Long Gone Poems
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I was only five and barely alive; diagnosed with a dreaded disease;
For six months I lay in a hospital bed not quite ready to leave.
My kidneys had failed; medications were no avail;
dialysis seemed the only treatment.
Then a miracle occurred; I know it’s absurd,
because they don’t really happen too frequent.
Every morning I wasn’t dead the doctors scratched their heads
wondering how I was hanging on -
And slowly but surely I started to heal until the disease, somehow, was gone.
I was written about in the medical journals as an unsolved mystery;
That time in my life – even as young as I was - is my most significant history.
Not many of us can remember our lives when we were only five years old –
But I am here to tell, I remember it well; and often my story I’ve told.
A special bond had formed between my father and me
who visited me every day;
While my mother stayed home taking care of my five siblings
with one more sister on the way.
I write many poems of pure fiction but I assure you this story is true;
I was five years old, when my parents were told soon my life would be through.
This year, I turn 54 and have never had any kidney problems since.
Written and posted by Joe Flach on 1/8/2012 for Nette Onclauds, "...At This Age" contest.
“The flower of youth,” that’s what Ma said,
the day we packed the wagon.
She tussled my hair and planted a kiss
on my cheek and tin cans to the tail gate draggin’
My bride, my Peg, she hopped on aboard
while her Ma, Nellie, stood by bawlin'.
Dad stood by the farm house door
and Ole Red stood aside him howlin'.
We left from Pennsylvania aimed for Oregon
I’m not sure we woulda gone if we’d new,
all the loss a comin’ afore the shores of Avalon,
land of milk and honey, where apple trees are strewn.
Peg-a-my-heart, fair she was, and our baby she was carrying,
we’d lose that chil’, I’d lose my Peg, before we hit Missouri .
I sold the wagon, and bought them a stone, markin' the place I’d laid them
and off I went on a cattle drive a broken man in a hurry.
A cowboys life was all I had, a horse and my whiskey
and every night afore I’d sleep I’d sing “Oh, Peg-o-my heart…I miss ye”
*this was what it was like to be a cowboy
Mind is racing
Limbs are aching
I feel the end is nigh
All alone in night unending
Time a torturous lie.
Brain fermenting
Thoughts fragmenting
Shatter in glass shards
Fingers soon to dust returning
Hold fast my deck of cards
Fear is mounting
Heart is pounding
I know the end is nigh
My sight long gone, still I see
Those shards light up the sky
Children laughing
Old friends calling
From a distant shore
Mem’ries of a life unsparing
And a time that is no more
The time it passes,
through the darkness
With teeth so sharp pain bites
Missive from cassandra spinning
Prophecy I cannot fight.
Life and loving
True belonging
No more need I pretend
Gave life a go, decried its blows,
My hand I played to the very end.
A Father
A Son
A Grandfather too
gone into the great cinematic blue
his work in the arts a wonder worth seeing
A true Aussie hero loved with agreement
It’s just from when I was quite small
his face was there in the wall
the telly at night my constant friend
Bud was with me till the very end
he enriched all our lives
with his story and pictures
imagine if we’d missed all of his richness
his smooth deep voice so gentle and kind
always put me in a good frame of mind
He fought in the war with much pride
he hurt in the last years deep inside
the stories they ripped
a hole in his chest
the memories of war
in his heart like a crest
I know this from reading
and watching the box
I remember folding clothes
drying tears with some socks
the theater his forte
his voice rang out
with cheers of joy and claps and shouts
So Bud take a last bow
Its time to rest
you more than passed all life’s tests
Your memory lives on for here and all time
In our hearts and in our minds …
Bud Tingwall was an Australian film and television Actor he featured in pictures in the U.K. ..
U.S.A .. and here .. he was a much loved aussie legend he passed away last friday this is a
tribute to him .. never had the pleasure of meeting him but loved him none the less ... J
It's gone. All gone...Probably forever
It didn't melt like an iceberg
It still exists in name but only in name
Technically, it's still viable
but realistically it's not the same
Gone are many that once kindly ladled
bowls of words that were delicious
replaced by 'things' that have no heart
By 'those' who don't appreciate the art
of holding their own pen in hand to write
By 'some' who think we've a blind eye
to their sudden scholarly wisdom
Nothing is the same and who is to blame
On most days I take a pass on visiting
the place where once I found pleasure
My measuring cup is empty and there are few
neighbors whose doors I would approach
I've no desire to 'borrow' their poems
only sorrow for what used to be
and is no more
Bored by changes and the rearranged pots
and pans. Everything has been shuffled
except the muffled cries of days gone by
The new knives have dull blades
and everywhere I look is a new escapade
where even the cooktop is turned off
Scoff at the recipes where something's missing
It's the lack of flavor that I once savored
It used to be tasty but I'm weary
of cookbook titles that sound so dreary
What a waste of pure vanilla when a fella
or a dame pours it in beef stew
That cannot be misconstrued for poetry
Or when Ms. sous chef displays her version
of soup de jour, but burns it with the same
bitter taste day after day
Tables have been moved around in what was once
a restaurant on hallowed ground
The new menu is frightful...
the old one was delightful
It's gone and I don't hold hope of a resurrection
I'd call pest control to eradicate the premises
if I felt the place could be saved
but it feels as if it's dug its own grave
The lilting music is gone, too
No longer does it play sweet melodies
that make my feet want to dance
Keyboard keys don't rattle beneath my fingers
to open the door and enter
It's become humdrum, a chore to find
a valid reason to visit more often
It's gone and there's no joy to be found
in the ploy of the hoi polloi
Nothing is the same and who is to blame
You Through Away Colorful Flowers
What happened to us?
So much time Shared
Maybe a change of heart
Two lovers going in different directions
Another road divided
Did I say something Wrong?
I’m the same person
Vague lights to remember
You through away colorful flowers
Did you kick me to the curb?
Is there another?
Rigid thorns
Flowers burn
Honesty gone
Pictures fade
Eyes for you in a glaze
The connection is drifting away
A beautiful pain
Flowers to wilt
Walk with me across the bridge
One last sunset
One last smile
The truth never revealed
Flowers burn inside us.
Colorful beginnings to ash
Eyes for me are like broken glass.
I long to sleep until the leaves have gone
taking all the memories of summer love,
and dream until the winter’s dawn.
When the cloak of autumn is soon drawn;
when evening stars dance in the sky above,
I long to sleep until the leaves have gone.
Wind still sings in the Forest of Argonne,
I hear the song of my truelove
and dream until the winter’s dawn.
September dreams are like a swan
who flies entwined with her beloved,
I long to sleep until the leaves have gone.
Seasons stretch as nature yawns,
I hear the calling of spring doves
and dream until the winter dawns.
The memory of summer past is long
and autumn chill will soon unglove~
I long to sleep until the leaves have gone
and dream until the winter’s dawn.
I cried until I could not cry any more.
Because she is gone, leaving me behind.
That’s what I thought anyway.
Until I ran across her phone number in my I-phone.
I am hard on myself now, angry I cannot get it together.
I cried again until I could not cry any more.
Because that number stirred me up.
I’m okay now. Ready to return to work. I can deal with this.
Until a red Chevy pulls up beside me, and I think it’s her.
I am hard on myself now, angry I cannot get it together.
I cried again until I could not cry any more.
Because I was so disappointed when I saw a stranger in that car.
I’m pulling it together now. I can do this.
I turn my car around and head for home and I can barely see.
I am hard on myself now, angry I cannot get it together.
Why can I not be as compassionate and forgiving to myself as I am to others?
When you are grieving, give yourself a break every second.
A break every hour is not enough. And talk to the person who has left.
She is around you, waiting, hoping. It will make you feel better too.
Three paths diverged, he came across
One of diamond, one of gold, one only of grass.
The diamond promised riches and of things that sparkle
But the people were pushing and cursing, it was quite remarkable
The one of gold a similar thing, people pushing and shoving and calling of names.
The one of grass, less appealing, a little bit lame but not nearly as loud, in fact it was quite tame.
He chose the grass above all the rest, to be bothered with petulance would put him no wiser than the rest.
He followed the path for many miles, enjoying the journey. He took it all in, he was in no hurry.
He could hear the fighting from the other paths on occasion but it was drowned out by tremendous laughter invasions.
Finally the path came to an opening and the bickering was gone, the laughter grew louder, as he was welcomed home.
You came across three paths and you chose the right one, this is the only one that leads here my son.
The Inevitable Elements
No prestidigitation, clairvoyance, or incredulous miracle
Can stave off that which is inevitable
Encumbrances of the day with vicissitude in decay
Pray on dramatic soliloquy born to die
We praise element 117 ununseptium discovered today. (Fact)
Like a chimerical era gone by, which seems almost sui genres
Yet not so unique in the comical sense of life and meaning
Encumbrances of discovery of the day seem mundane in the light of day
Colloquial to some not in or of that disposed nature
To understand that which is and is not the truth
The periodic table grows in numbers
We forge on in the dark of days
And pray that the inevitable stays in play
As ubiquitous and sane as ever