predicament.
But as I steamed,
I looked about:
A light snow was falling,
And it was so very peaceful out.
The year had its struggles,
We nearly lost the place,
But that sudden promotion
Put me at a more amiable pace.
Janell gave me an awful scare
When she found a lump on her breast;
We prayed pretty hard,
But she aced every test.
Sadie and Jeff
Gave a grandchild last spring:
The sweetest, dark-haired girl
That life could bring.
I felt a little misty
As I stood there,
But he hadn't told me about the gift
And it just wasn't fair!
I thought of the fancy paper,
And I saw my grandbaby stand;
I thought of the lacy ribbon,
And I felt my wife's hand.
Something was happening to me,
I couldn't tell,
But it dawned
As clear as a bell.
There were gifts
That I had gotten,
Not in boxes and paper,
How could I have forgotten?
Saving our home
Was a gift, indeed,
And my wife's health,
What more did I need?
The grandbaby, in my arms,
Made me feel alive;
You know, I heard angels
Right there in the drive.
I wanted a gift,
But what gifts I'd received;
"Merry Christmas," my friend grinned,
"Now do you believe?"
Ramblings of an Old Woman
I’ve lost my hat, its completely gone
It’s on your head, you put it on
I’ve got one glove on my right hand
T’other’s in the fridge as right as rain
It’s stifling in here and your coat is on
I’m late for work and I need to run
No work today, it’s time for rest
Since twenty years, your job has ceased
Did you put the dinner on for Bert
I’ll get the iron to straighten his shirt
He passed away, don’t you recall
Please take care not to trip and fall
You’re my lovely little girl, dear Sarah
Your daughter’s not here, I’m just your carer
You’re just like her. She’s missed so much
Try not to cry, and I’m very touched
My clothes are damp, they need to be changed
And your nightie’s on under all that garb
I’m even forgetting how to talk
As well as my ability to walk
I want to help and make life better
Your specs are in the dish for the butter
I’ll put the kettle on for a cuppa
And do something for your supper
Make sure to put water in the pot
I’ve broken so many when I’ve forgot
The smell of gas is no longer there
The controls are immobile fair and square
Your safety secure for the moment
But I won’t get better, you must know that
I remember before as clear as a bell
But life in the present is just a shell
I love to hear your tales of the past
A dialogue of stories unsurpassed
This living book for me to recall
A piece of history with which to enthrall