Long In memoriam Poems
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Long past war’s fading drumbeats
And beyond the miasmic mists of time
Run undercurrents that displace peace
And fancied futures hoped sublime.
Once staccato beats of war drums abate
Far from war graves and their dead,
We find loved ones’ dismal fates
And lonely lives now filled with dread.
Soldier’s sojourn in the dash dividing
Dates on their eroding tombstones
Remind us that their lives, though exciting,
Ended not with hope but love unsown.
Once draftee’s dreams become forgotten
And their past romances are long since lost,
All that remains is what God left them
And scars they earned at frightful costs.
We too, wonder what will become of us
And we hope to pass our test divine
Once life’s abating hoofbeats leave us
And we’re enveloped by the fog of time.
Who will remember who we were?
Who will proclaim, “I KNEW THEM WELL?”
Who will stop and silently ponder
What our tombstone epitaphs fail to tell.
From the very beginning
you were apart of my life.
Throughout my days on earth
you have been my shinning light.
The one I could always go to on days
whenever things didn’t feel right.
When my vision began to fade
you gave me sight.
Like a lighthouse
your words of wisdom guided me along
keeping me mentally strong.
Of course I had other sources of wisdom;
but yours is one of its kind.
For as your first grandchild our bond was
Unique, from the days when
I began to crawl you helped me to
Stand on my feet as the young man
I am when you stretched out your hands.
When I needed an extra mile you gave me two.
Whenever I was hungry you always had food,
and no matter what I went through
you were always in my corner to let me know
how mature I grew.
LOVE YOU GRANDMA
Give me a false hope..
By saying it is still a dream..
In any language
Even you are allowed to scream
The smile which was not fake..
Even after making a mistake..
That widespread smile
The loads of joy..
Are now only left as rememberance
When despair was not allowed in entrance
I want you to say that
all what I'm facing now
Is a dream..
Shout, gasp or scream
But let me be in a dream
Let me be in a delusion..
Maybe full of confusion
But atleast it's better
Like former from latter
'A long lost good time'... I can't forget
When there was no regret..
Neither complains nor mistakes..
Were a part of my life
'Those days' which I'm missing now..
Praying for the 'present one' to be a dream
And when I wake up..
It would be again 'that time' which was lost somewhere
And 'those teachings of my elders'
'Those days' where I wished to let that time pass
In order to get older
and leave the category of being in a small class
And now when finally left..
Feels like I'm not anymore blessed!
In the hurricane of term called 'age'
Maybe I left my home which I felt like a cage..
Has left me at the stage..
Where I'm begging to be in a delusion
Want every moment which does not feels like part of 'those days'
to be a dream!!
Shout, gasp or scream..
But let me be in a dream!
Where the railroad tracks bend,
as night gave way to dawn,
lonely short pines and sage bough'd low,
wind singing in morning dew' song.
Her words drift off in echo'd calamity
warmth lost in a familiar revelry
still see fit to say, please stay..
try your best and don't forget
you'll always belong to me.
Way up in darkest blue,
lone somber plane flies on
leaving a trailing taunt.
Loved by one who knew
what it meant bein' strong,
and what it is to be lonely
in strength..
with a heart kept at bay
and always at arm's length.
Her words echo ever on
like ripples in a pond..
go on.
Live your dreams
just as I promise to
be the best you can be..
just not with me.
(in memoriam, Eugene Lawler, d. January 29, 2012, aged 83 years)
--- Note: "The singing machine" is a not so tongue-in-cheek reference to Gene and his penchant for singing whenever and wherever he wished, as well as to his karaoke
equipment and his nickname at bars that featured karaoke nights. ---
You fancied yourself a singer,
and indeed you were.
What songs we heard from you
you had made your own,
and you gave them freely
to all who would listen
(though we were just a few
who were, at times, inattentive.)
Time and remembrance may color
the images you left behind,
and the sentimental songs
you sang (and scribed on silver disks
for us to hear when, and if, we will)
may prod us to recall
your willful, dour demeanor
which could bloom into benevolence
or darken further in stormy sneers
at tardiness, or at perceived
maltreatment of any sort.
You were your own arbiter of behavior
who kept before you expectations
of what was appropriate, for yourself
and for us, the others of your kind.
We were few (still fewer now),
who flocked together on occasion
to celebrate, in quiet fashion,
whatever anniversary we chose --
perhaps your passing date
will become another to be marked.
And your voice, reproduced mechanically,
amplified, may remind us of our loss,
and of yours.
Seventy years since he died
An artist with so much to give
A talented, troubled man
But his music still lives.
He used simple words
So easy to understand
Presented to the world fronting
His Drifting Cowboys band.
His words and music had
Such an influential role
Crossing all genres from
Country, Rock Punk and Soul
He’s been part of my life
For more than sixty years
In times of happiness
Stress, sorrow and tears.
He died far too young like
Many artists of today
Perhaps for their talent that’s
A price they have to pay.
But these many years later
His music thrive and lives on
So, perhaps in some ways
He’s never really been gone.
Seventy years since he died
A tormented soul laid to rest
But even to this day he’s still
Acclaimed one of the best.
Perhaps so long as his music
Exists in somebody’s head
Can we really say that
That person is really dead.
We first met at O’Charlies with her tears and my ears.
We had attended Sunday School together - we joined
another for a couple years. When we returned, her spouse
had died. Proverbial arms were already ‘round her sweet soul.
She braved returning to church, knowing we’d see her.
A wreck, she loved that man with everything; her source
of strength, he was. They had planned to serve together.
He had his lovely voice, his guitar - they’d read the bible
with the seniors at a small center, even to memory-impaired.
But, this assignment was given to this heartbroken soul,
stepping up as a leader, with encouragement. Eager
to do her best, she gained a following. I served with her
for awhile, after our meeting for lunch at her favorite place.
Back to O’Charlies, Sue’s tears shattered upon the table,
the floor, my shoulder. I was wet with her pure grief.
It was my first time seeing someone so wrecked from
losing their dearly departed. I had seen others, but only
as a freeze-frame. Sue allowed me in and I loved her dearly.
You’ve probably guessed, she has left her place on earth.
Exciting that she’s joined her beloved Al in heaven. Found
out about her passing only yesterday, but she died in May.
Still processing the death of this saint, who loved her grands,
her pet, her church, her friends and most certainly the Lord.
She was the one who would show up with goodies, specially
baked chocolate chip cookies. Bravely and faithfully attended
Sunday School, on Thursday evenings, when she could.
I know I heard God’s voice telling me to grab her hand,
bring her up front to praise the Lord, as the invitation
had been made. She was not in my direct eyesight, but
I could feel her heartbeat. How interesting that it was
Valentine’s Day and my husband was sick at home.
So I grabbed Sue’s hand and we walked up front to praise
together. With tears in her eyes, she asked “Kim, how
did you know?” I told her that Al was with us, we are all
part of the communion of saints. I held her heart, and I
was blessed by a friendship that transcends time and space.
Rest in peace, my sweet friend! I will see you one future day.
Tears…
6/22/2023
As our ancestors walked the lands with the winds blowing from the mountain tops so they boldly haunted the animals with just a spear and a shooting pipe. Not for pleasure but to feed and feast from the lands they owned.Our paths have met the Wildes of beast but with conviction our enemies was met with strength of the running warrior. As nature was our soft embrace we heard a enemy from miles away. , warning us of dangerous lurking on our lands. Like a shooting star we ran and met our enemy's with bold and courageous hearts. . Eating the foods that nature provided not to much but just for strength. Now our lands have been defiled by one and all who takes our pride, stripping us from our lands to give us none but grieving hearts as our ancestral rights have been revoked from being the sons and daughters of the South. So my friends don't be fooled for soon our voices will respond to claim our ancestral lands which was given from birth as a prize. Come one and all stand together so that the lands can be returned to the khoi and San and their voices echoes from tree to once again one nation alliance can be the treasurer of of this lands. From the mountains to the seas and claim our ancestral home for our people to stand tall as table mountain embracing the visitors not with strength as our goodness have been seen.
This was once a sea of mud
Where thousands bled!
Before it reverted to!
A field of Flanders Poppy Red.
Do lines of ghostly squaddies!
Plough through ethereal mire!
In an endless quest to!
Charge the enemy barbed wire.
Do Mill Bombs explode!
As machine guns bark!
Sending many of the brave!
Into death's final dark.
How many bodies sank
Into that glutinous paste
Just futile victims of
A futile war's waste.
Do those shades fight bravely
Or do they fight with despair
Knowing it was sheer folly
That they were ever there.
The Flanders Poppy thrives
It's vivid scarlet red
An enduring tribute to those
Many brave but wasted dead.
And the massed white tombstones
In their precise lines and ranks
Are tended with love and care
In sincere but inadequate thanks
17 October 1916 the Battle of The Somme enterd its 109th day and had 32 more to run. It lasted 141 day in total. It saw the first use of the tank in battle, and extensive use of air power.
Casualties: British and Empire: 420,000, French: 200,000, German: between 434,000 and 500,000.
It was classed as “inconclusive.”
100 Years On I feel like crying/
they were the club’s power couple
Fred was the owner of the Gaslight Lounge
where men showed they were men
and guns settled things in disturbing ways
Shelly had walked in on a Tuesday six months ago
with her azure blue eyes and her winsome ways
Fred played it nonchalant, acted cool towards her
we bartenders knew it meant he was insanely interested
Shelly has one of those stories she is not sharing
we did not know a thing about her, except that she was on his wavelength
if Fred wore yellow, Shelly would appear wearing the same exact color
she had a second sense about him; it was uncanny and unnatural
they dillydallied around each other for a few months
we all saw the night they fell in love; it was kismet
as if they had lived several lifetimes together,
they came together like two flames of the same bonfire
they are together now, intense and passionate
both ready to pull a gun on anybody and everybody
we bartenders serve them quickly
ready to duck from flying bullets or sparks at a second’s notice
They are volatile up and ready for action.
Gangster and moll, twin flames,
they have shot up this place twice
in the last two weeks.