Long Curfew Poems
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We played sports
on asphalt fields
drains and sewer lids
for bases
Billy’s house the right field line
Tommy’s porch
a short left field.
We diagramed
football plays
bottle caps, fractured marbles,
Mikey’s favorite button.
The ball was scuffed
bladder worn
sticking out where it was torn.
The jump rope slapped
sidewalk cracks
sneakers tapped the beat
“Double Dutch” amazingly
twin passing ropes
a double feat.
Baseball cards trilled old bike spokes
roller skates click-clacking by
racing as street lights curfew
silenced the hum of play
returned the quiet of the night
to those who’d worked all day.
John G. Lawless
©2/10/2019
I sit in the park,
My curfew long passed.
My mind so tired,
Yet moving so fast.
I can feel you,
The real you,
Before you past.
Save the moment,
Make it last.
A beautiful body,
In such beautiful motion,
I am filled with such deep emotion.
Close my eyes,
And I can see,
Your spirit all around me.
From the depths of the ground,
To the tops of the trees,
Your spirit is all I can see.
A memory you are not,
A legacy is what you sought.
From inside my heart,
To all I see,
Your spirit lies within me.
I open my eyes,
And walk in your shoes,
I am no longer in my blues.
Your happiness,
Pumps in my veins,
I hear your voice,
Run through the plains.
I scream to you,
My voice it strains.
Three words,
Always the same.
Where are you I yell,
And I know you hear,
Because you whisper in my ear.
I love you,
And I am always here.
Knowledge is always a useful tool
And every one of us can easily obtain
Whether it be collage or even school
It’s about learning to excise ones brain
And often referred to us as scaffolding
That is a platform for a solid foundation
When we’re out there and gaffe ring
A whole swarm of vital information
That is the infrastructure on which to build?
All of your hopes, dreams, and aspirations
A mixture! Too, finding your place in the world,
If not bombarded with so many distractions
More easily recognised, thoughts and ideas
Let’s face it I mean every one of us has some
It’s about learning to use our eyes and ears
If we took the time to expand our cranium
Ok Perhaps not quite to the point of strain
But learning to think a little more refined
Use our thinking caps if not a runaway train
If we try not to have a one tracked mind
Predecessors will tell us what to think and do
Very little in the way of varied subject matter
But they are guesser’s life a learning curfew?
I must emphasis one that dose build character
Knowledge is power; look at the books we read
Be inquisitive it’s all about getting the know
Is there a thing as average if the will to succeed?
Then there is no doubt that we can all grow
With this I was mearly giving my view on those small minority
Who choose to p there life up the world and have no sense of direction
Or any enthusiasum but i think no matter whether you learn from life
............................................................................................................
The literer we read whatever it may be we never stop learaning
And we recognise our selfs and others more better understaning
Knowlage written by david scottjuly October 2016 also jan
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Inspired by past current exsperancines over the years
(5/25/12)
They had married at a very young age
At the time they thought it was a game.
They had been together for a long time
and he thought that everything would be fine.
They had lived together for two years or more
And they thought they knew the score.
At seventeen years of age they felt they knew it all
And life was to have a ball.
With part time jobs they paid their bills
Living together was such a thrill.
Not having to worry about a curfew hour
Now “ they had all the power”.
Going out partying every weekend
Not thinking of the money that they spent.
Coming home late at night , being drunk
They would start to fight.
She started feeling some menstruation pain
And from this point on their lives would change.
She went to her doctor to check it out
Pregnant she was - there was no doubt.
Now their eyes opened to the fact
From this point on there was no turning back.
They now had a child on the way
And they could no longer go out to play.
He got a full time job and straightened up his act
And a better position he would have to attack.
He went back to school To get a better education
And to give his wife and child all that he could give
And with both their incomes they would have to live.
She worked for seven months till she
Could work no longer, and to get their house in order.
When she went to the hospital because her time was due
She found out she was having not one but two.
She gave birth to a beautiful boy and girl
He was a diamond and she a pearl.
The most precious babies you’d ever want to see
And he was the proud father - as proud as can be.
They struggled like most couples do
But he was determined to see it through.
She took her children and held them tight
For in their faces she saw their fathers might.
His love so strong for his family
And this is what they all did see.
And the rest is history.
I’m from small town homes and rose bushes overgrown, with
Close-but-not-too-close-close-knit-crazies.
Where my best friend lives down the block and I make late night trips to her house past the town curfew, because I am from just inside the city limits.
Where I can’t drive underage in a non-road-legal vehicle on the road but I do it anyways.
From hydrangeas to big dead oaks with darkened limbs and forgotten branches. Unattended to hidden ponds with sand dunes keeping close company. Winding trails through the woven pines and golf cart rides through the night.
From two tracking at 2am, to popped tires riding on rims all the way home.
Bruised up and down and scratches I don’t know how I got.
I’m from sunday night football with crockpot cheesy potatoes
to rolling blackouts and chasing charter vans down flat onto our bottoms.
Muddy heels to get to the dance and paying seven dollars to watch my hometown football team lose.
I’m from where smoking our meat and video games in the garage is a party but we are the only company we need.
From corny jokes inside and out and witty humor, none taken. From where insulting one another is nothing but love and curfews are often a thing of the past.
Descending from lovejoys I am often filled with both love and joy,
I’m from oddballs and country folk yet we have evolved.
I’m from soccer games even when it’s raining. From no quitting all the way to you tried your best.
From high- highs and even lower lows.
I’m from the land of schnitzel, pickled beer, and pizza. From ‘go play outside’ and ‘walk it off.’ Nuts and bolts for christmas snacks to ‘honor thy mother and father.’ Sunday school lullabies and don’t use his name in vain, following all the common Godly precautions.
I’m from waking up early just to see the sunrise even though the trees are a war barricade from the burning fire you long to see. I’m from the fog that made my acres of yard an abyss that I can’t see through, even though I know what’s there.
I’m from family trips and a loving home, missing it when I’m gone and hating it when I’m there. I’m from supportive love and ‘can’t isn’t a word’. I’m from you can do anything if you work hard enough, and whether you think you can, or think you can’t, you’re right.
Dorothy could not wait to become eighteen, so she could move away.
She loved her parents, but they were smothering her.
You have to be in by eleven.
Call us when you leave work.
Let us know if you are not coming home for supper.
Do not stay out all night unless you have permission.
She was tired of their rules, their Christmas carols and their Christmas house.
Her mother always had it decorated from side to side with Santas and snowmen.
In December, not every month, but thirty days of this was way too many!
Dorothy moved away to college.
She loved her new life.
At first.
But then….
She realized that no one in the dorm noticed or cared
If she got home by curfew or if she got locked out for the night.
No one cared if she did her homework or if she failed her classes.
December came and there was no explosion of Christmas in her dorm room.
Her roommate did not decorate, and all she had was a Christmas stocking.
She could hardly wait to drive home after her finals.
Her mother had decorated the front tree, the driveway, and the bushes.
Her heart leapt with joy when she opened the door to the Christmas house
She felt loved now.
Loves Lyre
The days are longer than the marches
to the sunsets long awaited peace
of lovers lost in ego driven searches
for memories - too long away - to reach.
The scent of you, like flowers, slowly faded
washed away in tears of selfish fear
as war has left us all a bit more jaded
less certain of - for what it is - we care.
Dreams reduced to fitful, twitching, aching
to reclaim the picture fading in the dust
wondering if the loneliness is owing
to the cracks in young devotions crumbling trust.
Darkness cannot blanket duties virtue
nor duty douse a living passions fire
for when they sound the bell for curfew
on the wind there drifts the sound of lover’s lyre.
7/28/2014
for – Isaiah Zerbst
contest – Fill Up a Scroll
Prayers descend like acid rain from
oligarch-soaked manchurians, stumping
for elected office, praising hybrid
demigods, passing out vouchers to the
peasants.
A slow rumbling-
part of the night-sounds-of-curfew;
descends like fire ants.
Cleaners of the guilt, hidden in plain faith,
unable or unwilling to walk, feign
blindness, darkness helps.
Cellphone towers only reflect scripted
light, as memories of real sunshine, fade
to black. A good cup of coffee is hard to
find, all the fine beans were swept away
early on, replaced by dancing bears,
politely ignored. Thunderclouds, imagined
in shapes of our founding fathers,
encourage the deluge, slowly ascending.
Underground-
a grim band-of-believers watch (again)
a pirated tape of their favorite '80's movie,
'They Live' from the fabled city called the
new capital in 'The Postman' Minneapolis..
while the tormented sounds of-
plows
scraping overhead, and
hydrants,
bellys full, feeding power washers,
cascade
over hardened
faces.
05/11/14
minneapolis
© All Rights Reserved
(after a painting by John Constable)
The curfew tolls the knell of parting day.
And ravens, weathering wild thermals, glint
blue-black beneath these clouds of graphite grey.
The strong, squat tower, formed of ancient flint,
has settled in the landscape, like the bole
of some decaying oak. The long-dead lie,
obscured by nettles. Nestling on its knoll,
the tiny temple shoulders out the sky.
What is compact is beautiful, to me.
Design with deftness guarantees a grace
that grander gewgaws lack: economy
is elegant, sublime in straitened space.
The more I practise, play and ponder on it,
The more I love the stature of the sonnet.
I'm scary summer visit once a year
with fierce countenance I always appear
Dry up all sources by sucking water
Day by day shoot up hotter and hotter
My infant days warm, cosy, and cheerful
when days pass by, I turn into fearful
My aura haunts even after sunsets
And the suffocative weather upsets
Burst opening the charcoal doors of night
Emerge with the gleam of chandelier light
Like a vicious dragon, I diffuse fire
None dares to encounter my severe ire
My scorching and charring hot weather chokes,
Squeezes, suffocates and perspires the folks
End to end whipping waves sprawled and enclosed
Everywhere stringent curfew terms imposed
Panicked birds stop singing and hide in trees
Tired cattle stay in shades of trees and wheeze
People gulp to quench their enormous thirst
Scared veterans shut up indoors coerced
Light and simple cotton clothes people drape
Lemons and melons to beat and escape
offering a fun they gather at pools
Enjoying ice-creams children bunk their schools
Place : 1 st