Long Flight of stairs Poems
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@5pm this evening, a middle-aged Frenchman, when I was getting off the metro with a girl friend, stopped me and remarked that when I’m quiet, I’m ‘silently interesting’ and that when I talked, I was ‘insignificantly amusing.’ ?!
The moon finds fair Paris washed tonight,
in gentle tears, as if from a fertile heaven.
The air was as wet and moist as a cool breath
that blew in rhythmic, whiplashed gasps.
It’s Monday night, 8pm in Paris. Peter and I are climbing the fifth flight of stairs for my new-friend’s parrot’s birthday party. Every party needs an excuse even if it’s hyper-specific or ridiculous. I wanted to stay home, sedentary, and cuddle up with my “Basic and Clinical Pharmacology" book - it’s a page turner - but I was invited and if you want friends - you have to show up for them.
Linger not in evening’s gray despair.
There’s music and sweaty people up those stairs
The hammering beat shook reflections on the rain-slicked concrete.
As we climb, more and more, we can feel the deep musical beats
Boom-pa Boom-pa BOOM BOOM Boom-pa Boom-pa BOOM BOOM
as soon as we enter the flat - like a storm the sound rages,
there are lightning-like flashes from green LED lasers,
There’s a DJ, this is CrA-zay - are we in the right place?
There are so many people and so little air,
I didn’t expect this - then I saw Clare, so we squeezed our way over there.
I leaned in so close I could smell her perfume, and hollered, “Hey vous!”
But she couldn’t hear me, so we smiled and hugged greetings,
and I gave her the bottle of wine we brought, when we thought
this was going to be a quiet, parrot party - not a Monday night riot.
.
.
Songs for this:
You Get What You Give by New Radicals
Leave It On The Dancefloor by Hope Tala
Secrets (Your Fire) by Magdalena Bay
.
.
*Later, my friend said, “No, he said ‘séduisant’? (charming), not insignifiante!”?
Written: June 29, 2023
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Cockle, two hooves clung over a hundred brothers.
You discovered unmatched comfort such as no other.
An awl compiled your flight of stairs to a dynasty.
A lasting legacy of resilience and strength to foresee.
A hundred tides, over a thousand plovers of sunshine
You've witnessed a time journey and a legacy divine.
In the castanet you erected, you're overweight.
Memories are archived on a home limestone site.
Without us, you'd be as peaceful as dawn.
But we found your deeds, a ruby to fawn.
Witnessing your consciousness is a sight so rare.
As eyes leave your cheek, a glimmer, an affair
Saturn flashbulb lobes are viewed using a lens.
Stunning and appealing, transcendent loveliness
The snow breaks apart in a universe-wide ballet.
The rings are on exhibit; they are a marvelous display.
A motionless, tilted cap, a mark of your grace.
To learn how to leave things alone, embrace
Ocean Treasures A story underwater unfolds.
A quahog species, so ancient and bold.
You who are heavier
Than the mountain sides
You who collides with
Jupiter's stars
And you the universe what could be worse
Than crashing on streaming trains
Over water slides
Collapsing rivers running wide
Heavier than the mid-nights
Weighs more than cups of blacken ice
Heavier than aged peach cobbler
Heavier than the first foot soldiers
Feather
Heavier than the flight of stairs
Heavier than a cherishing child
Heavier than a raw hotdog
Made of beef, pork or turkey-roll heavier than a sailor's dream
Back to seas he sees his dawn
Longing for shore to walk on his own lawn
And just before night turns today
On his knees he does, he does pray
Heavier than the mid night
Dusk to dawn now there's light
All things must surcome the come right under heavier than a feeling in spite
Silken as in the light of leather heavy is the
Feather
06/08/15
Reached the panicle of an older state;
faced body rugged, as stone or slate;
I must reiterate, I am not old, but great;
I'm imparting of an older state;
A family that no longer calls;
An aged person whom new crawls;
Though, they sometimes may fall;
you won't find me shopping at the malls;
I am imparting of an older state;
It's about to rise;
You have to get to where I'm at;
you have to live life close to reenact;
I am not just an artifact, in fact;
I am part of an older state;
I know the beginning all ends;
I live now for God He's my true and only Friend;
Fifty is the new teen;
Sixty is the between;
Seventy most never reach;
Eighty is close to heaven's gate;
I'm not old but just wait;
age but a number, a member, I'm in fact an older state;
Call me Elder, Senior call me old;
]When time is done my stories told;
No illnesses, No arthritis, Alzheimer's;
Neither money gold nor diamonds;
Flight of stairs, bronze, golden, grey white hairs;
Multiply wrinkles on the left right corners of both my eyes;
I'll be the one singing my grandchildren's lullabies;
Once left my foot toward the skies in youth;
Now can hardly walk crow the street but in truth;
the youth have strength in part;
But aged are my spirit, soul, mind and heart;
I am a senior to those under me in age;
but I am not too old and not too frail;
For I am full grown matured and great;
I'm in fact an older state, it's about to rise;
you have to live life close to reenact;
I am not just a n artifact, in fact;
I am part of an...
OLDER STATE
(by James E. Lee Sr. from 'Intergenerational Poetry Slam "Elders Track" University of Nebraska Omaha Poetry to Bridge the Generation Contest'
(c)2014
Seeking a better life and with chance at hand, our new life awaits
Wife hires on as servant, daughter and I stowaway as it departs
Our life's dreams sail on the USS Titanic, a new future to create
daughter and I conceal ourselves while wife toils with bunk-mates
We would change places to stay warm from bitter cold and storm
my young baby I wrapped up tight, this kept her warm to my delight
We count days till our new home, I worry and pray my wife is warm
A few days passed till that night I awoke in sheer terror and fright
Hearing metal tear, as cries and screams begin a siren sounds above
We're in warmth deep beneath the decks I grab my joy to face regret
We're not far from mom, I push and shove to get her one deck above
The time is short as I open door, to reveal wife's tears, glad to see, yet
to escape I tie a rope about our waists for in this flight can't separate
Then we begin our quest to the night air knowing we're 5 decks below
scaling 2 decks with speed, all converge but keep moving can't hesitate
Baby in hand we drag and claw moving to air, all moving with the flow
One more flight of stairs to fresh air, I take wife's hand to lead her their
Ship tilts as we get through door to sky then falling down into the night
A sudden jerk as rope catches pipe saving us as others fall in pairs
with bitter cold and death insight, I plan again how to win this fight
A mans wool coat 4 feet above I grab his coat as life slips from hope
Wrapping about my baby and wife, for warmth, in this my last night
Water rising swiftly only a few feet below, I swing wife and cut rope
Their flight to the ocean, as I follow them into the icy cold midnight
We find each other in this dark abyss, then fight to swim to life
We reach trash still afloat raising wife and babe to safety I cover tight
death assured in my last fight I tie raft to boat and tell my loving wife
I love you both fight to save your lives, as I sink from view in the night
Hours passed her body heat spent, pulls to boat in her last attempt
She wraps baby in all the clothes and begs they save her from my fame
Her baby safe as she can plan she cuts the rope with this last lament
When you all survive, let all who ask know my sweet daughter's name
This is a fictional account of the youngest survivors journey to safety, Elizabeth Gladys Dean
I am a book,
Some of its pages are hidden,
They hide in the night,
Their writings are from the deep.
I am a portrait,
Sombre colours depict me better,
They show the gloom that resides in my chamber,
They show the night I fight to tunnel through.
I am the moon,
Twilight summons me,
The night calls me to stand on the podium,
Sometimes my companions don’t stand with me.
I am a flight of stairs,
The higher I go,
The more view that enfolds,
They seem to come from obscurity.
I am a puzzle,
Each piece you find,
Propels you to search for more,
You’re bewildered by their complexities.
February 21, 2024.
Fear
I raise my hand from the banister
As I ascend a flight of stairs
The air is musky and quite repugnant
And dust is a common feature
Though beneath the smell of musk
Blood lingers like a faded memory
At the very top of the stairs I pause
Gazing at an antique vase
Sun flowers are painted on the surface
Yet the realism runs far deeper
It's then that I notice the insignificant stain
A small spot that ruins perfection
And as I stare the blood begins to run
Drizzling down the side of the vase
The blood hits the floor like the feet of a cat
And races toward me like a red carpet
Sunlight that once eagerly streamed inside
Falls flat leaving me in bleak shadows
Stumbling backwards to escape the blood
I falter at the sound of ear peircing screams
A Banshee has awoken in the midst of my nightmare
Filling my pounding ears with sharpened knives
The black lights flicker once and then light the room
Coming from nowhere and everywhere
Crystal blue orbs filled with curiosity silently judge me
Like the eyes of an elegant immortal goddess
Her pale hand raises upward as I gaze transfixed
And her index finger beckons me
A curse has been placed upon me as I step forward
Unable to break the spell that holds me
The blood that once seemed so weak and so shallow
Now forms a puddle through which I wade
Destiny stares at me from her mirroring eyes wide with seduction
And I abhor my inability to escape this façade
Within only a foot from her I find my feet finally come to a halt
As her lips split into the ghost of a smile
Her hands descend into the scarlet puddle of blood before raising them
Blood slowly seeping from the imperfect bowl her hands form
And then she blows the blood into my face and my body shatters
I'm naught but a magnificent creature of despair myself
And when I awake shaking and stuttering with the police shaking me
The eyes of my immortal goddess, a Banshee, seem to smile at me
Without words I can tell that my end is nigh
For fear was not meant to live forever
The sun shines through the smoke of that day, a bizarre reddish orange hue. The day before I read signs in shop windows that said, "business as usual" and people out among the rubble trying to carry on with life. A life turned upside down in recent months.
My flat had been bombed in November 1940, and since that time I was living from shelter-to-shelter trying to understand how this could happen. I often wonder what the RAF was doing to combat the German planes, still I wonder. Shall they let London be consumed by fire? What a bloody despair!
Walking through the streets pretending to know where I am amidst ruins I see children crying, asking "where is my mum, help me dear sir"! All I can offer is a biscuit from my coat pocket that was broken in two. "Here, take these lads" I said, hungry myself. Then the rumbling started again, the planes were coming!
I scrambled to the shelter nearby amongst many others, the explosions shook me in my boots.
Down flight after flight of stairs I reached my destination for the night, quite unsure of what would come about but safe. Like a sardine in a can, I could hardly move there were so many people in such a cramped space, so I prayed along with others around me. Looking at the dirty disheveled faces everywhere I felt a nudge upon my shoulder, a voice said, "here lad have a drink". An older man handed me a bottle of Beefeater Gin which I gladly accepted. Its warmth soothed my worries if only for a moment in this living hell I was in. Hearing the bombs above I don't know what was shaking worse, me or the bomb shelter. I became numb as the Gin took hold of me in this nightmarish haze. "How long have I been out mate" I said to the older gent next to me. "The sun will be dawning soon lad" he said, "I'm going to street level, come with me chap". We climbed the stairs lined with people, unknowingly dead or alive until we reached the door to the street, it was so quiet I could hear myself breathing.
I looked at the sky, now a white-pink hue of smoke through which a star still shining shone as the sun broke the horizon. Reflections from the water of the Thames glistening light shone the trees budding their leaves, and in the devastation, I viewed the beauty of English roses..........
Where dry walls turn to dust
they depart.
They enter as laughter.
They roost on struts and beams.
Rafters for each shinning feather
whether or not each feather is stiff or curly.
Flooring for the angelically inclined
is optional. Pin heads are perfect.
A house without an angel is a tomb
but be of good cheer,
they are everywhere, even in the bathroom
where they often rest with you.
Domestic housing only,
public and federal buildings
will never be up to their code
no matter how architecturally pleasing
for angels need a welcome mat
and a pleasant kitchen,
a roof that lets the pain run down
as rain to water garden seeds.
What else?
Their are tent angels and shanty angels,
homeless and under bridge angels.
Angels are houses for prayers,
In the Far East
folks erect Spirit Houses;
little shrines for holiness to occupy
same thing really,
a flight of stairs
for the starry-eyed helps,
but ranch and open-plan
span just as well
if each body within them
is a ringing temple bell.
Here once again by these same shores,
See all things plain yet even more.
Here as I look upon the waves,
A new day books a chapter brave.
Here for a while with rain and sun,
I see you smile in happy pun.
Here and there sight the same now here,
Spheres come to light in home spun cheer.
Here sense knows chimes in time and space,
Works and words rhyme with grace we trace.
Here is not there if you see well,
The flight of stairs where joy now dwells.
Here by the way when day meets night,
Where night greets day as wonders sight.
Leon Enriquez
03 September 2015
Singapore