Long Indelible Poems
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Sixty years have passed.
No one knew how to spell its name.
No one knew when it first opened.
It was forever, like the infernal summer heat.
It stands indelible at the end of my street,
at the end of my episodic hippocampus.
Everyone congregated at this cozy corner store,
this neighborhood fount for stories, jokes,
convenient food and cheap toys.
There were only a few shoplifters,
usually snarky boys slightly older than me.
They were never caught.
The guy behind the counter
never caught anything he didn’t want to see.
Perhaps the store’s namesake,
he worked slavishly, anxiously alone.
One frantic day, he spotted vomit on the floor.
Bolting into the backroom,
He returned with mop and pail
only to find the mess entirely missing.
Snickering, snarky boys hid their latex toy.
A harmless prank, some would say.
But somehow, in my tenth year
I felt sorrow for the overworked man.
Nothing ever changed.
It all lingered like the infernal summer heat,
the gripping stillness of eternal summer.
This neurotransmitter of neighborly connections,
This hub of gab and gossip,
Home to my first financial transactions,
Home to penny candy, bubblegum cards, and Mars bars.
Home to grape soda, Twinkies, and Wonder Bread.
No one knew how to spell its name.
No one knew when it permanently closed.
But the potent sugar-coated flashbacks
have lengthened my life.
Arduous agonizing affliction
doth unrelentingly assail...
aghast to exhale lest...lose
desperate clinging clutch
held by bloodied cracked fingernail
phantasmagoric tendrils constrict
stoppering me to whisper or wail
yawning abyss menacingly beseeches
hmm...release could immediately curtail
cumulative (lifetime's worth) travail
freefalling, pirouetting unnervingly,
unstoppably, unwaveringly... zipping
into infinite black hell hole ail
mince vanish as doth guilt - a hail
storm peppering psyche... jail
time for eternity excluded option
asper garden variety baby boomer male,
albeit the father of deux darling daughters,
the eldest (broke vow of silent communication),
she reached out after months long hiatus telltale
indications to accept genuine apology
her papa (me) rages against hurtfulness, he
affixed indelible psychological scars each travail
boomeranged backed to yours truly duress
during her impressionable years, she did rail
and rant previous conversation, the scale
innocent intelligent progeny, we begat
(myself and misses) financially ill prepared
to provide respectable accommodations
"dirt poor" status detrimental
with affluent MainLine
incomes luxe Lower Merion
living costs fateful design
neighbors cursed, ostracized, vilified...
unsightly unkempt property (i.e. unmanicured)
intolerant snobs didst malign
child welfare services called NOT to dine
but emphatic for papa and mama to align
dwelling safe and secure for minors
yes, I attest despicable living conditions
crowded house with Zison heirlooms
owners - malignant hoarders did confine
considerably reducing cubic feet,
they relations of spouse evicted us
ready to point carbine
at temple...quicker than noose
dead of winter 2010 near homelessness
relocated within "roach motel" decline
among our dynamics with offspring
livid with rage, asper an inferno no divine
comedy compounded by lascivious
behaviour - mine to hasten dateline
enduring helplessness, hardship
being alive plus brandishing knife
against self witnessed...I assign
poor marks as paternal parent,
who bemoans loathsome
impact...this papa gropes toward hotline!
In every man's dearest thoughts,
in his true and deepest self, this one thing draws breath.
In some, it blazes like a roaring flame,
indelible, unquenchable;
in others, the beast slumbers, mighty but patient -
biding its time for the precise moment to shine.
I speak of course, of how
inside each of us
there burns a pure pursuit;
that peculiar fondness of spirit
for one quest, one meaning,
one task.
Some are fated to glory,
to the skill and art of arms,
whether fell at heart or paragons of virtue;
to enslave and obtain,
or to liberate from pain -
such is the warrior's way.
Some seek guidance in divine light,
in the spreading of justice and peace,
balm and respite;
whether in a monastery, church, or abroad,
such healing souls cannot deny
the calling of the clergy.
Then there's always the craftsmen,
those masters of their hands
who turn base objects
into functional, sublime art;
in their chests beats
the heart of the artisan.
Still others are grasped
by love's ardent snare;
they worship at the altar
of affection and romance,
living and dying for their one and only,
life's boon companion.
It falls to some to voice their passions,
in words and phrases bent to their cause;
to spill their sentiments on the page
like colors on a canvas,
for others to partake of, so as
to quell their desire for sensation.
It is this last path on which I find fellowship,
with that ancient assemblage of poets;
my essence drifts into my musings,
flows with barely a whisper of a thought
into inspired expression,
the soul's manifestation.
According to their opportunity and inclination,
every man must one day find his pursuit,
'else live with regret and remorse
over a life unfulfilled;
for once known, his world is open -
ripe for the plucking, bare for the taking.
10-31-23
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Three Legged Table
Above the polished face of the petite gueridon
A crystal chandelier sparkles in dreamy hues
As one candlestick flickers in perfume,
One red rose dreams of minuets,
Upheld by gilded caryatides of innocence,
Draped maidens and daughters of Athens,
In salons where graceful reveries
Twirl in graceful circles
Around the teapoy’s edge.
Unmasked rhapsodies
Shimmer with the indelible mystery
Of one fleeting ambrosia midnight,
Glowing in an amber flush of reflection
With bittersweet rondos,
Immanent in lacy silhouettes
Of dulcet invitation,
To swell in crescendos of shadows,
Dancing butterflies mirrored in the table’s face.
M-emories that truly last
A-re those that leave indelible mark;
R-ecorded events are written
I-n the lightness or dark.
V-ery fine weather is one,
I-nclement clime is another;
L-onely time makes one cry, happy moment causes laughter.
E-very memory may return,
D-epending upon the thinker's way;
E-ven in dreams it reappears,
J-uly fifteenth sunny day.
E-ndless memories of the past may teach a lesson or two;
R-ight or wrong one may choose to decide about red or blue.
F-rom good to bad memories,
A-ll these suddenly come back;
R-ecalled in joy or sadness,
R-eminiscing they really attract.
A-nyone in the whole world
L-ives with trace of the past;
E-ither of the following,
S-weet or sour are memories that last.
*Kindred Spirits*
I am often labeled as possessing "special" needs, and while there lies a kernel of truth within that phrase, the needs which burn brightest in my core are no different than yours, dear friend. Just as you crave acceptance, I ache for it too; a longing that colors every sunrise and sunset I witness in this grand tapestry called life.
Like you, I dream of companionship forged through laughter and shared confidences, bonds that render the weight of solitude obsolete. And just as knowledge illuminates the path ahead for anyone brave enough to pursue it, I yearn for chances to learn and grow, to fill the wellspring of my mind with wisdom gained through experience and discovery.
In classrooms filled with desks of various sizes, I sit, eager to absorb lessons tailored to nurture my unique potential. Though some tasks prove elusive, my spirit remains undeterred, for I understand that progress is not measured solely by speed, but by the indelible steps we take towards becoming the best versions of ourselves.
Vroom vroom! The car stops to a halt.
Ooh! Dad’s home carrying him varieties of groceries.
Broom Broom! I sweep my room,
Collecting trash using a dustpan. Alas! The place is clean.
Vroom! The driver sped,
Crash! The boy was run over. Blood gutted out of his throat as he bled to death, helpless, while the heartless hooligan sped off to a neck breaking speed. All that remains is the indelible mark, now a blackspot as well as a death spot.
Vroom vroom! The mechanic tries the engine,
So old it is after it is drained its oil, after the previous race.
Tick tok as the team tries to reinstate it back to its performance so as to win the piston cup that he so craves it like the next breath.
Vroom vroom! The motorcycle halts.
The cyclist drops off a passenger at the crucial destination.
The latter, who is also a taxpayer, makes her way into the compound regarded a religious ground.
After six days of toiling the Sabbath is sure the best day for her to give thanks to god after a tough week.
The night of one Christmas a long time ago was icy cold,
as a seven year old I couldn’t keep excitement in hold,
for I knew all the lovely gifts for me Santa would bring,
wanted the hours of night to fly away quickly on wing.
I heard that Santa would come through the chimney,
if there was one on our roof, I wanted myself to see.
I rushed to the roof-top terrace, but didn’t find one,
but I was told he’d come through the window for fun.
At night I didn’t let mother close the window of my room,
outside the chilled wind from the snowfield I heard zoom.
In the morn seeing gifts by my side I tried to shout in joy,
voice choked, my delight the spell of cold couldn’t destroy.
In my childhood notebook is inscribed that night’s story
as an indelible gift I fondly preserve in Christmas memory.
______________
December 8, 2021
Contest : A Chrismas Gift Memory
Sponsor : BJ Legros Kelley
Upon (die) re rhea ding previous poem
All In The Name Of "Progress" zen
a glaring, leering,
and twittering left par wren
dared to a right (i.e. bribe)
corrective punctuation measure
slyly slipping Special Ops symbol ")"
for so many yen,
thus see slipped thru my excellent
proof reading, when
lo and behold consternation,
inconsideration, and perturbation
I thought to take a page
from playbook of Sylvia Plath,
and stick my head in the oven
but lo, a sardine recipe
(though a bit fishy),
could be found necessitating cauldron
only available for purchase in Turin
thus donned with a shrouded cape,
aye didst make whoosh,
hence, went there and came back
and frankly tubby earnest,
thence began stir'n
a bubbling concoction brew
though duration for perfect consistency
aye lacked any clue
thus, needed to contact
Hannibal the cannibal
asper what to do
in order (I explained)
to sever livingsocial,
and forever hang my head in shame
cuz, accidentally omitting
one right parenthesis too few
hence, esteemed flawless glory,
(sans error free grammarian
reputation pitched downward
where careless evinced
Kamikaze nosedive, where
matter of fact gross humiliation
instantaneously grew
and the only viable option
forced me to hew
admitting to egregious, fatuous, abhorent
and readily confesses
compunction viz, grievously
blatant Anglo Saxon
Horrifying transgression
involving backward curved "C" sin bent
a most execrable,
incorrigible, and unforgivable
literary faux pas incurring
major cosmic event
stripped of title special
Das Scribe double bubble "A" gent!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Upon complying never to err again
Matthew Scott Harris since
accepted plea bargain
accepting sentence resting his chin
til indelible necklaced "U" lettered grin
forever visible to kith and kin.
In the realm of the heart which served as our guide
For vanities sake we cheated and lied
And all of the signs that lighted our way
Now darkened and silent had lead us astray
In our haste to proclaim that all must belong
We abandoned our will to see right from wrong
So we searched to the west, we searched to the east
Yet ever within did we search there the least
Now between every beat in a darkening hush
Each step of retreat in a frightening rush
And doubts every treason reflected in tears
Did overlay reason with maddening fear
Here Death came a stalking, unheeded, unsought
And sold us the wares we had already bought
So we pelted headlong into welcoming arms
Whose offered embrace was enticingly warm
We took all the things Death offered in spades
And with them adorned our newly dug graves
Of the angels that scry and mark every sin
No stroke may belie nor ever forfend
The promise averred yet never attained
In souls so conferred with indelible stain