Long Fence in Poems
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Sunrise paints the fence in gold,
dust on the porch, wind
in the trees;
a child's laugh cuts
through the quiet
like a tune from old country tunes.
She draws her dreams in dirt with a stick,
says she'll drive the red pick-up truck,
but the world won't bend
just because she asks.
No, it doesn't work that way;
no snow melts on a day,
even if we pray like
that prayer stuck
in the throat
too heavy to say.
and kids don't
understand why
the sky stays grey!
Mo snow melts in a day,
even if we pray!
Daddy's hands are cracked from work,
but he hums that same old tune
while momma wipes her eyes,
tries to keep the kitchen
warm and bright;
the radio plays a fiddle song
that speaks of loss and love,
but the boy wants a dog,
not the weight of all the things
he can't know!
No snow melts in a day
like that prayer stuck
in the throat
too heavy to say,
some wishes fade
before they're spoken;
some hearts learn
how to say and kids
don't understand
why the sky stays grey!
No snow melts in a day,
no, not today!
We fold our hopes
like letters never sent,
just tucked away
in drawers where time
forgets the names of pain,
but the Earth keeps turning
slow and true
and the roots beneath
the soil remember what
the sun won't do!
No snow melts in a day,
still we plant the seeds;
still we sing the same old tune.
Some wounds stay deep,
some dreams grow slow,
but we don't give up;
and kids will learn
when they have walked
their long road;
no snow melts in a day,
but we keep on hoping though!
No litter, no rules, no society scent,
just peninsula pure soul content, ideally lent.
Awed and wowed with arms stretched wide,
I stand on Key’s narrow road, on narrow land,
surrounded by two sea gems and their sand.
This dream road sea-drowns, down south’s horizon
and thrills my innocence without even trying.
Western growth is dense and a fence in Gulf’s yard.
Her wave’s sirens are blue-salt diamonds
and I am mesmerized by their titan climbing.
East unfolds turquoise enchantments unmarred –
The playful, poetic Atlantic off guard,
bewitching and hypnotic in regard.
Dazzled, I sit in the sea, shoulders deep.
Powder soft ocean floor thrones me nicely.
I could sit the day in this sea so sultry.
Flirty, allusive, emerald joys leap
as languid, luscious wet meets sun’s glee,
sending my senses high where memories keep.
These expressive ocean blues and greens
are of patterns and ways, I have never seen.
Sensual and graceful, each sea touch is delight –
as soothing in feel as pleasure in my sight.
Before me spreads endless bounty of ocean glean.
Under Florida-kissed skies, I sit wet and serene.
Delta breeze brought relief from scorching summer temperatures
Night’s cool vapors dropped morning dew on the terrace furniture
Refreshing nippiness embraced me when I opened the patio entrance
Brought a big smile to my lips when I went outside with a hot morning teacup
Birds were awake making the atmosphere harmonious with their melodies
A sweet momma was busy feeding her chick remnants from the bird feed
Saw a watchful deer standing tall away from the fence in thick bushes
Keeping an eye on her skipping innocent fawn wandering around in nearby thicket
A humming bird was drinking nectar from lusciously smelling Star Jasmines
Few bees were buzzing around savoring reddish-yellow Lantana flower treats
Wind chimes were serenading with their charmingly calming vibrant tunes
Active background lawn mowers were making their usual bustling sounds
A familiar squirrel paid visit to eat sunflower seeds from the hanging bird feeder
Amazed me with her smartness of various tricks to reach to it without a ladder
I sat down with my laptop with my heart filled with Mother Nature’s humble sweetness
Words started coming while I typed and turned into a poem of thankfulness
Miss Muffet was a girl of thirteen, filled with youth's beauty and charm;
And a love of vibrant life zealous, like eager, vivid thunder of blue alarm.
She was a fine student, pert and popular; like the primrose popularity;
Or stars appearing at the designated hour, sparkling like crystal clarity.
Mary Muffet lived in a small town, with loving parents and her siblings,
Who sympathized with her fear of spiders; like colorful, fall misgivings.
Friends flanked their white picket fence, in fall days of glamour, striking;
And wove fanciful tales with flourish, like flowering genesis, so enticing!
Far off family ofttimes visited Fernglen, with its farms, rich with future;
For fishing and other rollicking fun, staying on 'til varicolored, fall rumor.
They lived in the house of quaint beauty, like charming red, berry sun;
Fondly gazing on pearly moon twice daily, the ritual begun on day one.
Songs sunrise to sunset serenaded, on dappled, silent, Sowerby Street;
But, a scorching summer bled scarlet roses, at the red butterfly retreat.
Near neighbors stayed on a first name basis, in unending, plum seasons;
Of days and nights of green nature; like teal surf, which never weakens.
Summer's glory was in the tiny details, like prayer plants, giving praise;
When sun face orchids, wore sunny smiles, in colored fields of noon haze.
And jade baby toes plants were crawling, through hours of soon history;
In honey days of bicolored hibiscus, filled with heady scents of mystery.
Mary attended a church celebration one day, along with her whole family;
And food was served indoors and out, as pink robin sang of gold, happily.
Mary had such fun playing games! There was much laughter and talking.
Then Mary had a craving for cheese, so like shadows, inside went walking.
Once inside, 'Little Miss Muffet sat on a tuffet, eating her curds and whey;
There came a big spider, who sat down beside her, And frightened Miss Muffet away.'
As Mary screamed and ran, causing a rumpus, she drew a lot of attention;
But, was suddenly embarrassed by her overreaction, like fall's suspension.
Little Miss Muffet was thence more mature, a natural result of getting older,
And fear of spiders was left behind, like summer blossoming, grown bolder.
Beauty’s Bequest
By Odin Roark
Some say
We all have one
An enigmatic wild stallion within
Seeking sounds and symbols
To become a tundra of words
Its landscape of expression
Here
Time’s pace and rhythm
Carried by nature’s patient breath
Echo’s passion rides
Between the canyons walls
Of mind and heart
Knowing well the joy
Of unbridled passage
Thought by many
As a poet’s gift
This tenuous control
Of eager restlessness
Seeks little repose
Painfully aware
The vanishing of a moment
The eclipse of a thought
Might recede into
Infinite darkness
The stallion often bolts
For
Taming forces are everywhere
Incapable of recognizing the exquisite
Ignorant of imagination unlimited
The have-nots fight to fence in
One’s galloping unfurled spirit
Armies have trodden atop this soil
Dynasties have horded such open sky wealth
Yet efforts to make permanent captive
This ambulant prerogative
Find endurance undeniably present
Some wonder…
Why must that
Deemed beautiful
Inspiring
Tenacious of will
Remain so vulnerable?
Yet
For the stalwart
Just as a rose
Seeks perpetual awareness
Between a book’s pages
Beauty’s elegant passing
Knows to embrace its powdery remains
Riding atop eternity’s trade winds
Levitating in perpetuity until…
Tomorrow’s tomorrow
Presents another sunrise
Where light and color
Moved by nature’s gentle breath
Prepares shadow’s trace to encounter
Saddled ugliness trying again to
Bridle perfection’s grace in motion
And so
Poets continue to offer
Beauty’s essence
Privilege
And ingenuous smile
A magical state of mind
Deserving indomitable freedom
Hopefully never harnessed
I never expected you to come to Australia first
Still with the appearance that I am familiar
I must travel across the ocean back and forth
And you? I wonder how could you come here?
I saw you climb the fence in our hometown
Up to my ears and blowing your horn
Then you asked me if I was afraid of
And I said: I like your beautiful song
We used to play hide and seek in a woodpile
I pretend that I don't know where you're hiding
You can't wait to stick your head out of the pile
You tell me you're right next to me with your song
I see you in this foreign country unexpectedly
Did you travel across the ocean to follow me
We meet in these wild fields when melancholy
The joy alike seeing relatives you bring to me
I always feel the coldness of the world
Many things are inconvenient to say publicly
But my heart has been filled with your love
When I need some real "friends" so eagerly
We know "friendship" already too many
The definition of them is confusing me
The Illusory "friendship" is hard to rely on
Only you, Wild Petunia, by thousands of miles
You come here to stay with me
THE PERIMETER
Leaning against the fence
that divides me from them,
I gaze outward into the
landscape I’m destined to roam.
Behind me, inside the fence,
are sounds of laughter and music,
sounds that don’t exist here,
sounds that never existed here.
I wish I didn’t hear the sounds.
Though I know it’s hopeless,
I turn and start climbing,
but it happens again like
so many times before.
I climb—the fence grows taller,
I climb again, it grows again.
I climb no more, it’s useless.
I can’t get in there, I never could.
I wish I knew the reason why.
Outside the fence, in the perimeter,
is where I’ll stay, obscene rabble
cruelly shunned by the insiders
proud in their narrow virtuous views.
Out here is lonely freedom—
freedom to think,
to feel,
to create,
to live,
unbound by fetters of respectability.
Out here is where I belong.
The old dirt path that led to home
Familiar surroundings all overgrown
The home, now a shell of what was once
The picket fence in disrepair
Lay where it had fallen, needing care
A gate that welcomed family and friends
Lying on the ground, rusted hinges unable to hold
Lift the gate and place back in place
Touching the gate, strange feelings emerged
The feeling when old friends meet once again
Stand and stare, tears appeared
Children once swung on the gate
Sat on the ground and exchanged stories
Talking to the gate as old friends would
If seen by others they would shake their heads
Lonely and sad, their thoughts as they journeyed
Approach where once stood a magnificent front door
Walked into the ruins as done many times before
Looked around searching for clues
When did all this destruction take place?
No answer, just creaks and groans
I hear you, I hear you, my friends of old
A gentle breeze appeared as if called
Sitting once more, back leaning against a wall
Drained of memories of long ago.
"Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed
But then begins a journey in my head,
To work my mind, when body's work's expired:
For then my thoughts keep my drooping eyelids open wide."
~ Shakespeare's Sonnet 27
Often, when my body craves nothing more than sleep
my mind wanders in gardens where thoughts take root.
I ponder why the fervor of poetic ideas flicker and seep
into my psyche as if I must follow the Pied Piper's flute.
I cannot stifle the waterfall's cascading inspirations
for the palpitations of my pulse cannot staunch the flow.
A chorus of whispered voices begs me to take notations,
not to be forgotten before dawn's pink skies begin to glow.
I've failed to silence the visitors with burgeoning verses.
Their Sonnet seeds are planted with end rhymes in a row.
There's no ignoring their demands with my abusive curses.
I wonder how I might convince them to be quiet and go.
Once, I tried counting sheep, but I heard fairytale lines
drifting over a fence in my head, and meowing of a cat.
I tried to drown them out with music but in the confines
of my sleepy mind, lyrics came flying at me like a bat!
I'm not amused when my muse tells me I'm being lazy.
On reflection, I must speculate that she's the instigator.
I tell her to go away. I can't write when my mind is hazy.
She mumbles words I cannot hear. Why do I tolerate her?
I've given this bane, this insane lack of sleep some thought
Usually, I refuse to give in to ponderings and stay in bed.
Battle lines were drawn, and though vigilantly I have fought,
if I'm to sleep, I will surrender and write what's in my head.
(This is a true story)
I love dogs but there was one dog that I hated.
When she died in 1985, I celebrated.
That stinking dog roamed the neighborhood and killed people's animals.
The lousy owner was the one who was responsible.
That witch wouldn't keep her dog tied or put a fence in her yard.
A lot of people suffered because of her Saint Bernard.
We took the owner to court but the judge said there was nothing he could do.
What the hell is this country coming to?
That dog killed my dog and my cat.
She killed a lot of other people's animals too and they didn't deserve that.
That dog and the owner really made me mad.
When that Saint Bernard died, I certainly was glad.
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