Long Coming back Poems
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The universe is running after me beckoning me to come, it has a mission for me across the sea, and a band of angel waiting for me.
The morning started off with a bag of hope bottled up in my throat, as I tried desperately to suppress yesterday’s emotion that is bubbling up into the restless sea with big waves accompanying me.
I crossed freely over on the other side and found nature quite alive; everyone was alert and waiting for the story to unfold. I watched the vessels at sea plunging in the deep searching for the unknown and looking desperately for a home.
Big ships rolling in and the divers are getting ready to swim; looking for lives that have been busted up by instant dynamite. It was painless and quick and even if you search the entire ocean floor the bodies would be no more; morrows and bones dilute in stone and all the flesh absorbed in salt water.
There comes a time when the iron steel around the barricade starts to melt and sometimes you wished that the protective armor around you would tell you what to do, but steels and stones do not bear a crown and you can hear the soil groan and the foundation of the earth shakes sending shock waves across the universe.
I see them coming back from the sea with empty trucks and empty hands and little hope to carry on .The fishermen had come and gone sharing stories of how it begins, the story of the sunken submarine has rocked the entire universe.
I saw little tears; I wonder if they are still here or was it just a trick to send them rolling off the cliff or was it just their time to escape to heavens and leave the universe in contempt.
Eyes kept rolling, mind kept turning and daybreak broke their bonds. Below the bottom of the ocean floor their spirit found a resting place among the fifteen hundred aged old souls of Sunday April 14, 1912 adding five more to the score to catapult me to the top.
The men went down and the women rose to the top. That was a painful course and I hope that it has settled the score. The ocean floor has intriguing stories to be told, come and see me before you go through the door.
It’s a recurring thought–
Over and over again–
echoing in my head,
Bouncing back and forth,
Reeling up and down like a Yo-yo,
Like a boomerang that keeps coming back,
Like a song stuck in your head,
A thought that gnaws at your will to live,
Like an army of termites devouring your soul
making you hollow from within,
Like the waves of the sea
lapping its shore incessantly.
A thought nagging my soul,
Why not to just shut off everything?
Like turning off the lights,
turning around and walking away;
A thought to strip away
all my worries and cares of the world,
Like a snake shedding its skin
to just wander off leaving behind
petty rivalry, envy, jealousy, shallow ties,
The strife and the peril,
The platitude and the contradiction of life.
And to step out renewed, reborn,
into a new place with no identity,
no name, no past, no expectations
for the future – just living for today;
As I like. As I please.
With no vagaries of life,
No yearning for paradise.
Walking away folk free
unrestricted by time or space,
customs, creed or the rules of the law.
But this thought
Like an active volcano,
Ever brewing and rumbling
but never erupting,
Like a seed sowed with care and nurturing
but never sprouting, never coming to fruition.
It just keeps kneading and churning
Forever bobbling in the doldrum,
Performing boondoggle tasks,
Bearing the burden of the world like Atlas,
Unable to sigh or sneeze,
Fearful that a sudden moment,
The slightest shift
might cause an upheaval in someone’s life.
Ah, the woes of life,
Why thou linger willy-nilly in my vicinity?
Why thou not forsaketh me?
Go and befriend the dark, foreboding clouds
And burst down over some distant shores.
Let some sun shine upon me,
For once, let love
gather me in her warm embrace,
Let me not suffer
for having loved too well,
Bequeath to me the days rife with joy
and mellowed moonlit nights,
Let my path run some distance straight
and not twist or turn at whim,
Let there be spring in my seasons
instead of the gray cold and bare winter,
Let me rejoice in the day’s toil
and earn me the night’s repose,
It’s a recurring thought,
Over and over again,
echoing in my head...
Wait just a minute,
Didn’t we go over that already?
Two Faced Politicians
By Franklin Price
1/6/2019
Two faced politicians are the ones in Washington
When it's time for re-election, they're for the people just for fun
Will say they'll reach across the aisle for the best for you and me
When they're elected and are seated, say we'll have to wait and see
If politically they're right or left, doesn't matter much at all
Their object is their office and the people least of all
They're elected in their states, but are controlled up on the hill,
Will continue this stupidity until we've had our fill
With mid-term elections over and the elected coming back
There is new talk, for the impeachment, for the leader of the pack
He has caused of lot of problems for the gators and the snakes
Must be removed from office, no matter what it takes
Two years now in office, here are things that have been done
Unemployment at its lowest, economy is number one,
Taxes were made lower, for the rich to reinvest
Isis has been searched out and been driven from their nest
Negotiations going on, for a better world-wide chance
Now the U.S. not the only one, who is paying for the dance
The swamp folks, now in Washington, won't admit that this is true
To do the things, that made these happen, are not the things that they would do
I often wonder where we'd be, if the president not Trump
Closer to incineration, by swamp leaders, at the dump
Very few in Washington will try to reach across the aisle,
If it's not for re-election, will never walk the extra mile
We need another party near the middle of the lane
The two we have at present, have all but missed the train
The president we have, as now, has made a giant start
Neither party wanted him, the people's voice gave him the part
If not for our founding fathers, Trump would not be there
They created the Electoral College to make United fair
Each state would always have a say in the central government
The Constitution is still working as our founding fathers meant
We have a bird feeder on our porch we fill with bird seed every day
We love to watch the different birds visit…the cardinals, the wrens…the jays
But every time we fill the feeder we painfully become aware
how the squirrels also like birdseed…and squirrels don’t like to share.
I’ve tried a myriad of solutions to deter the squirrel attack
but no matter what I’ve done…they just keep coming back.
I tried attaching a rope to the feeder, in through a window next to my favorite chair
I would pull it and make the feeder swing when I saw a squirrel in there.
Little did I know, however, each time I pulled the string
that squirrels not only like to eat…they also like to swing.
I fastened the feeder to a zip line where birds were light enough to dine
but the weight of the heavier squirrel would send it streaming down the line
Yet I found myself dumbfounded…(my frustration I couldn’t hide)
when more squirrels than ever before lined up…awaiting their turn to ride.
I heard squirrels hated hot chili flakes but they would not deter the sparrows
only to find the squirrels partying in the feeder…wearing serapes and sombreros.
Lastly I found a wooden cat and affixed her near the feeder
hoping she would stand guard and become a squirrel impeder.
But she only made it easier…gee I hadn’t I thought of that…
now the squirrels don’t have to jump to the feeder…they just step upon the cat.
So we continue to feed the squirrels by filling the feeder every day
and occasionally when they squirrels are full we see a cardinal, a wren or a jay.
But I am not discouraged…I see this as a problem for the ages…
My next solution, as I watch the squirrel fill his little cheeks
is in the planning stages.
What a sad day out on the farm;
A raccoon got a chicken, did harm.
At the edge of the heather,
The large pile of feathers
Was enough to raise the alarm.
Bat and Gat knew they’d need an assist,
So they asked Juno dog to enlist.
They watched at all hours,
Did all in their powers,
But still one more chicken was missed.
They defended another attack,
But the raccoon would keep coming back.
So they thought, and they planned;
This was going to be grand.
They were taking a different tack.
Juno thought it a brilliant idea,
So they ordered some parts from IKEA,
With molasses and more,
That they got from the store
And the rest sent by boat from Korea.
Then they waited for all to arrive.
Their assembly could now be revived.
They put all together,
Then added the feathers,
And their Tar Chick looked very alive!
Just as soon as they put Tar Chick out,
Here comes that raccoon with a shout,
“Hey chickie babe, dear,
Please come over here!”
He said, “That’s what I’m talking about!”
Well the Tar Chick, see, she never spoke.
He said, “Ma’am, are your kin stuck up folk?
And he laughed and romanced,
Then he grabbed her to dance,
And that’s when the molasses jar broke.
You see, both of his hands were now caught,
And the more that he thrashed, worse it got.
With his head and feet stuck,
He has run out of luck;
It all stemmed from the trouble he sought.
Then Bat, Gat, and Juno reappeared.
From his head to his toes, he was smeared.
Of the Chick, there was nothing;
She’d lost all her stuffing,
But no longer was he to be feared.
He was quiet; he’d quit talking smack.
He was so scared they thought he would crack.
Once he understood,
He got hauled to the woods,
And that old coon, he never came back!
With the raccoon threat now gone away,
The chicks could come back out to play.
Hero cats for the win
With their big Juno friend,
Bat and Gat once again saved the day!
----------
With an obvious nod to Tales of Uncle Remus, by Julius Lester,
one my mother read to me, and I to my children, growing up.
Time to get with the grands and outline some more stories!
Now is the certain Winter
Of collective discontent
Descending with the steady steps
Of predators among us,
Eyes cold and clear
Like ICE.
No compassion for strangers
In those eyes,
No warmth for others
Behind those masks
Just coldness, hardness
Like ICE.
No argument nor explanation
Attended to;
No appeal is heard above the cutting wind
That follows in their wake
Like ICE.
Serve your country in defense of its ... culture?
Defend the indefensible
Send someone to tell
The poet woman's boy
So sorry, Mommy won't be coming back
Shot in the face 3 times
Brought it on herself
For lack of instant obedience
"Not mad at you, man",
Brought it on herself
So sorry
3 times
Not coming back.
So go down, O Patriot
Go down and announce it hard,
Carry it to her 6 year old son.
Wear his face in your heart
Frozen in unbounded grief
To the day you die
And they put you
On ICE.
C ountry roots beckon regrets of past transgression
O ne-way ticket meant to soothe my innermost obsession
M emories of you not fading with passing of the years
I mmortal flame has kept alive cherished souvenirs
N aively thinking I’d drift and just avoid the truth
G ames were played in the foolish gardens of my youth
B almy nights not forgotten in the heat of summertide
A ugust breezes summon me to return home by your side
C innabar and cinnamon reverie of your perfume in moonlight
K aleidoscopic magic remembered in your eyes at midnight
H eartstrings of surrender repentant to bygone wanderlust
O pen your heart and grant me a chance to earn again your trust
M oonstruck and lovesick ready to prove myself and pay my due
E nchanted under your spell I’ve come back home to you
AP: Honorable Mention 2026, Honorable Mention 2021
Submitted on February 14, 2021 for contest COMING BACK HOME sponsored by JOHN HAMILTON - RANKED 2ND
My plight
Daily I cry for no reason to purge my heart,
In the depth of wealth that my soul wailed.
Most in thoughts reason for the lost of my bread,
The significance of omotoyikogbon with a fulfilled heart.
No day went by that my face is not frown,
The course of which is well known.
The evil in human nature,
One which our hearts daily nurture.
Yet all undercover with the religious rites,
That our laws are bend to suit the majority sects.
Ah where is the fate of the minority?
Here it is laid in the grave of purity.
Even pagans are more worthy than them,
Than what they tend to claim.
Dear great lord when are you coming back?
Come so soon for our breath is deep in the dark.
When I am old and gray I wish to die quite far away.
To be reincarnated as soon as I am able to come back.
And to be a steam shovel in my next life, and hey,
I want to be powerful, with steam, not a hack.
As a steam shovel I will chomp into the grass.
Chewing it up in large gulps, leaving square holes.
People will come around and watch in mass.
Awed that I am so powerful and meet my goals.
They will call me steamy, and they will fear me too.
I will be gobbling up yards as quickly as anything they have seen.
The children will cheer when they see me in my metal blue.
I will be strong and quick, effective, but never mean.
Yes, when I am old and gray, I will not fear my death at all.
For I know I will be coming back in a glorious non-dream.
I will be lithe, and lean, smartly painted and rather tall.
Best of all, everyone will applaud when they see my steam.
Mostly they are good memories, up early in the morning
and heading to the foothill’s lakes and streams.
I’d fish near the car, while he'd go further off
coming back with a basket full of trout.
One time at the Kananaskis beaver ponds,
he came back early because he’d lost his
glasses when he’d disturbed a beehive.
When we went back to look for them,
the bees were still mad and we had to run
but never found his glasses. Another time,
I played peek-a-boo with a young otter and
neither of us fished. Then we’d head back,
often stopping at the Cremona Hotel, where
he’d buy get me a soda pop and chocolate bar
and I’d wait in the car, while he went inside
for a beer before driving home.
A few years later, I had my own waders and
the Zebco reel, I’d saved months for.
I would fish upstream, while he’d walk downstream
before turning upstream to fish, catching up with me
in a couple hours, always with more and bigger fish.
Once on the Fallen Timber, he met me on a deep pool where
I’d raised a big brook trout and we spent about ten minutes
teasing that fish to no avail and again I ended up
waiting outside the Cremona Hotel.
A year or two later, a glorious Indian Summer day
I headed upstream as usual and caught some good trout.
Around dusk, Dad hadn’t joined me, so I hiked up to
the road and walked back towards the car,
to meet him driving up the road and this time,
I had more and bigger fish. Nothing was said but
we didn’t stop that night at the Cremona Hotel.