Long Handing out Poems
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17 Miles From the Nearest Town
David J Walker
Circles of crop row quilts
Displayed from the air
The flair of a County Fair
Handing out
Blue ribbons
everywhere
Cotton lint fills the air
with Fall
It was all
we would know
For sure in
A Universe of its own making
Growing
Watering holes
In a burning land
Of gas station taverns and
Brass rows of drop-off
post office box tops
From a distance you may hear
The bellowing calf
Calling for its mother
Or the wheels of an 18-wheeler
Overloaded on the Farm to Market road
Or the sound of the spigot on the
Center pivot irrigation well
All is well
17 miles from the nearest
Town
Since I was just a little girl
With my red hair done in a braid
My face was full of “polka dots”
And a point to tease and degrade.
Handing out snack, my pre-school teach
Seemed so very pretty and kind
‘Til she said dots, I threw my milk,
Ending with smacks on my behind!
But this polka dot hooligan
Was so far from being reformed
Talk of my many “sun’s kisses”
And the sun ran just as I stormed!
Of course now I’m a grown woman
And should have much better control
Unfortunately, that’s not true
I hospitalized the last troll!
Today I sit in custody
But there ain’t no tears that I wipes
‘Cuz I really HATE polka dots
But I don’t mind these prison stripes!
January 9, 2019
Contest Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Last year I was assigned to two schools.
I had school C Monday through Thursday.
I had an M school on Fridays
I am an elementary school counselor
A group of girls wanted to see me all the time.
One asked to see me three times the last day of school.
Let’s call her Marvel.; she did not have problems
She just needed a place to go and talk her heart out.
Last night we had back to school night.
I saw Marvel toward the end of handing out popsicles.
Come here, I told her. I have good news.
I said “Guess what? I am here five days!”
Her face fell. She asked “Only five days?”
Five days a week, I told her.
She squealed, leaped in the air,
Skipped a happy circle and gave me a giant hug.
Forget social distancing.
Grit in her eyes beaming fortitude of vibes
Powers her dash from one end to the other
Handing out drinks: brandy, whiskey, beer;
Serving high rollers and surly poor-souls
Where lights are flashing as machines jingle
When luck adjudicates winners and losers.
Watch her essence of fiery determination
Fueling her steps, gathering her strength,
As she churns numbers quickly in her head:
Grocery, rent, money for mother’s meds;
And some she’ll spare for her father today.
Hurriedly she sprints when her shift ends
Examining faces torn by ills, unwell, hapless
Under the bridge, by the train station,
Recalling childhood’s happier days within
Sound of his soft voice, calling her princess.
Abruptly she freezes, recollecting the scene,
Standing like a milestone on edge of the street,
Lips quivering, eyes tearing, pausing to forgive him
For abandoning them in a reckless charade
When suddenly a child became a parent…
So much about living she has learned since,
But not much about how to bury the dead.
May 11, 2020
HM: Brian's Select 8 Contest
No matter how silly you think it is
Tell us your favourite dream
There's nothing that can surprise us
Heard lots of tales and schemes!
How about one where you're flying
Surveying the country below
Maybe you're ruler of a distant land
With a magic wand that glows!
Or what if you could be the captain
Of a great ocean going liner
A clown in a colourful marching parade
Could there be anything finer?
Bet you haven't thought of this one
A drummer in a rock 'n roll band
Or how about a pitcher for the Yankees
A lifeguard all muscled and tanned!
Have you ever wished you were Santa
Handing out Christmas prizes
Or an opera singer like Pavarotti
A super hero with many disguises!
I guess all of this just goes to prove
No matter how hard you scheme
It's best to be just the person you are
After all, dreams are only dreams!
© Jack Ellison 2015
Stuff on my mind has been puzzling me.
Like why have I been one of the lucky ones.
When they were handing out the happy stuff,
was I at the head of the line?
Was it my enthusiasm that made the difference?
For most of my life I've been this fortunate dude,
but for one exception, the passing of my first wife Linda.
Linda was such a loving soul,
a truly unique lady with a heart of gold.
She finally succumbed after a long battle
with that dreaded scourge, breast cancer.
With the help of Cathie, my second wife,
I realized life goes on even though at the time
I really didn't care one way or the other.
But the human spirit is very resilient
and we struggle on.
Aside from that very sad time, my life has been a hoot.
Laughter has always been key in my life.
There is so much unhappiness and tragedy in the world,
to survive, we must take a “c'est la vie” attitude.
I guess the bottom line to all of this is,
live for today and tomorrow will take care of itself
Now that surely makes sense to this old dude!
© Jack Ellison 2015
Take a church full of sinners with issues galore,
each needing profoundly the grace of the Lord.
Some trapped in addiction, some weighed down in sin,
some struggling with faith, some who tried but gave in.
Some filled with anger and some with regret,
some who cannot forgive, but there’s one group I fret -
the judgmental crowd. They make it so tough,
thinking they have no sin or that they’re good enough.
And I wish that were all but it’s not for I find,
they poison the whole for they’re willfully blind.
Doing all that they must to protect the charade,
ranking sins amongst others and handing out shame.
Handcrafting a culture that turns out to be,
in direct opposition to what sinners need.
A place to be open, a place to confess,
a place to find comfort, a place to find rest.
A place to find Christ and the healing He gives.
A place to start over, but somehow this lives
in the culture of church after church I observe.
I guess human nature just can’t be deterred.
For it seems to be common despite where I go -
the part poisons all, no one stops it and so
the judgmental crowd wins and history repeats
where they end up the only ones… left in the seats.
Surfacing with gasping breaths,
as subtle as exhaling whispers
Subtle as flutter-by touches, I felt it,
and that is how I noticed you.
a ghrá! Love!
And once I saw you spiralling through Space,
Lifetimes came crashing down on top of me.
There is no wall in a world that can hide you,
no form that can keep you in,
There is no key to fit the unlocked door,
there is no map to the unknown kin.
That is why you are aching,
Longing
deeply in your soul.
Your purpose is so pure I can barely take it
You do not need a key!
Don’t you know?
Each awakening I witness is intense;
deeply loved, beautiful, and
Soulful.
Shocking the core to Life with visions;
confusion and fear can be a spoonful.
It is the time for Recognition and Remembrance
Cramming your Being into a small temple of skin
Open your eyes, beautiful darling,
your mission Here is very clear.
[Yes, I am a Welcome Committee,
if there ever was one, who knows?]
Tales are told of who we are,
songs are sung about our existence
Poetry?
Oh, yes, poetic truths are written,
trying to lure us out
It’s been lived for, but also died for,
This Love.
That is why we are here, dear Kindred.
We're creating the Dawn of a New Day.
Meeting Awakening Souls, one at a time
- weaving the remedy against Nothingness.
We are not handing out keys.
There never was a spoon,
you know?
No, no...
We are pulling the veil for clarity,
allowing the Unfolding to occur
The door is never locked,
and Love is never force-fed, see?
Like legends of Old,
the myths, and the rumors;
envisioned by many,
yet only assigned to the few.
Now, the stars are on fire,
the Solar system is realigning,
It seems that Time is here, Love,
it's True.
Being Anointed Vessels is just this,
we're not more important than the next human,
but we are keeping the oil safe on this Journey,
Illuminating Love, Vibrating Love,
Being Love.
Tá an-dáimh againn le chéile
[We're kindred spirits]
Remember now?
There are things that you will hear only once or twice, and if you are wise, you will treasure them for a lifetime. And again, there are things you will hear time and time again, and if you are wise, you will value and never take them lightly. In my case, both things attached themselves and stuck to me like glue.
For example, at our church, I filled in for our head usher one Sunday. Standing at the main entry, greeting and handing out bulletins to attendees as they walked in, one gentleman said to me, "You are no Al Berry". I smiled in agreement with him and must have said to myself, "You sure got that right". I had learned long ago that Al was so well-loved, because Al always loved so well. Hearing a statement like that is rare, because knowing a person like Al is also rare.
On one occasion that I will never forget, I greeted Al at the entry and said, "It's good to see you, Al". His reply to me was so real and genuine and spoke volumes to my heart. I don't know if I had ever heard it the way Al said it. You see, Al has fought many battles with illness, and sometimes he was very near 'death's door'. Moreover, like the morning dew, Al has always been faithful, always bouncing back. Like apples of gold in pictures of silver*, Al spoke fitting words in reply when he said, "It's good to be seen".
745am070320PS*Proverbs 25:11
Update 92020: Al passed away a few days ago. Though I will not see Al again
in person, he shall ever be within my mind.
Karen Windle roughly on par...
with being a miniature poodle size dogsend
Apartment B44 one bedroom unit
at Highland Manor low income facility
housing older folks convenient starting point,
to launch poem and invite reader(s)
reason(s) without rhyme
why yours truly (me)
chose to express heartfelt gratitude
toward resident Karen Windle,
which named individual most likely unknown
across world wide web
(hmm... maybe methinks perchance
possibly ye did sound her out courtesy radar,
especially if thee dutiful patrol officer
generously handing out -
not necessarily) winning lottery tickets
within vicinity encompassing
University of Delaware.
We (myself and zee missus) inhabit
aforementioned single bedroom abode,
allows, enables and provides
convenient reference point
upon exiting our dime a dozen quarters
(housing near penniless occupants)
verily orient toward left of hallway,
no need to access global positioning satellite
leisurely amble short distance
just count three doors down on the left,
thee will espy name tag printed
small letters Karen Windle
her acquaintanceship we did kindle,
now greater value when measured with corn,
wheat, or other commodities
approximately equal to three bushels,
but varying in different regions.
Explanation whereby appreciation
toward Karen (spry firecracker, energetic,
diminutive, albeit frail looking gal)
materialized when series of unfortunate events
rendered me and mine spouse
without ready immediate access to automobile
near necessity within quaint enclave
identified as Schwenksville, Pennsylvania
affords absolute zero public transit,
hence necessity for chauffeur de jure arose,
whereby availability to shuttle us
found monetary compensation declined,
thus stymied intent regarding how I could
communicate sincere thankfulness
relieved when she would accept
poetic endeavor incorporating
best college try (mine) to alleviate
imposition if/when opportunity exists
to scrape meager money
and expect to sink a fortune
maintaining, insuring, fueling vehicle,
significant portion of social security (disability)
allocated to sustain reliability of car
dollar figure greater than buzzfeeding
caretaking, duties linkedin to
mental, physical, and spiritual health
concerning this aging baby boomer,
plus his counterpart approximately
previous couple dozen years.