Long Days of old Poems
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Looking through our photographs
reliving days of old
as I wept,
I felt regret
for a love that had gone cold
How long had this been going on?
In every pose you’d smile
our wedding day;
the kids’ birthdays
pretending all the while
How could I have missed the signs?
Was I really that naïve?
Apparently,
you didn’t want me
and just couldn’t wait to leave
This picture shows our little girl
as she stands next to you
it seemed so odd
through your façade
I still didn’t have a clue
Here’s one of our honeymoon;
our son’s first day of school
You didn’t let on,
you’d soon be gone
I feel like such a fool!
Now looking through our photographs
my eyes are blurred with tears
your happy glow
was just a 'show'
to end in coming years
Late July, the clouds billow waiting the afternoon rain
This summer although just is not the same
The seasons of my life have in a moment been changed
I see you clearly in the reflections of the past
I'm afraid now hoping the reflection will last
The tides of July have changed my life
"I must carry on" you explained to me
"One foot in front of the other, just breathe"
These words in my heart, I'll shall keep
A flame illuminates the dark, it is you that brightens my soul
A flame that will burn into my days' of old
You graced me with love I cannot explain
All the days' of my life your love shall remain
Can I handle the seasons of my life, I will try
Every beat of my heart is for you, I now know why
Our hearts are entwined, for there never is a goodbye...
I think that it's easier to go forward if on occasions one recalls back THEN,
A simpler place and time, an era, a period, a generation of 'remember WHENS'. We start our stories with the likes of, "When I was a boy, or "When I was a GIRL". Our listeners know where we are headed, and it looks nothing like their WORLD.
For some, it's hard to fantom raising your own MEAT, or grinding bread from WHEAT. Or going hunting for wild rabbits and raising pet bonnie rabbits just for the fun of IT. Or stories about fathers like mine, working hard all week, but on weekends, he drank a BIT. My dad worked for a large planter, but he was an entrepreneur who also worked for HIMSELF.
He was not the best father or husband on the planet, but he provided love and security for us and never LEFT. Like many of the country folks I knew, he always had a gun behind the seat of his pickup TRUCK. He wasn't a bad or violent man, but I'm certain he didn't have a gun just for hunting or good LUCK.
I tell you, I can't say that all of my growing up period was delightful or the 'good old DAYS'. In our lives, whether it's social issues, religion, or science, we borrow and benefit from old WAYS. But there's much to be learned from those days of old that can well be utilized in our present AGE.
072421PS
I look outside and see rain clouds coming from all around.
I never did like this kind of weather compared to the sun.
Thunder, lightning, darkness, and a wet, muddy ground
Are not exactly what I call the ingredients for days of fun.
I bundle up, put on some soup, and make grilled cheese.
It’s going to be a long day and I want to stay warm.
I moved to the southwest so that I wouldn’t freeze,
But the monsoon season moves in like bees in a swarm.
It only lasts a few hours, quickly losing its steam.
Then a giant rainbow shows as the clouds disappear.
It’s full of bright colors and ends across the stream.
I get dressed and go check it out because it’s so near.
I remember the stories from when I was young,
Talking about riches at the end of a rainbow.
I hurry to the stream and the flowers it is among,
Hoping to find a leprechaun with money in tow.
When I get there, I can’t believe what I see.
There is a man in handcuffs by a large pot of gold.
A little man in green is explaining to an officer by the tree,
That he has been stealing his riches since the days of old.
Underdog and
Days of our lives.
General Hospital
And mama tried.
Casper and the
Tonight's show.
My three sons
And Hazel.
Hogans Hero's and
Mayberry RFD.
Green acres and
The Archies.
Aqua man and
The Lone Ranger.
Deputy Dawg and
Wally the Gator.
The Thunderbirds
And DR No.
MR Rogers and
Ode to Billy Joe.
Star trek and
Lost in space.
Batman and
The wacky race.
That girl and
How sweet it is.
Gidget and
Porky pig.
Easy rider and
Wonder wall.
F-troop and
Valley of the Dolls.
The Monsters and
Spirit in the sky.
The wild bunch
And Popeye.
The Monkey's and
Family Affair.
Sesame Street and
Yogi Bear.
Turbo1904 ?
Sunlight at an angle dancing through colored leaves
Cool nights to snuggle beneath the sheets; warm days of ease
Last of gardens harvest; goodbye to summer's bees
Joyful time to harvest soon days a breeze
Pumpkins, winter squash, turnips, and peas
Food in bounty stored away for many days
Christmas will be upon us in just a very few days
The yard will be raked again and again to rid of leaves
Garden vegetables will be stored also cooking of peas
For right after Christmas comes New Years Day with ease
The howling winds will blow and it won't be just a breeze
But now all the bugs have disappeared_gone are the bees
We will not have to worry with yellow jackets or bees
As the night grow longer and shorter the winter days
March soon will come in bringing its strong breeze
Those indominable buds show forth on the trees soon leaves
We will float into warm days and beauty of spring with ease
Now we will have eaten most of those delicious peas
Soon in the newly planted garden_those early June Peas
Newly hatched from their hiding places comes those bees
Just lying around in the hammock with all this ease
These wonderful times_joy of longer days
Joy, oh! joy and joy again with spring's green leaves
Soft and gentle comes a blowing spring's warm breeze
But there is one less chore now for there is no raking leaves
Afternoon in the lazy hammock oh what ease
Glad that in the garden and Pampas Grass stay those bees
These times in life are just fun and a zephyr breeze
Summer comes with the picking, shelling, and freezing peas
These times are wonderful long sunny days
But soon slowly fade, then the change in those leaves
Summer still has a lazy few days with comfy ease
Even if the pollen draws those hungry stinging bees
From the west and north come a much drier breeze
How thankful that we have those great peas
Soon fade those longer sunlit sunny days
No raking leaves in winter, only by firelight with ease and read
All those pesky bees gone now, on the currents winter's breeze brings flurries
Now dine on peas put away to eat on cold fruitless days of old man winter
I know of when they built it, I know of its’ demise
I know the wood and steel of which it was comprised,
T’is not the wooden beams, nor steel or even nails
T’is the bridge’s character that still today prevails
Countless steps passed over the old worn wooden planks
As it lay there silently across opposing banks
And underneath it, in the shadow it once made
So many laughing children in that shadow played
And there was I among them, in exuberant delight
Filling the fantasies in a youthful summers’ flight,
Chasing dull green bullfrogs and butterflies so free
In the bridge’s shadow … provided there for me.
Recollection floods over me, within my mem’rys’ eye
Recalling days of old … slowly drifting by.
The Old Red Covered Bridge, of course, is just a memory
Still within my mind it’s prompting reverie
And often on occasion, I go to where it stood
Hoping again to see: the steel, the nails and wood.
M-emory of the past
I-s coming back to the mind;
L-et it return to bring
D-elight that you can find.
R-emember the old moment
E-ven if it's a long time ago;
D-eny not its sweetness that makes a brighter tomorrow.
G-ate's key of yesteryears
U-nlocks the door of the future;
T-wenty-sixth day of June
I-s opening the perfect picture.
E-arly in the morning,
R-eminisce the ancient reality;
R-ecollect the message of truth,
E-nlighten the darkness
Z-ealously.
A-llow the days of old to replay,
R-ewinding the recorded rhyme;
E-ndless repetition of love
L-ongs to turn back the time.
L-earn to appreciate the beauty
A-nd tenderness that had passed;
N-ever be too unmindful
O-f the memory of the past.
66 Thunder Bird
During my days of old.
Ones stories to be told.
Black Bird, Thundering down many a winding road.
Smokin, at 120, above many black tops, being bold.
My Birds wings, in eighty eight, I did clip.
I could no longer fly her, take another trip,
crisscrossing this vast Continent, from shore to shore,
north to south, east to west, south to north, never more.
Never more to sit in the open cockpit.
My wild personality, so well, it did fit.
Memories, adventures, journeys, so many I had.
All but dust in the winds of times passing, so sad
that the beauty of this sixty six no longer fills my inner eye.
Contemplating the loss, reminiscing of stories untold, I cry.
Just a moment of reflecting, a moment of reminiscing,
many thoughts of times in a life that have gone missing.
One’s life, empty as it is, must, continue moving on
even if it means, leaving behind times long gone.
What will never leave the halls of my memories hoard,
are the visions of my Beautiful Daughter, being stored.
Having left her behind, she hung in this orb, watched me
fly over a hundred thousand miles, every mile she did see
as they went by, in the rear view mirror, from which she hung,
as the 390 GT did hum, my long hair flowing as the wind sung
with every strand waving goodbye to what was, hello to what will be.
Che sara sara and forty four years later, I wonder if I was truly free.
My Thunder Bird convertible has long been gone, I do not fret.
My Daughters youth, has, long been gone, I missed, I do regret.
At seventy five, my wings, weak, are no longer are able to fly
and so, a big silver bird ( july 7th ) will take me into the sky
and back into the arms of my history, my Family, my past.
I am impatient for all that awaits me, sad / happy, home at last.
B. J. “A ” 2
June 11, 2018
The paddlewheel unloads people,
tourists who were out on a cruise,
above the docks and the gift shops
the brown palisades come in view.
(The canoes draw up on the beach,
Iroquois out looking to trade,
in the fort the merchants gaze on,
guns and metal they’ll send their way.)
The families walk to the gate,
the young boys humming joyously,
his place is out of story-books,
with so many cool things to see.
(The Mohawks bring their wares inside,
redcoats guards above, quite alert,
they’re supposed to be allies but
keeping an eye out doesn’t hurt.)
They run around the great courtyard,
to the stocks, the well, the wagon,
local youths, dressed up are their guides,
explaining how things were once done.
(The bargaining goes back and forth,
local guides translate what is said,
both sides want the best of the deal,
squabble for all that they can get.)
One the wall kids climb the cannons,
pretend that they’re soldiers of old,
parents ready to pull them back
if, like all kids, they get too bold.
(The big guns look out on the lake,
they know that the French are out there,
these Mohawks came out of the north
so it pays for folks to beware).
The young ones scamper down the walls,
duck into buildings now and then,
the parents tried to read the signs,
but they can’t, since they’re minding them.
(The young man walks a lonely path,
takes the steps, makes sure to go back,
if officers see him slacking
then he knows he will get the lash.)
They get through the gift shop intact,
a battle for parents, it’s true,
pile into the mini-van,
kids asleep in an hour or two.
(The Mohawks head back with their haul,
still hours until they make camp
while merchants stretch out beaver skin,
they never can sate the demand.)
The family goes back to its life,
vacation over for the year,
miles away safe in their homes,
they have little reason to fear.
(The fort remains every watchful,
in a wilderness dark and stern,
not knowing that within a year
all of those tall timbers will burn.)