Long Clear as a bell Poems
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The definition of Kismet is “destiny or fate”
This power is alive and well
Examples are constantly paraded before us
To my mind, it's clear as a bell
A much greater power influences our decisions
As we blindly follow our hearts
We must be willing to adhere to its guidance
And be responsible for our part
Kismet is instrumental in the choices we make
Without consciously being aware
It helps us through many difficult situations
Moving forward with a confident air
By trusting your inner voice, you won't go wrong
You'll usually make the right choice
Never pay attention to the many other temptations
Listen only to your trusting inner voice
The definition of Kismet is “destiny or fate”
This power is alive and well
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
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.
----------------------------
I miss you so much it brings a tear
Tangible emptiness you’re not here
Days are long nights are dreary
Not tired but my heart is weary
Arthritic pain a constant companion
Feeling lost in a no way out canyon
Disturbing thoughts my mind assail
Have I really done enough or did I fail
Suffering silently not saying much
Trusting your maker always in touch
Sometimes I just long to see your face
Like Paul of old you’ve run your race
If you came back what will you see
A world filled with pain and endless agony
Families driven apart by lust and greed
Noble principles a sadly forgotten creed
I miss you and the feelings are so emotive
So difficult just penning this narrative
Reminiscing of how things used to be
How little we knew of our family tree
I recall us not always seeing eye to eye
You so honest just couldn’t tell a lie
Your closing argument would always be
Mr van Nelson do you really love me
Have to smile when I soliloquize
Happens often as questions arise
What if you could come back today
Clear as a bell I can hear you say
I can stay here but only for a while
Must go back then you’d wave and smile
What a thought having you back with no pain
But then you’ll have to leave and we’d cry again
My last foray into this arena
Had me living memories, not wished to share
Here I go again, another visit
Into the elderly homes, we wish not
A sunny day, another gathering
Carers working, making things happen
Those in wheelchairs, still smiling
Others in mobile beds, unsure of the happening
A talk by an ancient, born 1917
Strong voice, begging to be heard
Wartime memories, clear as a bell
The telling of a visit into hell
Strong voice, sharing memories
Some good, others not so
I look around the room
Half the listeners, into their snooze
On and on, goes the story
Death and glory, hand in hand
How can you tell such a sad command?
Bravery, such as only you can understand
Bodies of men, only families know
Story goes for one hour
Comment from teller, end is near!
Carers sob quietly, hidden words
Room is quiet as never before
I leave this place, memories flooding
If there is a being, ruling the happenings
Make me safe, send me happiness
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.
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.
Anna is a charming Mom,
I met her at my gym.
A madam of sorts, quiet and calm,
Level headed, articulate, fit & trim.
Between sets we talk, of life’s little sagas,
Comparing civic cares and concerns.
Verbal jousts before noon, while avoiding drama,
Like racecar drivers, who bump in a turn.
We kayak, and camp, with kids and the spouse,
And refer to such things as time off.
On her radar and mine, busy lives we espouse,
Repaper the kitchen, life gulped from a trough.
Our friendship’s base tenet, is clear as a bell,
BFF’s with great wow, lots of passion, and flair.
Talk of family—a Top Spot on which we oft dwell,
No stats, just sheer love, great hopes and much prayer.
May 10th,, 2018
The definition of Kismet is “destiny or fate”
This power is alive and well
Examples are constantly paraded before us
To me it's as clear as a bell
A much greater power influences our decisions
As we blindly follow our hearts
We must be willing to adhere to it's guidance
And be responsible for our part
Kismet is instrumental in the choices we make
Without conciously being aware
It helps us through many difficult situations
Moving forward with a confident air
By trusting your inner voice, you won't go wrong
You'll usually make the right choice
Never pay attention to the many other temptations
Listen only to your trusting inner voice
The definition of Kismet is “destiny or fate”
This power is alive and well
© Jack Ellison 2015
At six foot four, and an eighth of a ton,
A gentle giant of a man, he was;
Father to three, and himself a fine son,
Devoted husband to Jean, without pause.
Phone man, painter, in ocean liners he cruised,
Accompanied by family and friends;
Sweet song in his heart, but never the blues,
Wisdom and patience, in life his clear lens.
He loved a recipe, and showing concern,
With actions, like always asking about you;
His life well balanced, his legacy earned,
Sharing his Jesus—the Gospel's Good News!
Taking time for grandkids, he humbly shared,
Both time and his money, an open book;
Bouncing upon knees, for great grands he cared,
Teaching scriptures, over breakfast he’d cooked.
Eighty-two years was his Lord’s master plan,
Fifty-eight to a soulmate, solemnly wed;
What mattered most, to this giver of men,
Was baking and breaking, life’s finest bread.
A Soldier whose honor, served us all well,
Humbly he loved, these United States;
His strong Christian faith, now clear as a bell,
His given name, you ask? Twas—Walter Yates!
(Rest in Peace Dear Friend. We miss you, sir!)