Long Good as new Poems
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Acquainted with love again
I soon recovered from past pain
I met this goddess in a tight black dress
I peaked Kilimanjaro, at the sight of her, I must confess
We exchanged digits and addresses too
She said she loved me and I said “I love you”
Problem is that she lived in the far away
But I said I got to have her as she left with a hypnotic sway
So, you guessed it, I placed in a box my healed heart
It was as good as new and wouldn’t break apart
Sent it to her overseas by FedEx
Yep I was horrified at what happen next
The bloody plane crashed in the sea
With a lone survivor, nobody knew where he could be
I hear the sod washed up on an island beach
My heart was drenched in tears and out of reach.
However, the boxes all wash up on the shore
The bugger ripped them open but mine he kept aside on the floor
Every box he ripped I felt it in my chest
I silently said please, not the one with the gold crest
Anyway I think he was feeling what I was going through
As he developed a pain in and didn’t know what to do
The pain was severe, a bloody tooth ache
Which the poor bugger knocked out with the blade of an ice skate
My heart was telling him what to do
And he knew that this box was now important to him too
Eventually he mustered the courage to leave the island on a raft
Which took him some time to build but mastered the craft
When he left the island he took the box his ball friend, Flintstone
And started adrift with a hope to see home
A ship found him passed out floating on the sea
With a box tightly gripped for her from me
They dropped him off in the town where my heart was to be
And he made sure he delivered it himself you see
But a week later I received a box with a note
That sank my heart and choked my throat:
“I love you my Sidney but your love was too late”
“I finally received it but I couldn’t wait”
“I have married now and I hope you did too”
“I return your heart and remember that I love you”
So if you were ever wondering what was in that FedEx box
It was my broken heart wrapped in a pair of warm wooly socks…
That simple gleam of beautifully polished silver
Never fails to get my adrenaline flowing.
I polish it every time after its done.
I can't help it.
It just looks so pretty when its been polished
It is so small, yet so powerful
It can cause so much pain,
Whether wanted, or not.
I love the feeling of the cold, sharp silver against my skin.
Just resting there, waiting.
My legs keep trembling.
Why?
I have done this hundreds of times before
And it never fails to create that feeling.
The feeling of control.
I have control now.
No matter what happens out there,
I have control in here.
I press the blade against my white skin.
A sharp pain alerts my mind.
This is the good part.
Everything is wiped from my mind.
Everything...
Except the ripping of my soft flesh.
I can feel every tiny nerve screaming at my brain,
To force itself to stop.
But my brain has stopped responding at this point.
The blood starts to trickle down my leg.
Slowly at first,
But as more blood is pumped through the small slash in my leg
It starts to roll down my leg with surprising speed.
A single drop is released from my leg.
I watch it fall to the floor.
A small splash occurs,
Not really a splash...but a,
A splatter.
Its such a beautiful red.
So pure.
many more drops of blood splatter the white tile of my bathroom.
I wipe my hands down my leg.
The blood from the wound is now lightly coating my thigh.
I lightly rub my fingertips across the scars on my thighs.
Some are smaller than others.
Some reach from one side of my thigh to the other.
I am quickly brought out of my trance by a noise in the hall.
Quickly I get up and pull a washcloth out of the cabinet.
I run the water and soak the washcloth.
I wipe my leg off
And put a bandage over it,
Just in case it bleeds anymore.
Then I wipe up the floor.
The last thing I do,
Is wipe off my blade with the cloth.
I polish it till it shines again.
I place it in a small black box,
And walk to my room.
Dropping the bloody washcloth
Into the hamper on the way.
See, good as new.
START
Junk Shop on Jersey
The junk shop on Jersey was the place to poke around
I was looking into yesteryear when suddenly I found
A tiny grand piano that really was a phone
I just couldn’t resist it; so it followed me home
The next day I went back again hoping to clear my mind
Since you never know just what you’ll see or find
Rummaging around like a bowerbird I came across a ball
When suddenly I heard some jazz wafting down the hall
I squeezed through a passage with treasures on either side
To see a musician with his fingers stretched extra wide
On the dilapidated keyboard of an old upright grand
I saw he reached ten notes with his left hand
Things were stacked around him including a bottle of wine
I could see some fun was had here for those who had the time
I didn’t want to disturb him so I silently crept back
I forgot about my ball and found a new track
Then I saw a keyboard perched high on a pile of books
It seemed to be as good as new so I took a closer look
This electronic synthesizer would bring me great joy
I felt like a child again, with her favorite toy
I was so excited – this find had made my day
I didn’t even bargain and was more than keen to pay
For the thing about this junkshop which stood out from the rest
Was it specialized in music that had proven every test
I felt as if this narrow shop had somehow scanned my brain
Some tightly sealed compartments, opened up again
Not only did I lose myself, I made a valuable find
When I met the jazz musician who was warm, friendly and kind
‘J’ Green is a genius - although you’d never know
Unless you crept up on him, to hear his one-man show
Where the old and the new sat happily side by side
And the sound of his music made everything come alive.
END
A LAMENT 4 MERCY FRM GOD
By Raine Carosin
17.02.2012
WHY MAKE ME
IF YOU GONNA BREAK ME
WHY TAKE ME
IF U GONNA HATE ME
WHY THIS HELL
WHEN HEAVEN IS A WORD AWAY
WHY NOT TELL
OR IS IT SOMETHING YOU CAN'T SAY
WHY BE VAGUE
WHEN IT COMES TO THE TRUTH
WHY OPAQUE
WHEN YOU COULD BE 'COUTH'
HOW UNKIND
TO TAKE THE MOTHER FROM THE CHILD
HOW SO BLIND
TO TAKE THE LOVING FROM THE WILD
I'M BREAKING UP
MY HEART AND BONES CAN'T TAKE NO MORE
I'M LYING DOWN
THE PEDAL'S TO THE FLOOR
I CAN'T WAIT
TO BE FREE FROM HELL'S IMPRISONMENT
TO LIVE WITH GOD
IN FULL COMPLIMENT
IN THIS HALL OF MIRRORS
GODS SOUND AND ABOUND
DON'T BE FOOLED BY THE IMAGES
THEY'RE JUST FOOLING AROUND
SOMETIMES A GAME
TO PASS
THE TIME
SOMETIMES A PEN
TO PEN
THE RHYME
SOMETIMES A RAKE
TO LEAVE
THE GROUND
IN THIS UNIVERSAL
HALLWAYS
THE GODS ABOUND
DON'T BE FOOLED
UNTIL YOU SEE
SOMEONE YOU RECOGNIZE
AS ME:
I'M FILLED WITH MYSTERY
THE MIRRORS WRITE
IN ECSTASY
DON'T BE FOOLED IN THIS HALL OF MIRRORS
ONE IS REAL
ALTHOUGH THE IMAGE SHIVERS
THROUGH A LONG NIGHT
TO FILL THE DAY
AND THE LIGHT ECHOES
IN THIS HALLWAY
AND SO YOU SEE
BUT DO NOT SEE
THE SHATTERED IMAGE
THAT WAS ME
BUT LOOK AGAIN!
I'M IN YOUR VIEW
AS GOOD AS NEW
AS GOOD AS YOU
DON'T BE FOOLED, MY DEAR FRIEND
THIS HERE NOW IS NOT THE END
THE SUN WILL RISE, THE SUN WILL SET
EVEN THOUGH WE'D WANT TO FORGET
THE PEN WILL WRITE
THE RAKE WILL LAUGH
THE PEN CRIES INK
THE RAKE'S BLOODBATH
SO WHAT, THE MIRRORS DON'T TELL LIES
AND IN THE DITCH A SLIVER LIES
SO DON'T BE FOOLED BY LIGHT
THAT DOES NOT SMILE
FOR IT HAS WARNED OF ANOTHER MILE
FOR YOU TO REACH YOUR GOAL AND DREAM
IN THIS MIRRORED HALLWAY
YOU CAN SMILE AND DREAM..."
It did not cost a fortune
and gave her so much joy
I sent a book
to a lovely friend
‘twas second hand
though good as new
I love the odour
I love the look
I love to hold
a second hand book
Reminds me of a film I saw
about a man named Frank
he ran a second hand bookshop
at 84 Charing Cross Road
A labour of love for many years
a commemorative plaque now marks the spot
True tale I’m told
of a New York gal
Helene Hanff her name
Over twenty years
she wrote to Frank
requesting books so rare
He found for her the
books she yearned
the words she loved
deep friendship theirs
as each and every book he wrapped
with tenderness and loving care
But sad to say they never met...
Frank died in ‘68
a bond was made
by books she craved
their story in this film was made
But I digress and must impress
these words I need to say
Please never throw a book away
when at the end give to a friend
It will truly make their day…
Written 5th August 2020
84 Charing Cross Road, by Helene Hanff, is an entertaining, evocative and moving collection of letters sent by the author, from her home in New York, to the staff at an antiquarian bookshop in London. Their correspondence spanned twenty years and resulted in a valued friendship. 84, Charing Cross Road is about love of books and words, and friendship. .... Such was their fate that Helene Hanff and Frank Doel never met. Frank died in December 1968 from peritonitis from a burst appendix, and the bookshop eventually closed. Helen Hanff did visit London in 1971 when she met Frank’s widow.
Contest Strand Completely New (17)
Sponsor Brian Strand
FIRST PLACE
RISING FROM THE ASHES
Wordancer
The eyes of the dragon seen through the trees
Mesmerize minds and cause bodies to freeze.
Which way to go, which way to turn;
No time for questions when the trees burn.
Just jump in the cars and flee towards town
But the road is cut off as the wind swings around.
No way to go, no way to turn;
An acceptance of fate, as the trees burn.
The fence of the paddock does not impede
The scorched car that flattens it, picking up speed
Away from the flames, away they must turn
Desperate with fear, as the trees burn.
The breath of this beast lights fires with no flame
The heat of its breath burn all just the same.
It’s tail flames on, it’s head, see it turn
Back towards town, there are more things to burn.
With fire, smoke and tears these folk have learnt
To rise from the ashes; spirits singed; not burnt
A call for assistance, now the schools turn
To grey squares of ashes; and more townships burn.
The calls went out across this wide country
And the offers came from all and sundry.
What do you need? What can we bring you?
They were told, so they went; what else would they do?
Hand towels, toothbrushes, soap and shampoo
To clean away ashes; the soot, and tears too
Through fire and smoke, these folk have learnt
To rise from the ashes; spirits singed; not burnt
The towns’ people will labor as long as there’s need,
They’ll listen and learn and plant as they weed,
While their houses and schools, fire stations too,
Rise from the ashes, and stand good as new.
The February Dragon has left for a time,
But hope that heals the scars in the minds
Of the people there, is strong and alive,
They have rebuilt their towns, their dreams and their lives.
©
I first noticed a change in Climate,
When my shoes started to outlast their laces,
Which I thought unusual at the time,
As I had come to think of it as an unwritten law,
Probably one of Murphy's,
That shoelaces were never meant to outlast a pair of shoes,
And shoes were built with the shoeshine boy and the shoe mender in mind.
About the time I realized that those rules no longer applied,
I felt the chill in the air,
As a new broom and a new wind were swooping down on us.
But just in case there is time for the change of climate to be reversed,
I take the laces that are now still as good as new,
Out of the shoes, before I consign them to another growing mountain,
That no one is prepared to climb,
And save them in case I come across a pair of shoes,
That will outlast their laces,
And possibly become a link in the chain,
That we can use to pull the world and its climate,
Back on an even keel,
Especially if someone who appreciates shoes that last,
Sees merit in encouraging a mountain of near new laces,
By making deals with charities to create the mountain,
Instead of bringing more new ones onto the market,
And helping speed up a change in climate.
Or alternatively if that does not come about,
My saved shoelaces will make handy ties for the bags of shoes,
I will need to dispose of that are beyond repair.
Either way,
I feel better for having pointed out,
That if we make enough small $1 savings to the good,
We could give the world it's badly needed,
Trillion-dollar makeover,
So we can all make do with smaller waste bins.
While cleaning house ahead of our family’s summer birthday party
dusting every cranny…all the nooks…
I paused as I began to dust a shelf that housed old children’s books.
Children’s books we haven’t read in years…as so much time’s elapsed…since we read them to our children…and grandchildren…when they still fit upon our laps.
Some books we read only once…some had messages to impart
some we read so many times…we knew them all by heart.
Some books still looked as good as new…while others showed their age
as I opened each one gingerly…as I reminisced through every page
From Dr. Seuss to Little Golden books…to Peter Pan who flew among the stars…From Goodnight Moon and the Velveteen rabbit…to Where the Wild Things Are.
Each book not only contains a story…but is a memory by itself…
which is why, together, they have found a treasured place upon our shelf.
Although these books were essential to our children’s and grandchildren’s growing wings…we haven’t read to them in years…as they’ve flown on to other things..
I can’t help but think, however, these books remember when our children and grandchildren were a little smaller…and when they come to visit…
each book stands up a little taller.
Thinking about another day…another time…way back when…
hoping to be noticed…opened up…and read again.
Waiting fo the day these now grown-ups and their lives again shall overlap…
Perhaps when they read them to their children
and their grandchildren…
while they’re still young enough to fit upon their laps.
When I was just a little boy, my mother said to me
"Since birth I've filled your heart with love, to give away for free
So be a cheerful giver and it always will come back
Just spread it everywhere you go and love you'll never lack"
It made me kind to everyone, I always wore a smile
Never met a stranger and I'd go that extra mile
There always were so many friends, that liked to hang around
Until one day I met a girl, who stole it and left town
That first heartbreak, oh how I cried, felt all my love was gone
Found out my pride, now hurt inside, for being strung along
Angered by rejection, to this day still have the scar
Right when I thought my life would end, a whispered, "There you are"
I hung my head to hide my tears, my mom sat on the bed
She softly said, "It'll be alright", then gently raised my head
I saw her tears fall from her cheek, I asked, "What are you crying for?"
She said,"These are a mother's special tears so you won't hurt anymore.
I saved these tears, just for this day, I knew that it would come
How love can up and walk away and leave your poor heart numb
These special tears will mend your heart, they are called mother's glue
Then fill it up with love again, then you'll be good as new
You'll not forget just how it feels to take and not to give
These tears of love will last you now as long as you shall live"
She wrapped her arms around me and her tears fell down on me
Each time since then, my heart's been broke, her tears are what I see
by Daniel Turner
https://www.youtube.com/edit?o=U&video_id=9tWlUN0pFp4
DORA'S CURSE
by Don Johnson Queensland, Australia
What was that curse thou did rehearse, just ye and me and him?
How 40 sailors went to sea and not a one could swim.
And yet he said that they were dead, his memory of it dim.
And ye agreed as such with me, most drowned except for Jim.
A storm was blamed the hurricane, hid the evil dreadful sin.
For yet we knew just me and you, life boat's let the water in.
The owner Fred "God strike him dead". "Swore the boats as
good as new."
But ye and me and Jim could see, beams, daylight shining through.
Old Dora wallowed o'er the waves, her timbers cracked and creaked.
Her bilges full of briny swill, and the pumps they squawked
and squeaked.
The inquest said of good old Fred, that his ship was sound and true.
But ye and me and Jim agree, t'was rotten through and through.
The wind it blew and blew and blew, there came a clap like thunder.
The mast came down the helmsman drowned and the crew begin to wonder.
I tried to speak and Jim did shriek and ye was in a huddle.
We can't agree not ye and me and Jim sat in his puddle.
The sea came in where the pitch was thin,
And the planks they gaped asunder.
The Captain frowned as Dora drowned,
her worn out planks went under.
The Judge he said of good old Fred," His Captain made a blunder."
Won't hear what ye and me have said.
Why the rotten scow went under.
A bad dream I remembered and wrote down....