Long Expectantly Poems
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I was born on July 20, 1958.
Being one of seven children and having a mid-summer birthday, even as a young boy, it was
not uncommon for my birthdays to come and go without much fanfare.
In the winter of my Fifth Grade year at school, we had an assignment to write a short-story.
I was already in love with writing way back then. My short story was on a topic that was
very much in the news at that time and a very interesting and exciting theme for a young
boy. I wrote a short story about me being the youngest astronaut in the space program and
being selected to be the first astronaut to walk on the moon. I was aware at the time, that
the US and USSR were in a Cold War race to be the first country to achieve that lofty goal
and I knew it was bound to happen soon. To make my story even more special, I wrote that
this wonderful event would take place over the coming summer, on my birthday!
Well, lo and behold, as the winter turned to spring and spring turned into summer the Apollo
11 space mission launched from Cape Canaveral carrying three astronauts, two of whom
were targeted to walk on the moon.
As my 11th birthday approached, without any notice from anyone else, I watched in awe as
the Apollo 11 made its way to the moon. On July 20th, 1969, the lunar landing module,
Eagle, set down on the moon! I remember expectantly waiting for the astronauts to be given
permission to exit the Eagle and step foot on the moon’s surface as the hours of my birthday
ticked down.
It was about 10:00 pm eastern time when my parents finally sent us all to bed on the news
that Mission Control made the decision to wait until the next day to send Neil Armstrong out
of the lunar module. With tears in my eyes, I went to bed thinking that I missed my chance
to share my birthday with history and to have had my short story prognostication come true.
At a few minutes before 11:00 my parents woke all of us up to come watch as Neil
Armstrong could wait no longer and talked Mission Control into letting him walk on the moon
without further delay.
So, at about 11:00 pm, on my 11th birthday, the men from Apollo 11 walked on the moon for
the first time in history. One small step for man and one giant link to history for one small
boy in Charleston, West Virginia.
And, that is when 11 became my favorite number.
Remember the innocent days of youth
Our smiles would brighten up the evening sky
When we believed in honesty and truth
And swore we were never going to die
Dancing happily across life's green fields
Feeling the sun's kiss upon our faces
When we didn't need protection or shields
And laughed about lacking social graces
When the world was ours to roam and explore
The give and take now an integral part
We had no clue of what would lay in store
Yet everyday was a thrilling new start
To see the world again through a child's eyes
Crystal clear without deception or guise
Ah yes many wonderful childhood days
All too soon they are lost forevermore
Remembered only in a passing haze
Washed away like sand on a distant shore
What is left behind is reality
As we seek and search for our place within
But with such diminished vitality
Uncomfortable now in our own skin
For like the four seasons changing our view
We don't recognize who we have become
So we try to go on and muddle through
And to our fears we try not to succumb
Yearning for those blissful days so long gone
When each new morn held rainbows in its dawn
Now life has settled into a routine
As we strive hard to try and forge ahead
Like a constantly rewinding still scene
On new ground now we barely ever tread
These middle years like slow mental climbers
Preparing us for when we do grow old
When we will be considered old-timers
And won't have to fit a desired mold
Through the aging returns freedom once more
As responsibility slips away
And we start to feel as we did before
Before our happy childhoods went astray
Oh the changing cycle, from birth to death
Filling each day with promise on its breath
Rising expectantly to greet each morn
Knowing that soon time will be ours no more
Our thoughts between earth and heaven are torn
As we battle through our internal war
For to leave all we have loved is so hard
Yet we yearn to see the world up above
From our time on earth, our souls are quite scarred
Needing to be touched once more by great love
In silent dreams we see the promised land
Peace now settling in our hearts and minds
As time slips through life's hourglass like sand
And our memory so slowly unwinds
We ride the chariot to take us home
In heaven our souls will now freely roam
A TRIBUTE
A little child once stood on a doorway
To enter what was to be his world
For years to come.
Looking around for a friendly face,
The little one stood still for a while.
Then came that warm helping hand
That held him tight,
With glittering eyes, a reassuring smile
And a face that glowed.
As the little one grew, in both body and mind,
She stayed with him through thick and thin.
His unsteady hand
That mis-spelt every word at first
Soon wrote at a stretch, pausing no where.
She held him safe and sound all the time.
The little bulging eyes of his
That feared to face his very own class
Looked at every stranger
With a new found confidence.
She smiled at his progress
And loosened her grip.
Heights at first terrified him,
But after a couple of falls, an encouraging thrust
And the feeling that she was beside him always
Made him climb higher and quicker.
She let him go and faded away into the crowd
While strangers poured into his life.
But she never forgot him,
For like many other little children
Who once held her hand through the years,
He too had seized a special place in her heart.
Once free, the bird then soared high,
Reaching new clouds and touching success
Time and again.
A fresh life lay ahead of him
Applauds and roses, quite familiar then.
Sometime later in life,
When he became his true self again,
He realized that he missed someone
In spite of the horde that surrounded him.
So, he returned to that doorway
Through which years ago he entered his world.
He stood still for a moment
Knowing not what to do.
He searched for that hand that once held him tight
Making him feel sheltered.
For the eyes that glittered in darkness
Showing him the trail.
For the smile that reassured him
Pushing him further and further ahead.
Then he found her.
Her face wrinkled, hair grey
Yet her heart still the same.
For this time, another little one stood beside her.
Holding her hand like how he once held hers.
He walked upto her,
His steps steady, eyes confident
And said
“THANK YOU TEACHER
FOR WHAT I AM TODAY
I OWE IT TO YOU”
That day, two pair of eyes
Shed tears of joy and pride.
While the third one looked on expectantly.
The Check is in the Mail
Authored by Chuck Keys
At the beginning there was no rain,
Only the thundering noise and bright bolts of lightning.
The trees and bushes trembled with the cold winds
Pouring sheets of rain soon followed.
The stones and the ground cover cringed,
Everything echoed and shook from the hard driving forces present.
There was no place to run or hide. God
Was making his statement.
There will be no peace tonight,
Everything is in play.
Someone is in pain, searing aching ever increasing pain,
Like the agony of a toothache, thumping, pulsing, thud, thud, thud
Louder and more intense with each breadth
The body and spirit is consumed, tightly wrapped up,
Absorbed in the discomfort of now.
And it's not going away on its own.
There will be no peace tonight,
Everything is in play.
He was stolen, placed in chains,
400 years ago,
Brow beaten from the beginning, in and out
Never allowed to be his own,
Not like whites, he was property, owned and operated
But different non-white, (why are we still talking of color?)
Yet beings we all are.
There will be no peace tonight,
Everything is in play.
We cry for what was taken but can never be returned
Not wanting to be raised above or over,
Wanting not a victory, but delivered equality.
Through love and nonviolence Martin and they forged ahead,
No more waiting for the check in the mail,
But expecting the expected.
There will be no peace tonight,
Everything is in play.
The storm is here and now.
A debt of honor is due,
With the passing of time, where is restitution?
We accept love, education, pride and joy,
We can't accept the hatred of crime, violence,
The lack of housing and work,
Pain never fades on its own.
It needs attention.
God’s values our values,
The one constant, never becomes vague.
Without compromise. Without compromise.
There will be no peace tonight,
Everything is in play.
The storm continues with its blinding rage,
Waiting for an answer, not patiently, but expectantly,
There will be no peace tonight in their lives as in our hearts,
Everything is in play.
Hot August, 1974, I was back for my second year at college,
having just settled into a new place at Anita Apartments,
right next to the guys’ apartment complex called Tanner’s.
My first night, we answered a knock at our door.
Steve Dietrich, a friend of my roommate, entered our apartment,
but my eyes went immediately to the younger man with him.
That would be his brother Joel, there for his first year at BYU.
My first thought was this: How shy he is, so reserved. . . but so adorable.
He was tall and thin and cute as the dickens.
They stayed for just a while, and by the time they left,
I’d formulated my big plan:
to get to know this boy Joel (who everyone just called Joe).
There was to be a parking lot dance that weekend,
and so I waited expectantly, hoping all week
to catch a glimpse of this boy I’d found so attractive,
but no matter how often I strolled past his apartment,
my opportunity for a “chance encounter” never occurred.
The night of the dance arrived and I was right there,
all decked out in my colorful tight top with bellbottoms,
long luscious lashes curled and pink frost lipstick applied.
When I caught sight of Joel, he was slow dancing with some girl.
A blonde with glasses, she was rather plain and smaller than me.
I was not pleased to see her with Joe, and I thought to myself:
Hmmmm, who does she think she is? I saw him first,
and he is NOT going to stay with her tonight.
As they danced, I fixed my eyes on him,
my beautiful, long-lashed, sultry green eyes.
He looked up and saw me then. I must have taken him by surprise
because I did not lower my gaze.
I wanted him to know that he was going to be mine,
so I willed him with my gaze to break away from that blonde
and come to me.
And so he did. . the rest is history.
Beside me at this moment, lying on our bed, watching TV,
is the man who today bears little resemblance to that
very young man I met 35 years ago.
I turn to him and ask, “Do you remember the VERY first time you saw me?”
He replies, “I don’t know; a parking lot dance?”
Well, at least he came close. . .
For Frank Herrera's Contest: Love Story
The Chair
Calls out my name.
It is ever at the side of the bed.
Waiting there for me to climb in.
Expectantly. Faithfully?
God said get up and carry your load.
He said to walk on.
He never said it was okay to give up.
He has not called you home.
I am sure of that, as I am still here.
I have not given up, but I am old.
I am tired and my time is soon.
What difference could I make?
What changes could be wrought by my words,
my deeds, my testimony?
What truths could be gained?
In the mirror sad eyes of all things gone wrong,
stare back into mine, every day.
(because I let them… without a fight)
The debate to remain as part of the furniture…continues.
My voice, sure that everything has already been tried.
You have seen things. You have history still to speak of…
You have a future, you are setting aside, while you are setting.
It needs to be passed on to the young, and told again to the old,
to remember forever, “God is King!”
Your answer, your response, I am crippled.
God laughs. God smiles. Sometimes, He gets mad.
Parting seas, killing giants, winning battles, and feeding the multitudes,
healing, saving and bringing eternal life…
The words from my mouth, “The chair, it is not fair. It has no heart, no soul and only takes. Do not let it win.”
The angels sing when glory is lifted to the high mountaintops of heaven.
The Lord sits upon his throne, and prepares.
It is not to say that you are doing less.
It is not judgment of any kind.
Grace is yours, as He sees you clearly.
He loves you dearly.
Yet, still I am cheering at you. I am telling you…
You are free. You are free indeed.
Walk, don’t sit.
Then don’t walk, run.
Then don’t run, dance, and then prance.
Do it all at once, at the same time.
A miracle is waiting for you.
Maybe you will be still stuck in that chair.
That has nothing to do with what I am talking about.
Read it again and… then.
Expectantly and nervously
I sought an empty chair.
Cousins I hadn’t seen for years
Were already gathered there.
We had come to hear the reading
Of Great Aunt Katie’s final will.
She had been left a wealthy widow
By my mama’s Uncle Bill.
We’d heard throughout the long years
That our Uncle Bill was loaded.
He was growing richer every day
Until his heart exploded.
Aunt Katie retreated from us
After Uncle Bill had died.
We heard that she was sorrowing
And every day she cried.
The lawyer cleared his husky throat
Before he began the reading.
He spoke to a captive audience,
Which every word was heeding.
I heard my name and was surprised
At the very princely sum
I would receive conditionally….
The conditions yet to come.
When the lawyer finished reading
All the bequests to the heirs,
He told them the conditions
Before inheritance was theirs.
Each would be given money
To be used for one in need.
We’d have to wait for our bequests
Until we’d finished our good deed.
It was not to go to a charity
Or individual that we’d known.
The money must go to someone
Who was struggling on his own.
As the daughter of two teachers,
I thought it might be fine
To seek out a worthy student
To fulfill this task of mine.
The school principal was happy
To tell me of a worthy lad
Who was struggling in his schooling
Without help from Mom and Dad.
He’d won a scholarship for high grades
But it wouldn’t be enough
To pay all of his expenses.
And it would be mighty tough
To keep up with his studies
In between his work and sleep.
I awarded twenty-five thousand,
Bargain with Aunt Kate to keep.
The young man is now the owner
Of an enviable degree,
And a job in his profession
With a future that’s debt free.
He says he’ll pay it forward
And I hope he surely will
In gratitude to our Aunt Katie
And her husband, Uncle Bill.
For contest
Help the Needy contest Won 2nd place
HEADLIGHTS ON DARK ROADS
Timid tentative tap on her door at midnight
as she lay expectantly in suspense and the hope
that he would defy all obstacles to prove his love
for her
Like Romeo and Juliet forbidden to date as parents
failed to understand her attraction to him- this soul
connection to his vulnerable rebellion and his love
for her
As house slept she opened French door quietly to see
his tall young body silhouetted silently as full moon
reflected his mischievous smile and tender feelings
for her
That desperately longed for embrace and then
door silently shut quietly with bare feet across
wet grass ran to ‘borrowed’- car a joy ride
for her
They kissed long and deep before he turned the key
and wordlessly he steered with unlawful expertise
as she watched his face in awe of this audacious act
for her
Bright headlights focused on gravel road intense
not a thinking or sensing danger that lay ahead
glanced at her and winked assuring protection
for her
It happened so swiftly at high speed in the glare
a rabbit raced in dazed confusion across sandy
terrain as he swerved trying to avoid a collision
for her
Brakes failed as wheels skidded and surrealism
spoke inevitable collision of metal and ground
as he desperately focused on preventing pain
for her
Consciousness returned with his desperate screams
while he pulled at her door which caved in disarray
panicked she felt warm blood on her face -- his fear
for her
Pulling her out and holding her tight reassuringly
saying everything would be alright while she felt
no pain in her shock secure in his arms and calm
for her
He carried her home to face condemnation and guilt
gazed at damaged face as she smiled through the grief
whispering “Go home!” the truth of this night never to
be revealed- protected by lies -- her eternal love gift
for him
(Non-fiction, auto-biographical experience from my youth)
© Kim van Breda—March 2014
There is an innocence in life to which every child brings…
before their brains become too cluttered with all those adult things.
It is a lovely place where wide-eyed children dwell.
Where, if we listen, their innocence can be profound as well.
A grandma was grocery shopping with her grandson
when in the produce department, she grabbed a peach.
because if you know anything about Grandmas…you know Grandmas love to teach.
Next she picked up an apple, a pear and then a plum.
then asked her grandson, “Do you know where all this food comes from?”
He knew his grandma loved puzzles…he had fallen for her tricks before…
“Grandma, that’s an easy one.” He said. “They come from inside this store.”
Then this grandma and her grandson through the produce section they walked around.
and she told him all these fruits and vegetables are grown out of the ground.
She said they are grown on farms…by farmers…with the help of the rain and sun.
then asked her grandson expectantly, “How would you like to visit one?”
Her grandson thought about the question…thought about the lesson she was teaching too
and came up with the perfect answer…as children are wont to do.
His favorite food was neither fruits nor vegetables…so with all his innocence and charm
He said, “Grandma, I have a better idea. Can we go to a pizza farm?”
Grandma chuckled when she realized her lesson on farming fell so flat…
then smiled as she wondered…why didn’t I ever think of that!
When I think about this story…
I think about childhood innocence and how and where that innocence began.
and I wish all children were allowed to keep that innocence
for as long as they possibly can.
How I wish we could do more to help hungry children,
children in the midst of war…
children who are unwittingly put into the path of harm…
How I wish they only thing these children had to think about
was visiting a pizza farm.
Peter (my bf) and I are at Heraclee beach for the weekend.
It’s a little sliver of heaven, about 11 miles south of Saint Tropez.
It’s too early in the season to swim - being breezy and 72°f -
but it’s still the beach. I’m a neophyte beach bum,
but I’m willing and eager to learn.
I’m valuable even if I’m not being productive [I self-affirm].
something poetic-ish..
The sun’s a drowsy tyrant, not yet willing to unforgivingly scorch.
The beach is like glistening sugar, the sand still cool enough to walk, rogue west winds occasionally whip it to an ankle stinging sandpaper.
Majestic umbrella pines are dancing the hula. The shrub-like understory is dominated by drought-tolerant lavenders and rosemary that dense the air with perfume which complements the mediterranean brine.
There’s laughter, off somewhere, like wind-chimes playing clear, just above the ever-roiling sound of the surf. Birds are everywhere, gulls walk around like they’re bored, cory float on air, like kites and petrels skim against the wind, centimeters above choppy waves.
The beach isn’t crowded - French kids are still in school - but a few hardy, oiled, bronzed and sculpted bodies are sprawled on the pristine sand, like offerings to the god of leisure.
..
Our hotel has its own private cove, with adirondack wooden lounges under yellow parasols. Pastel blue-vested wait-staffers circle, on the quarter-hour, eager to please.
“Deux (two) American Martinis, S'il te plaît! (please),” I ask, expectantly.
It’s a nude beach, but Peter got an alarmed look when I joked I might go topless. “Annick (my older sister) always goes topless,” I informed him.
“I’d like to see that,” he’d said, and when I gave him a raised eyebrow, he amended, “That came out wrong.”
.
.
songs for this..
Summer of Our Love by Triangle Sun
That life by Unknown Mortal Orchestra
The kiss of Venus by Dominic Fike, Paul McCartney