Long Holidays Poems
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All of my children did come home
One at a time, almost like a metronome.
It made me happy, as I felt needed
Yet, when they wanted advice it was never heeded.
I love them all with my entire being,
Yet, not long it felt like they were fleeing.
They are now adults with lives of their own
However, for their past, some refused to let me atone.
My youngest one always acted entitled,
Then when he started working he made me feel vital.
Then one by one, as their lives moved on, it seemed they forgot about me.
Only on holidays or my birthdays did they act around me with glee.
Once festivities were at an end they found a reason to flee
They always seemed to prove my fear that they were there out of duty.
Then my youngest started calling me every day to say I love you
I started thinking I was forgiven for all he had gone through.
I was soon to learn how wrong I was
As he started rumors, making a buzz.
And soon most believed these rumors so heinous
He was showing everyone he was a Janus.
Somehow the others believed him
It left me feeling my future with my kids was grim.
Then one son came to me to talk about my actions
Talking to me and making it look like we were doing transactions.
Yet, he was telling me the things my youngest had said
Then he gave me an ultimatum that led me to feel as if my heart had bled.
The very next day, I woke up to a message from my other mother
Another lie told by my youngest made me feel like he wanted to separate me from his brother.
Now that son and daughter will not returns text or a call
Making me think they believe the lies one and all.
All because I was tired of my youngest using me
Threatening me that in my life he no longer would be.
All because I told him until he could talk to the respect I deserve
Somehow my telling him this must have struck a nerve.
Now he is trying to turn all his siblings against me
Using lies and my fears in order for me to beg and plea.
There are two he cannot turn
Oh, how it must make him burn.
He is not being an adult, but a deceitful child.
I am praying my other two can help me get reconciled
To the two who believed their younger brother
And have them understand what is going on with their mother.
Until that time comes, I sit here and wait
I have to leave this all to God and to fate.
© Kristy De La Keur Scoville
I will sometimes be asked how it came about
that my children have one set of grandparents,
and I know just what you are thinking now,
but hear me out, an all of this will make sense.
I’m explaining this for one final time
to put all these blasted rumors to rest,
the odd position my family is in
did not come about due to incest!
It began when I, Armond Carruthers,
fell in love with a beautiful girl.
Her name is Denise, and she is my light
in this crazy and much-confused world.
See the two of us were high school sweethearts,
been together since our junior year,
managed to build something that could outlast
the blind passion of our teenage years.
But during our freshman year of college
we decided that we couldn’t wait,
maybe we were just a pair of young fools,
but we went ahead and set the date.
Now this is the point the story gets strange,
both of us were raised by one parent alone,
my father died in a car accident
when I was six, mom raised me on her own.
Denise’s mother was out of her life,
she cheated on her dad when Denise was four,
her father George did all the upbringing,
he gave her all of his hear and then more.
We were just nineteen when we got engaged,
her dad George was a fit forty-one,
my mother, Kristen, was just thirty-nine,
wanted to do something nice for her son.
She was us to focus on our studies,
and would gladly help plan the wedding,
that she and George would make things run smoothly,
we both thanked her, and let them do their thing.
They both must have seen something they liked,
though neither one of us realized it then,
they kept meeting up to ‘plan the wedding’
again...and again...and again…
All this time we just thought it was nice
that these future in-laws were getting along,
figured it would make holidays easy,
you can say we both read that one wrong.
Of course they did not tell us all this,
and the wedding was done in fine style,
neither realizing that for two months now
my mother knew that she was with child…
When three months later it became obvious,
both our parents sheepishly let us know,
to say we were stunned does not describe it,
but later to the courthouse we did go.
And as if this surprise wasn’t enough,
when my mind struggled to make some sense,
I received even more life-changing news,
my Denise was also now pregnant…
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
Un-revelling Rivalry
Who am I to speak of historical rivalry I cannot contest
all the clever myriad truths conjectures and refutations
about the two masters the two foes with huge presence
when history acclaim appreciation is subjective personal
up front and back stage up all artistic ins downs and outs
My parachute helicopter mind wants to give first prize to
to Leonardo for free flying inventive rebellious mind and
he helped me with anatomy dissecting corpses and all I can
still smell fragrant formalin preserving miraculous tissues
when I had to learn those medical terms and cut into flesh
But then Michelangelo shares my middle name though I am
no angel but who can proclaim that I may never be biased in
associate vein in quite shallow post-post-modernist anticipation
when the great man also painted in narrative personification
Deluge Drunken Noah Creation of Adam Madonna and Child
Okay family man that I am I resort to holidays with my children
and am so sad to admit that we never so far made it to Rome
sacrilegious or not but how could I pass The Last Judgement
when seeing Sistine Chapel’s altar would alter the verdict
of Ignoramus with leisure time spent on Normandy’s beaches
Well now I recall that trip to Euro Disney when we walked
from Tour Eiffel to the Louvre where I temporarily lost my
little boy Moritz and almost my temper when the devious villain
hid from the artwork was sulking because the Mona Lisa was
so small and he was so tiny could not see amongst masses of
tourists the smile and metaphorical writing on canvas and wall
So in all earnest while giving a toss I could-would have to resort
to tossing a coin in regards to whom why how and whenever the
rivals could measure up to history my history my story and life
Even and because of my whacky literal critical stance and my
stanzas bordering on mockery heresy subtle subjectification
you must remember that I have one tongue and two cheeks
And while seemingly ridiculing an important theme of historical
prominence I still bow in awe admiration yet lodge my own angle
perspective whereas the two grand master’s problem was not
what I would behold in my eyes and my soul in full radiance but
that they chose not to consider each others contrasting beauty
as compliment complement Leonardo Angelo Michel Da Vinci
01st September 2016
It is easy to forget that in the main we die only seven times more slowly than our dogs.
Jim Harrison (1937 - 2016) - The Road Home
First Bobo, a cocker spaniel,
I remember only from pictures.
He ran way before we moved
to Canada when I was four.
Second Kizzie, a cockapoo, Mom got
when the family moved to Texas.
I only saw her on holidays and such
as I stayed in Canada. She lived
long and was with the folks when they
retired to British Columbia and was
into her teens before they put her down.
Third Sadie, 3/4 Newfie - 1/4 Bernese,
a big black dog, with a big appetite
for apples from a special tree and
the socks our daughter, a toddler
cast off around the house.
I still chuckle remembering
the scattered remnants lining
the farm lane that spring.
She was over ten, and in pain
when we put her down.
Her ashes remain in an urn in the garage.
Fourth Rizzo, a fencejump cross of
Gordon Setter and Belgian Shepherd,
my wife and daughter got him from
a friend, while I was off on a canoe trip.
A headstrong dog who would take off after
a scent or car to return when he pleased.
On leash, he'd almost pull you off your feet.
With age, he grew territorial and
after the third biting incident, I took
him to the vet to be put down.
But she gave him to an older lady
with a fenced yard who put thirty
pounds on him and he lived to
fourteen or fifteen.
Fifth Hailey, who was five when
we got her from the shelter.
A Border Collie - Shepherd cross
and definitely our daughter's dog.
She'd bounce foxlike through the fields
and on evening beach walks, loved
to fetch sticks we'd toss into the waves.
She was over fifteen and failing when
we put her down, days before
our daughter's wedding.
No urn this time.
Sixth Xena, a Shepherd-Collie cross
and beyond doubt a princess
but more sweetheart than warrior.
She has the canine equivalent
of ADD and a bark first policy
when something new appears
and will retrieve sticks or balls
until your arm falls off .
At over eight, she's running strong.
Seventh, Sam, a mostly Shepherd mix,
she's our most 'rescue' rescue dog,
smart, loyal and obedient
a wantobe lap dog with a feral streak.
She responds in kind to aggressive
dogs and we muzzle her on walks.
Now five she'll be with us for a
good while to continue the tally.
Haiku Translations II
Illuminated by the harvest moon
smoke is caught creeping
across the water...
Hattori Ransetsu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Fanning its tail flamboyantly
with every excuse of a breeze,
the peacock!
Masaoki Shiki, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Waves row through the mists
of the endless sea.
Masaoki Shiki, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
I hurl a firefly into the darkness
and sense the enormity of night.
—Kyoshi Takahama, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
As girls gather rice sprouts
reflections of the rain ripple
on the backs of their hats.
—Kyoshi Takahama, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Unaware it protects
the hilltop paddies,
the scarecrow seems useless to itself.
—Eihei Dogen Kigen, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Ebb-tide:
everything we stoop to collect
slips through our fingers ...
—Chiyo-ni, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Fading memories
of summer holidays:
the closet’s last floral skirt...
—Michael R. Burch
Scandalous tides,
removing bikinis!
—Michael R. Burch
Haughty moon,
when did I ever trouble you,
insomnia’s co-conspirator!
—Michael R. Burch
Ascendance Transcendence
by Michael R. Burch
Breaching the summit
I reach
the horizon’s last rays.
Moore or Less
by Michael R. Burch
for Richard Moore
Less is more —
in a dress, I suppose,
and in intimate clothes
like crotchless hose.
But now Moore is less
due to death’s subtraction
and I must confess:
I hate such redaction!
no foothold
by michael r. burch
there is no hope;
therefore i became invulnerable to love.
now even god cannot move me:
nothing to push or shove,
no foothold.
so let me live out my remaining days in clarity,
mine being the only nativity,
my death the final crucifixion
and apocalypse,
as far as the i can see ...
The Red State Reaction
by Michael R. Burch
Where the hell are they hidin’
Sleepy Joe Biden?
And how the hell can the bleep
Do so much, in his SLEEP?
Red State Reject
by Michael R. Burch
I once was a pessimist
but now I’m more optimistic
ever since I discovered my fears
were unsupported by any statistic.
Keywords/Tags: haiku, nature, moon, water, sea, night, rain, dark, memories, tides, insomnia
How I loved spending a week of the summer holidays with my grandparents. Gramps would come and pick me up in his old pick- up truck, dad would bundle my suitcase into the back and I’d be on my way. Gramps would whistle as we wended our way along the winding country lanes until we reached their stone cottage. Grandma would be waiting for us to appear at the door, she always be wearing her checked apron which was flecked with flour. She’d scoop me up in her arms, and carry me into the cosy kitchen where the aroma of cooling gingerbread lingered in the air.
wheat from the old mill
freshly ground into white flour
grandma’s been baking
I would spend many hours in the garden with gramps, in the spring I’d helped him to plant lots of vegetable seeds and now summer had arrived they were ready to be harvested. Gramps would give me a ride in his old wooden red wheelbarrow, the wheel would squeak as he pushed me along the uneven ground and I would squeal with delight when we went over the bumps. In the vegetable garden we would pick perfect pea pods that were fit to burst with juicy green peas, bright orange carrots and creamy cauliflowers which reminded me of brains. All the produce would be placed into the wheelbarrow and I would help gramps to trundle it along the path to the kitchen door. Grandma would be busy in the kitchen and I’d help by podding the peas ready for our evening meal. I loved the popping sound of the pods as I pressed them to release the shiny peas.
from a tiny seed
colourful vegetables grow
harvest time arrives
Many years have elapsed, and sadly gramps and grandma are no longer with us. My father inherited their little stone cottage, which was eventually handed down to me. I now spend happy hours in the garden with my own grandson, and I’m passing on the gardening tips that gramps taught me when I was a small child. The red wooden wheelbarrow which I loved riding in is long gone; but I replaced it with a sturdy one made of shiny red plastic. My grandson loves riding in it to the vegetable patch and I love to hear him squeal with delight as I once did when I rode the same bumpy path.
the red wheelbarrow
reminds me of my grandpa
precious memories
Fiction write
For Your Poetry Journal Poetry Contest
Contest
Sponsored by Dear Heart a.k.a Broken Wings
7/28/18
though avast percentage
of Stone Temple Pilots, she push peep pulls
viz vernacular speaking population
to most pious take as gospel
every word in religious tomes
their collective soul asylum polestar,
and doth decree important doctrines
with especial accord
equal insignificance applied toward
Judeo-Christian holidays across the board
thus easter tis no exception to the golden rule,
where santa claus reached an a chord
follow auspicious signs alit in the night sky
shaped like a drinking gourd
perhaps amassing plentiful harvests
upon hamlets strewn
across scantily populated Earth
asper cornucopia exhibited secret hoard
sharing plentiful Horn
(and Hard art learned lesson)
to stave off barren ness, ignored
going forward seeding nascent
March Madness with help from Lord
and Tailor as midwife hoot
tended Ville Nova moored
by Wildcat fanatics, who unbelievably
espied heavens cleft asunder
and golden rays poured
while collective spectators loudly screamed
akin to the soundgarden
of ferocious cats roared
witnessed history scored
earning players knighted
with Excalibur sword
thence entire team handed
Taj Mahal shaped award
which aforementioned ass hide lacks, cuz zit
happens tubby April Fool's joke
thus above iterated verses somehow
needs just a little bit of relevance to yoke
thine admitted ambivalent reaction to sports,
yea aye pay figurative toke
hen to Rabbinic, generic fanatic primal
tribal village people clan destine woke
and swinging focus of this poem
back toward Religious perp ported berth
when (sans antiquity) trumpet signaled
thus, any superstitions blew away dearth
when distant shofar heard
in every home and hearth
anticipating arrival of the Easter Bunny,
who brings mirth
and hop poly distributes sweet treats,
which children as grown adults,
no matter necessity for teeth to be removed
the sugary over indulgence wool worth
today thee American Dental Association chastises candy
manufacturers bandying more weight
gaining deadly, debauched, and decadent, trait
then adultery verboten fruit to sate
hash-tagged reprobate.
Chosen to be a perfectionist
all things in order
not out of order
the pantry is orderly
the shelves are amazing
the dishes are placed
neatly arranged with a homemade cake
perfectly amongst the race
clean clean clean away
no time wasted, non-worried faces
this is right, that is wrong
a perfect home
If it means being alone
straighten out items, neatness all around
when leaving, must come back to the cleanness
orderly you see, nothing is thrown around
If it is, you have to get down
seemed perfect in all that was done
the atmosphere is right
each day and night
shoes come off at the door
sinks are wiped down after repeated usage
no time for disorderly, nor items misplaced
a day to relax, some days are amazing
the perfectionist, having some patience
what a view being seen
overall, it's clean clean clean
neatness in appearance
nothing out of line
even the clock on the wall
cannot be the wrong time
a picture that is crooked
has to be straighten
don't keep them waiting
Some things are not outdated
not a lent on the floor
that cannot definitely be ignored
a life with the perfectionist
as time definitely goes by
sometimes asking, why? why? why?
the dinner invite, extended settings
just a piece of the delicious apple pie
the hand slightly was hit twice
barely hurt, a smile with love
no, not now, that is the dessert
just wait for the appetizers, the entrees
fancy elegant dinner plates are placed
gold silverware, decors, red flowers, and more
the table is so extraordinary
the view is so nice
the room is full of peace, love, and joy
If you're messy, you might not be invited anymore
oh well, the day has gone
all family, friends, and others went home
until the holidays come again
invitations are amongst limited
maybe next time the host will be the guest
and all, figuring out the rest.
The perfectionist.
Note:
Sometimes a perfectionist will change some guidelines.
Faith, Prayers. Jesus. Grace.
Can this be me? You?
orderly, clean, & neat.
Some people have said that cleaning can be mind relaxing. Also, a form of exercise because you're always moving. After the results, you can see the finishing.
An atmosphere that is suitable to live in.
Not long ago my son and I had a brief conversation about cars. Perhaps the car talk was just a part of our complete conversation about the weather, the news, politics, and sports. I don't recall, but it could have been a serious conversation about car purchasing. Things were going well until it came to the point where he asked me how many cars I have owned.
For the first time, I was invited or would challenged be a better word, to think about and count the cars and trucks that I have owned over the past 45 years. I found the total rather interesting and also a bit surprising. I may have even forgotten a car or two, but my best count came to 19.
I must tell you that those 19 vehicles represented 7 major car makers and comprised a total of 8 different colors, and not one of them was red. I doubt that I would ever purchase a red car.
I must say that my wife looks lovely in red, and I have often told her so. I like red apples; I grow red roses; and for obvious reasons, I simply refuse to purposely run red lights. Red is a most beautiful color, and I wear red during the Christmas holidays. However, except for tee shirts, it is not a color that I have learned to wear. Maybe someday I will be more into red, but I'll have to think about it.
05282017 PS Contest, Red, Mystic Rose
A very touching version of Clement Moore's 'Twas the Night Before Christmas. A warm tribute to all dispatchers & police officers everywhere.
T’was the night before Christmas, and all throughout comm.
We sat at our consoles, expecting it calm
the Dispatchers with their headsets, the CAD in high gear.
I looked at my computer, and the phones waiting to hear.
I started my dinner, the microwave to ding,
of course at that time a 911 call did ring
An intruder was the call, per the person on the phone
My dinner was interrupted by the ole’ hot tone.
The address was given, and with a flash officers flew
their cars going code-3, Their lights red & blue
Stay on with the caller, We need more was their request,
Typical, telling us how to do our job, was our quiet jest
Now this being Christmas, Santa was hard at his job
He could never imagine, being accused of intent to rob
2 cookies from the plate, and milk from the glass
While giving out gifts, he didn’t expect any “sass”
He first heard the growl, and then the dog gave a bark
Everyone was out of the bed, quick as a lark
Santa heard them start to shuffle, and knew it had begun
When someone yelled I have a gun, and we’ve called 911.
Officers set up a perimeter, and a command post
They had a K-9 enroute, this suspect is toast.
The Dispatcher remained calm; kept the caller on the phone
Obtained a description of the man, let them know they weren’t alone
Dressed in red and white, his belt and boots all in black.
Santa said I will give you all coal, plus I’m taking your things back.
Officer’s then gave a code-4, just a man giving out toys
We figured with this shift it would be Taser deployed.
Our blood pressure came down, still maybe up 10
The family went back to bed, to sleep once again.
Santa said thanks to the officers, with their badges and guns,
He said a special thanks to those who calmly answered 911.
Thus I re-heated my dinner it was only 2 hours old
But working in dispatch, food is better eaten sometimes cold.
Santa flew over the comm. center, later that night
And we heard him yell out, as he flew out of sight.
Thank you for answering all of those 911 calls
Your pride and professionalism make Holidays Merry for all.
May you all have a safe and wonderful Christmas Holiday.