Long Gravel Poems
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I can remember passing through
this town as a child,
stopping for a pie
on our way north.
Now it’s bypassed – barely more
than a clot lodged
in the spidery veins of a map.
Most of the houses are empty,
the bakery is gone.
I've come here again and stop
to walk beneath
a verandah’s pinholed shade,
past the general store,
the post office
and a butcher shop -
all shut.
Behind windows,
generations of dead blowflies
have left a black crust
piled against the glass.
Some hang from webs
like frozen pendulums
hollowed out by spiders
and passing time.
Across the street an asphalt
school yard is dissolving into grass.
I think about the children
who once skipped
and ran headlong
into their lives from here,
where now a clapped out truck
sits propped up on bricks.
Dumped and stripped of worth
an open bonnet seems to gape
its final breath.
Further up the street,
the scars left
by two world wars
are etched in a modest memorial
to the town's fallen youth.
I run my fingers slowly
down the list of names
and whisper each
into the ethereal silence
in which they rest.
This age has made them unreal.
Elevated on the nations alters
they seem unaccustomed
to the height.
Their age has them stalking
the nearby hills, irreverent,
all too young, blasting rabbits
and empty beer bottles
lined up like soldiers
with their fathers guns.
At the end of the street,
a gutted church squats like
a full stop to the town.
Nothing is beyond except
a gravel road to somewhere else
and a small cemetery
of lichened headstones.
The last person buried here, I read,
was Helen O’Brien who died
in august sixty five
and beside her, a year before,
her daughter, aged just four.
I make my way back
and reach out
to the ghosts that inhabit
this place but can't connect.
A feral cat slinks off
into the shadows of the pub.
Few cars stop here anymore.
Thirty minutes drive away
a multi laned highway
barrels traffic to the coast.
There, towering apartments
glaze the sky where rooms,
like empty shells,
murmur the lonely sound
of breaking waves.
Sometimes there are evenings
when a sadness rides a breeze
from inland to the coast
and goes unnoticed,
except perhaps for a child
who grows silent
and stares at something
wandering the distances
way beyond the reach
of grown up sight.
Note: "How can there have been such strife in a Morlde` filled with beautiful Music; &
how could there have been beautiful Music such in a Morlde` filled with strife?" -Soupy
Sales, 2012.
The 12 Panes Of Christmas:
_____________________________________________________________________________
___
- XMAS' RADOTER -
Yule be Xmas
afore ye know
the pag'an go
for patterned
stamped snowflakes
'bove the
Andy Williams' Shows
DVD Stufftaculate CD,
Away, In A Manger For The Happy Employees,
drivelings (no place like) home
for the Hollydayease
in
a Ford Barricade & SUG Thirsty,
Nay, the new GM Bailout.
Suffer
the little Children
new bornes, infants
what nary see
but a Semi-Claus
ere
semiclaws,
tithes for the celibre-cause craws.
Remembrances
to things past-past, of
natal assemblies
en callow chorale masse
gone
Proustikipped,
to mortitorium's
N'well
& stockings filled
with
the chimney's cold care
yet in hopes
das Geheimnis Viktoria
would
somehow brassiere...
rout despair
the Tree hovers
Cabbage Patch? Nay!,
but the oft'splayed
Perry Como - You Win!,
Get to poke Golgotha pins -
WakeUp, boorros!
Bing-Bing!
WakeUp!, Jokers
to the St. Jack Nihilis...
but ya wanna
bat 'n ball this 'round?
You a'ready donned Santa,
with a semi-
Dear G*d,
(Walsch also asked)
How're You doin' It, &
Your Son?...Tarnished
proof weighdown here, filled
with
vanilla, frozen grins &
Joyburdened smiles...
'neath
pattern-stamped snowflakes &
piney Glade heads
afore the marshed desert
Koyaanisqatsi
Like yearlings'
trotted-out
Saviormusic
whilst the other 333
like
666 -
doubled for toil 'n trouble -
employed
to savaging
One, many, or 'nother...
Christmas partidges'
riffeled feathers family?
pared, unprepaired,
Indeed, vouchsafed
an enemy sans name
on
a horse with no name, save
Internecine
AmeriKa.
For
A kiss 'neath
the mistlesilo
whilst acaroling
of the Bedlamites
(Acts, II: 2-6),
the Psalming 100?,
Screeching
like sleds in pit gravel to
the Silent Night
HeyMen!
There lies
an evergrander Light
at the Dawn, but
Hey!,
who's gonna
tear-away
from
Yawnni,
& the extra-Vaganza
of
Truth?
H.e.m.
12.13.MMviii.
(ST)
With minds like crystal prisms, they shatter light into every spectrum of possibility, foreseeing storms before the first cloud, hearts bruised by premonitions whispered on the wind. Yet, they dance in the rain, a silent symphony of knowing played on a smile, for theirs is the terrible gift of seeing the tapestry of fate woven a thread at a time, even as it pricks their fingers.? Huzefa Nalkheda wala
Hiking up the mountain, in pairs
You and I, just two more
Who settle the moments with hope,
For the tenderness that comes to life
Inside those who can feel
Feel, like you and I…
Laughter, giggling, ambling
Wandering over stones, dark pebbles,
Gravel roads, meant for those,
Who can see beyond the forest’s singing,
Into the poetry, the faith, the need
For silence that assures and agrees,
Feeling just like you and me…
Words fall between the friends,
Moist in the air – like the slow, soft breeze,
Words in rhythms, tones of light,
Feelings, blessing away the past, suspended,
In the hues so bright,
You and I, feeling so alive!
When the rain begins to melt the sugar sweet
Salty skin, trembling, beginning to believe,
We might make our way to our intention…
Only we feel the showers, melting the hours,
Blessings in liquid, spilling over the naked trees,
Spinning stories of lonely, breathing
Light as the shadows deepen, pouring over the soul,
Embracing the moments, assaulting each of us,
Pouring out a cleansing afternoon cloudburst,
Like music, she soothes and comforts…
And, as the pairs of our friends race toward shelter,
I catch my words in the back of my mind,
Not telling you – yet, somehow you can feel my message
In the heart…
As we move slowly beneath the downpour,
Securing our last place in the refuge of our vehicle,
Where the rain falls in sheets on the glass,
Refusing to listen to our wiper’s urgent swabbing,
Almost as immediately as the hand wipes the tear,
Who appears…
When you and I realize, at last, our dream has passed,
And, we’re merely walking among the shadows of the past,
Where floods of memories, like that downpour on the trail,
Sends us back to that place we always meant to forget.
Inside my chest – is that satisfaction or regret?
Never, in a downpour yet, have there been tears so alive,
As this homesick moment has shuddered and died!
Two brothers salmon in the deep blue sea
Got the urge one day to seek some revelry.
So off they both went into the early dawn
With naught on their minds but to swim and spawn.
Up the big river with its mouth so wide,
It must be a mile from side to side.
For days and days those two fish swam
‘Til they ran smack-dab into a concrete dam!
Round and round that great grey wall
They swam, but found no help at all.
Relief came, not from heaven sent,
But sure enough from the government!
A big fish ladder with its lifts and falls
Helped those boys to skirt that wall
Into a lake with its shores so green
The two fish entered on another scene!
As if decreed by constabulary
The lake was fed by five tributaries!
“Which one to take?”, was their question then,
The answer came to the first brother Sven.
“I know where to go”, you could hear him say,
“I’ve been here before! I can find the way!”
So off Sven went, and his brother, Pete, too;
Guided by nothing but Deja Vu!
The stream they chose was swift and clean
But the rocks therein were hard and mean!
Bruised and battered Ol’ Pete said, “ENOUGH!”
“This swim-and-spawn life is just too rough!”
“Swimming all day against the stream?”
“This might be for you Sven, but it ain’t my dream!”
So he turned with the current and went with the flow,
Against his true nature, to the blue sea below.
He passed other salmon, in their eyes was a gleam,
All turning red as they struggled upstream.
Pete was red too from his tail to his face.
When he reached the blue sea, he seemed out of place.
The swimming was easy, with no current to fight,
But Pete couldn’t know of his fate nor his plight.
A flashy red Pete in the bright blue dawn
A sea lion spied him and SNAP! Pete was gone!
In the mean time, Sven kept on swimming for days;
His back out of water in the warm summer rays.
He made his way to a cool sandy brook
And spied a coy babe-fish with a cute little look.
And there on the edge of a loose gravel shoal,
They frolicked and played and fulfilled their role:
They had both done their best; standing out in a crowd.
Sven also died, but his maker is proud!
This tale has a moral, as all good tales do.
A metaphor of life, it is tried and true:
“Swimming through life is no simple feat,
Endure to the end, or end up like Pete!”
Sinfonia
Phi For One
Mu for Alpha
Orange splices of pure fire fall to the cavernous wall as if the world was on its head,
Shadows of friends in greeting prints the rock a far,
I sit in comfort and complete humility by a roaring fire of fraternity.
I ponder my great quest for fire.
A long road remembered,
As barber drips from the pores of my soul chanting a deafening memory of my initiation.
The end is near, the wait is impossible, my stomach churns but I don’t care. I whisper to my earned brother, “where are we?”, “In the middle of no where in a freezing car.” Several hours go by and nay we pledges have much importance. Finally, the sounds of gravel hence at approaching membership. I hold and follow my earned brother along a steep and rocky path. I peer down my nose at my feet, barely staying vertical. I feel a blaze of warmth and hear a hissing crackle as if cast into the inferno of hell and damnation. An eerie silence blanketed by the radiance of Adagio. I feared the unknown and was most untrusting of the “Actives.” Who con and deceive. I trust Nathan and Dustin though, and they would not harm me! My mind never rested, I considered every course of retaliation, every out, every option.
At last I remove my blindfold destination revealed with aww.
Fresh and clear meanings defined.
My ritual, praised by youthful hearts, of Orpheus.
I am proud in brotherhood and understanding. I finally ware my gray hoody with the letters PHI MU ALPHA.
I (and others) have traveled great distances in Phi for One.
This One is but Mu, and can only be found in the leap of Alpha.
The Mu is necessary for Alpha and such a night is latent in all our minds
At nights end we all have replenished our souls with remembrance of fraternal meaning and brotherly spirit.
Raise your prelude to all the brothers, we sing.
A large circle of brothers arm over shoulder singing proud and loud on this cold damp November starry night.
This night is replayed over and over in my mind, reaffirming my commitment too Iota Rho’s long honored traditions. Time is irrelevant though we say its not. Perfection is of no concern, though we heave its importance.
At last the echo carries… SIN..FON..IAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaa! At last the traditions are entrusted to the next generation.
His name was Jack O’Bann, and how he liked to play,
if not for school I think he would’ve strummed all day,
and he had a voice of both gravel and honey,
with the kind of power that brought in big money.
It was no surprise he started a high school band,
he rocked the parties, we knew his future looked grand.
But Jack had some trouble, his family disagreed,
they did not like the path where this future might lead,
most musicians failed, and there was no hiding that,
they would tell Jack that against him the odds were stacked,
and with his math skills he’d make a good engineer,
this debate troubled Jack for all of his senior year.
During that last year, he dated a girl named Kay,
who listened to his troubles, the things he had to say,
Jack fell so hard for him, in her arms found relief
from the pressures of family, what career to seek.
His band kept on playing, more and more dates in town,
gaining fans with each show until they were renowned.
But his parents were certain this his path was doomed,
even once tried to lock Jack inside his bedroom!
still he was determined, even though they did scoff,
until one day they both threatened to cut their son off.
He stormed out of the house following a big fight,
in a sour mood went to play a gig that night.
Kay was there with the band and saw that he was pissed,
said,”Don’t worry, go set up, I will handle this.”
So he vented out back, she tried to soothe his rage,
he said,”I’m so done with this now that I’m legal age!”
But somehow she got him to take control of himself,
and he put on a great show for everyone else.
It was a good time that night, Jake’s voice was like fire,
raised the crowd to a pitch, and then pushed them higher,
none knowing that a record man was looking on,
impressed by the skill they showed with their cover songs,
and the passion for their craft they made people feel,
so after it was over he offered them a deal.
All the band was excited, this could be their break,
Jack’s head was in a swoon, it was more than he could take,
first the fight with his parents that had rattled him,
now this chance of a lifetime, he struggled within.
“I just need a moment…I need to get some air.”
He half-stumbled outside, and Kay followed him there...
CONTINUES IN PART II.
I was looking out the window and saw my neighbor across the street on a ladder, putting up an American flag. Both he and his wife are school teachers.
I took that moment to go over and tease him. I asked if he was putting the flag up to honor my husband.
I have been living here for ten years, and they had never tried to be friendly, except when they needed something. They have two sons and two golden labs. They all-stay locked up in the house with the curtains drawn. If, someone comes and knocks on their door, they are greeted by two frantic and not-so-friendly sounding barks, that bump on the glass window, but their owners won’t answer the door.
They have a motion sensor light over the middle of the garage door. I told him that the flapping of the flag was going to set off the light all the time. He laughed; he hadn't thought about it. I purposely went over to tell him that my husband had passed away four months ago. He was shocked. He apologized and said he didn't know.
With tears, I turned and walked away. When I'd gotten to the edge of the driveway, the tip off my left sandal caught on the edge of the asphalt. The sandal stayed; my arms started flapping, like a young bird in its nest trying to fly. Flapping, flapping, I kept leaning forward, like the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Trying to righten myself, half-way to the other side, my other sandal flew off. I suppose I might have looked pretty funny, running to the other side, bending over like I was trying to catch a hat that had blown off my head. My arms still flapping, waiting for a landing, face first on the asphalt and the gravel under my feet. All I could think and see was the blackest tar and gravel rising to meet me, how painful it was going to be when my face kissed that dirty tar.
However, by some miracle, I had gotten to the other side of the road and caught my balance. With my heart pounding, my neck and back aching, and the bottoms of my feet sore, I survived not kissing the dirty tar and gravel. It was like God's angel spread its wings and wrapped them around me, and straighten me out. I should have had a very serious relationship with the first kiss, but not that day.
Thank you, Lord.
Thank you, Lord.
12/29/2018
Amid the flowers ever blooming, ever fragrant,
Amid the stone pathways edged with brick,
Amid the gravel I peacefully walk over,
Hearing the slight crunch beneath my feet,
Here lies color upon color of hanging baskets and garden trims.
Here lie bushes of color to draw me in.
Cooler air and peaceful, beauty surrounds me like a cocoon.
And amid this a fountain of gentle beauty I do not wish to leave soon.
A fountain that totally greets my senses.
The running of water, the bubbling and tumbling over stone.
I feel the peaceful sounds deep and close inside.
A bench begs me- “Stop. Rest your weary soul. Feel the peaceful sound.”
Here the songs of birds do greet me as they eat from feeders above and
Drink from the fountains below.
Their colored plumage and delicate flight adding to the beauty bestowed.
Other fountains with gurgling water entice me from place to place.
What beautiful shapes and designs do I anticipate to be next?
Beside what peaceful flow of water will I next seek my rest?
I linger and forget my travails as I mentally rest.
In this shadowed and cool garden I linger to hear sounds and see sights
Never to forget.
As I continue the journey an occasional bench begs my senses- to stop again.
Feel the peace. See what is here.
Some fountains have hidden treasures to espy.
Statuary nymphs and frogs peak quietly from gentle foliage nearby.
I beg to know what animals traverse here in peace within this world.
My mind begs me to write words to describe such delights.
I am enveloped in a feast before, behind, and surrounding my senses.
A trellis begs my attention in lush smells sent to my nose.
A trellis of color and unusual design to add to my prose.
A water sprite beckons my indulgence to notice her again.
Finally the tumbling of water sends me forward to a new treat,
Begging of my senses the new treasures for to eat.
Each a joy to behold. Each adding to my wish to never leave.
Eventually the world will again bend me to my knees.
But a moment I have gained of beauty to behold.
A memory to take in my sojourn, as my life unfolds.
Memories that can bring me back to this peaceful place in my mind.
Though only a moment, I have gained something precious to behold.
I now carry within a pocket of my mind- a memory to bring me back to
The Fountain Garden.
CSEastman
She is shadowed by fuzzy cobwebs of a morning without coffee,
while dust motes mingle with the mold of time.
Gazing out to the yard, through dingy glass, and fog,
into a dismal January, she hopes to catch a glimpse of the paper boy.
He travels through rain, sleet or snow, how could he understand,
(this teen-aged Paul Revere), that in this decrepit old house,
she is longing for a sign of youth? It has been a weary night, watching an old woman hang on by threads of life, that had worn thin years ago.
Watching and waiting, while cold winds blew and snow was falling,
and death was hoping to make a house call.
Any diversion, life being lived,... one brief eclipse of life in motion would be a relief.
To observe him toss the news into the sky like a Frisbee... not a care in the world
How would that feel...has she ever known? Has anyone ever been so young?
She thinks she may go mad with death and dying, with weariness, with waiting.
She suddenly shivers from a dreaded draft of frigid air, slithering in,
like a sneaky, uninvited ghost, slinking in around the rim.
nor'easter winds roll top shoe box...
splinter the silence.. -- debutante' caught in amber
a cataract view frozen sepia
Grabbing a handful of a thread-bare doily, she polishes the cold glass,
rubbing vigorously in circles against the grime,
making figure eights, in spite of frozen, stiff, fingers.
Satisfied, that she has a decent view of the blanketed yard,
and can see clearly where the muddy, gravel driveway,
bends gradually, curving to mate with the snow banked road,
at last, she spies the old Jeep coming, and watches with automated eyes,
yet, with some expectation, and strange excitement.
Then, as she might have guessed,
the teenager drives hurriedly by, barely slowing down, tossing the news,
and leaving her gaze and her thoughts, splattered by dark murky water,
while the slinging gravel that has been pitched into the sky, by his screeching tires,
falls like the pieces of the old woman's lonely life upon the pristine snow.
__________________________________________
For Deb's Contest: "Mix It Up"
During Each Day
Day By Day has become very important to me.
And opened up my eyes so I can start to see;
Right direction;
Proper connection;
How and way things by God were meant to be.
Jim Horn
Unravel Road To Travel
As Christ's message we do start to unravel;
Realize down His road only He can travel;
Sin was spread,
We do dread,
Beneath Trinity's feet became their gravel.
Jim Horn
Our souls are represented by each shred
and scrap of gravel.
Calling Appeared Appalling
Politicians seem to put off and are stalling;
Which we all do dislike and find appalling;
Results are traumatic,
And yet still dynamic,
When they should listen to God's calling.
Jim Horn
Had Been and Come Again
Jesus was lovely Mary's little lamb;
His Father is great, "I am that I am;"
Here had been;
Will come again;
Saying you are Him is such a sham.
Jim Horn
People Were Profane
We are perfect example of being profane;
Full of much dismay along with disdain;
Do not disguise,
And then realize,
Should worship God and will remain sane.
Jim Horn
From Lineup Be Cut
About things are either and an or a but,
Nor and more keeping my mouth shut;
Deeper do get,
Are more upset;
From the entire lineup you could be cut.
Jabs and Jeering
People may run things including racketeering;
Make jabs with and remarks that are jeering;
Making a threat,
They will regret;
Into darkness they did end up disappearing.
Jim Horn
Those Who Do Dilly Dally
There are those who often do dilly dally;
Awkwardly around them a group will rally;
Makes no sense,
For those dense;
Did end up buried down deep in a valley.
Jim Horn
You are right. Why throw ut a bunch of
individual when you can read all of them
together on one page. From here on I
will be consolidating all of my poems.
Someone else deserves a turn at
being recognized. What I have realized
is I have written over 5,000 poems and
am number 3 compared to over 30,000
other poets. None of my poems are in the
top 100 most popular and famous ones.
My only hope is that my poems will inspire
other poets to write more poems so have
at it. Either James Serious Mysterious Horn
or James Thesarious Hilarious Horn. Take
your pick