Long Inexpensive Poems
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The Barefoot Days of Summer
By Elton Camp
When I was a child in rural Alabama during the 1940s, going barefoot during the summer months was still a general practice, especially for boys. It was feasible because few roads were paved and sidewalks in the country were virtually nonexistent. The sun on hard, dark surfaces created burn hazards that prevented city kids from going without shoes outside the confines of their own yards.
My father’s childhood had been spent in the more distant rural areas of Marshall County. He and his siblings went shoeless partly by choice and partly because it was the inexpensive thing to do. Shoes for their large family would represent a significant cost. Memory being the fickle thing that it is, he looked back on “going barefoot” as a privilege and source of delight. It was a childhood rite that he wanted me to enjoy.
“You can start going barefoot now,” he announced in June of each year. His tone showed that he considered he was doing something wonderful for me, so I didn’t want to disappoint him by revealing my true feelings. Going shoeless hurts—a lot. Sharp rocks and stubs of plants seemed to be everywhere. After about a month, the soles thicken enough that walking becomes less painful, but it’s mainly a matter of degree. Without a doubt, the sandy, grass-free yards of his youth contained fewer perils.
In the forties, our yard had what passed for grass, but it actually was a mixture of grass, clover, and general weeds. When the clover bloomed, it created a hazard that no amount of tough skin could prevent—bee stings. The pain was intense and lasted a couple of days. The only treatment my parents knew was to moisten the head of a kitchen match to make a paste to apply to the sting. Despite their assurance that the folk treatment would help, I felt no better beyond the fact that something was being done. In later years, I took a perverse comfort when I learned that the sting tears out the internal organs of the bee so that it dies shortly. The mere fact that I was crushing the insect with my foot gave it no right to retaliate.
Apart from the beach, I haven’t seen a barefoot child over a year old in a long time. Viewpoints and circumstances change and that childhood ritual has vanished. Good riddance to it.
In what one may think as a final hour
Tense vessels tighten to squeeze out any blood that may be left
To supply an already weakened body
Suppressed by lack of freedom
Surprised by the intense unpredictability of life
Attacked from all angles in a moment’s notice
without relent.
No light shall shine today nor tomorrow
A pot full of hot water can only boil so much until
An eruption.
It has happened.
But instead of a release,
The water keeps on burning
Until soon there will be no more water
The pot, empty, left to melt if it’s plastic
It is plastic.
Cheaply made and inexpensive
A perfect representation of our government
Oozing from flames beneath
Causing an awful, unavoidable stench
Toxic…
This time the vessel cramps in the calf
She knows now this is not minor stress
A thousand bricks upon her chest
And so, each day she rises, not to know
But hopeful, that another problem thrown her way
Will be the final one today.
Quickly move, it’s late
Another day to pretend she’s okay
Why ask how are you?
The answer will always be the same.
“I’m doing well, are you okay?”
She doesn’t ask that anymore
She knows and says nothing of the sort
Because reality is far from “doing well”
She’s drinking from a poisoned well.
A poison that she didn’t know
Until,
She fell.
Head first she hit the cold, hard bottom
Filled with black sludge and centipedes
How they crawl up the walls in a hurry
The dark, thickened water splashes
All sides of an infestation
There is no way out
Perhaps try to climb some rocks
Slippery little rocks aren’t meant for climbing
Unless you have 100 legs
Only thing she has
Is 100 different types of pain
The tunnel becomes her escape.
Slip away
Into the dark side of a hole in which will briefly be your last home
Feel the bottom of the earth
Swallow it whole.
You have nowhere else to go.
The faint light at the top
Gives way to darkness
Close your eyes
The poisoned well will soon enough be gone, you know
One day you will wake again…
Until then, another knot
Straight to the neck
Suffocates any blood
This time none comes back
Let yourself go
Let yourself go…
And in letting go
You will be reborn.
Electricity harnessed inside,
reproduced thin dimensions,
does a computer chip comprise.
Analog, digital and mixed signal devices,
are the classifications these can reach,
thousands, millions of transistors within minimal sizes.
The chips and integrated circuits find home,
with conductive wiring spun,
on circuit board's copper and electric roads.
Transistors are the key, they come in many types,
considered among the greatest of inventions,
they are the chips brain, and power many a device.
Resisters are placed to prevent bridging effects,
the metallic surfaces are bound,
with solder, an alloy of tin and lead.
Capacitors store energy, pins carry a current,
through the ovens they travel,
sometimes infrared lamps play the furnace.
In 1960 this technology matured,
but chips are not restricted,
to this process, some utilize wafers.
For wafers, silicon is the canvas,
on which the portrait is painted,
low material costs and good temperature ranges to manage.
Many layers make up a wafer's scheme,
it's silicon and aluminum are gray,
but refracted light gives way to reds, blues, yellows and greens.
"Etching" is the process,
of at least two layers of electronically interconnected wafers,
mounted one at a time, cut and polished.
Inexpensive creations, roll out the line,
like a newspaper, churning out new wafers,
instead of one at a time.
The circle takes shape to help prevent brakes,
to fit in as many chips as possible,
and machines can handle them easier this way.
Look close into the heart and observe,
that human mind behind the creation,
has left us a mark of his work.
Be wary dear chip, for though you make possibilities infinite,
with your uses many, and speed fantastic,
it can prove ill, pushing those limits.
In 1956 this tool rose from the mind of man,
perfected in the 1980's, it still gains momentum,
to think, it hails from the humility of sand.
It now can be found in many everyday things,
from computers to cellular phones and cars,
and most likely whatever our future might bring.
Things need to get straight
Somewhere there are pearly gates
Using goodness as bait
White and mystical
Healthy and physical
Then there is standing there in the street
A man filled with theatrical heat
Underneath the dark sky
Shifting through the stage reality lie
Illuminated by a lamp
Similar to the dock at the crystal lake camp
Reading casting ads
All seem tasteless and bad
Decided to go
To the one called ‘a picture show’
What was this?
Low budget biz?
“It could be an opera like the star-studded Tommy
Or G rated James Bond magical car where the kids can go with Mommy”
Said the marketing pro
Who was ‘in the know’
Displaying advice
Being nice
Claiming to be an expert
Side hustling selling his concert shirt
Rocky idea originally failed
Got out of jail
Finding bail
Came back
From critic’s attack
Going the distance
Having persistence
Never needed a sequel
To equal
The first one
Still is so much fun
Shown at midnight
Not really looking for a fright
Instead wanting partying might
Tonight, somewhere plays a band
In a garage or on the sand
They mimic a song
Tempting and wrong
About a bat who got out of hell
A story the lyrics did tell
As they turn into who they really are
Visiting friends hanging at the bar
Telling them soon they will spend what is in the tip jar
Observing from above
Wearing a heavenly usher’s glove
Now filled with love
An inexpensive piece of meat
Late hours add ketchup, it is a delightful treat
Enjoying bread and wine
Payment for his time
Realizing he really did shine
Down there
Taking the youthful sinful dare
Entertaining using character flair
For all to share
Until we all gather up there
Over meatloaf that is now gourmet
And to be frank ‘he did it his way’
Have you ever seen a pair of Nine West Folowe Pumps in Red Blooms Floral - or ever held a feathery pair? They offer the pure pleasure of perfection.
You can see them popping up lately, in streetwear silhouette, matched with Dolce & Gabbana’s floral-print leggings, making a duet of blooms—petal upon petal, like a garden in motion, or paired with the new, high-waisted barrel leg jeans, lending a flash of elegance, a bright flourish against dull denim.
They’re visions, wrought as if by the hand of Michelangelo, who once from marble freed David’s pose, or da Vinci, whose brush summoned the Mona Lisa’s secret smile.
In form, they’re d’Orsay cut, sporting curves as deliberate as the Sistine vaults arch. The stiletto heels rise with the ambition of a cathedral’s spire - neither too proud nor too meek, but balanced, like the symmetry of a butterfly’s painted wings.
Upon their surface, blood red blooms unfurl - petals as vivid as spring’s first flush - each blossom a testament to an artist’s hand, in riots of color and romance that dance with the same spirit as a flowerbed at dawn.
No flaws mar their making: the stitchings are true, the fits precise—as if tailored by the muses themselves. Each pair offers its own unique foliations, bespeaking the freedom of a craftsman’s careful art.
Lastly, of course, they’re marvels of harmonious function, lightly cradling and lifting each step - comfort and glamour aren’t adversaries here, but partners in making each step a sonnet and each stride an artist's brushstroke.
Now, maybe you aren’t into fashion - perhaps you’re a male - oh, poor you, I’m sorry, but maybe, just maybe, in times of chaos, you long for the pleasure of inexpensive perfection.
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Songs for this:
Glamour Girl by Louie Austen
This is what falling in love feels like by JVKE
City At Night
by Edmund Siejka
It was cold outside
I hadn’t shaved in days and I was hungry
I was going to walk it
Only a few blocks
Through the same streets I walked every day
So how bad could it be
At 1 AM?
The Diner’s neon sign
Shone in sharp relief in the night.
A greasy spoon type of place
Inexpensive meals
And large portions.
The waiter leaned against the chrome soda dispenser
Dark circles under his eyes
Anything good? I asked
Everything’s good he answered
Quickly taking my order
He resumed his post.
I’ve been coming here for awhile and I don’t ever think I saw you around
Without turning around
I answered the stranger
I’m just getting something to eat.
I’ve been around lots of places he said
And I think I can spot a victim of disappointment
I’m a writer by day and at night a denizen of the streets
Because of who I am I have become frugal
So, I eat here to stay alive.
Ignoring him I started eating
When his chair creaked and swiveled
I caught sight of his back when he left.
I left the Diner around 2 am
Footsteps echoed around me
Anxious I looked around
To be sure
I was alone.
Up ahead
Two men were talking
The taller of the two leaned against a car
Arms crossed against his chest
Watching me as I got closer
Cold night, isn’t it? he asked.
My breath curled out in the frigid night
I carefully answered,
Yes, it’s a little cold
Out for a night time stroll? he inquired
Before I could answer, the shorter of the two turned away
It was then I quickly turned
And hurriedly walked away.
Behind me the thudding sound of a car door slammed shut
Loud laughter broke the quiet of the night
Theirs was a private joke
And I was the intruder.
We sat down at the kitchen table
Under an overhead light
And talked about my mother
My wife understood
I was the oldest, she said
Don’t wait for the others.
So I took care of mother
Paid the bills
Spoke to the landlord
Went food shopping
And did what needed to be done.
On a cold winter day
Mother was hospitalized
For the third time
I waited in the hall
Facing two red leatherette lounge chairs
The kind that are
Inexpensive and easy to clean
Vending machine just a few steps away
All designed to make someone
Feel comfortable.
Startled, I turned
T o see a nurse
Coming from nowhere
Her face a masquerade
As if she wanted to stop
And tell me something
But couldn’t
When she walked past me
I listened to her padded footsteps
As she disappeared
Down another beige corridor.
Absent mindedly
I returned to random thoughts
Odds and ends of an old woman’s life
When a heart aches
And memory fails
All is that left
Are promises
And words
Dangling somewhere
“Call us if you ever need anything.”
No one visited
Not the nieces
Not the nephews
She sent Christmas cards to
Stuffed with cash
Written in an old style of writing
Some misspellings
But always signed
“Love Grandma.”
Eager to show their concern
They call me now
And ask how she’s doing
I cradle the phone on my shoulder
And listen to their words
With a blank stare.
Mother has taken a turn for the worse
Cancer has spread
There is pain
But the medication masks it
And she sleeps most of the day
Seemingly in peace.
Occasionally she calls me
By someone’s else name
She’s forgotten a lot of things
After considering
What she’s been through
Perhaps it’s better this way.
Mother’s Day is coming and I should be happy about it, you know.
But instead of eating in… It’s eating out that we must joyfully go.
But remember, I have teenagers, Trolls, Dragon, and Hubby, too.
They’re doing me a kindness… It’s something I’ll remember… true.
This year, I mentioned McDonalds’ for it’s a rather inexpensive place.
Last year it was Bob Evans, but it became too expensive for my taste.
You see, they don’t know money, but are sooo loving, yes, that’s true.
Still, they eat more than they can collect, so I must pay, what’s due.
Now, you see my dilemma… Oh what, oh what, am I supposed to do?
So yes, I just smile, a loving smile, for their thoughtfulness, so what’s new?
Then I sneak off the bathroom, and pay the check sneakily on the way back.
Then tell them to pay their money, place the money on the table in a stack.
It makes a decent tip, stacks of change and from my Hubby some dollar bills.
But my credit card gets loaded, and of course, I do, myself, pay that bill.
So I hope you need some yard mowing, I’m retired, you know, of course.
I’ll do a good job, it’s how I pay that bill, and that’s the blooming source.
My bones are getting creaky, what is there to say, they love me, in their way.
And I love them sooo… so when mowing, do you give any tips, by the way?
Father’s Day is coming; so I must be off, sitting here, won’t pay the bills.
Teaching love, is easier than finance, but in time they’ll also learn that skill.
Happy Mother’s and Father’s Day to each and every one, under the sun.
Enjoy them while you have them, they’re precious, each and every one.
When you are not present I am
A fragile glass rose,
Deformed by cracks
From the wind’s careless handling,
Precarious
And about to fall.
Suddenly you appear out of nowhere,
An innocent child saving his dear mother’s
Cheap chinaware.
And with your hands-
That inexpensive object
Is now worth more than money can afford.
A slight Midas’ touch.
That rose,
Once cold and lifeless,
Dull and quiet,
Is now resurrected,
More lively than Lazarus had ever been.
With roots that attach,
Thorns that bleed,
And petals that flourish
Into something harmonious.
When I am by your side,
(A heavenly bliss, I swear to you,)
The faces surrounding us
fade away.
Their inaudible words are blurred
Into records of violins that play,
As soundtracks for this story
Of me and you-
Forever was a place God made only for us two.
Helios, Selene, and Eos,
Are probably laughing at my failed attempts
Of this love poem.
When I tell you that
The sun shines, sets, and rises for you,
The moon guides for you,
And the dawn would ebb without you there.
Let them laugh!
All the peevish fools do,
When they do not know that
This universe was made only for us two.
Sleep, once a kindly rest,
Is now something I detest.
Why would I want to elude a world
Where awakes a being that breathes like you?
Talks like you,
Heals like you.
Even in the chambers of Death,
We shall trek hand in hand,
Smiling at one another.
Eternity was made only for us two.
Only for us two.
She sits on the porch in a cool desert night
A bobcat stalks prey in the day's fading light
The moon looks like a big orange in the blue
Evoking old memories she thought she outgrew
Memories of nights of moutons and mums
High stepping half-times and booming bass drums
And homecoming dances that ended too soon
Under West Texas stars and a big bobcat moon
He sits on the beach in an evening gulf breeze
An autumn vacation in the Florida keys
The moon looks like a big orange in the blue
And brings to his mind an old memory anew
The reunion that gathered together that year
Old friends and acquaintances scattered and near
To tell stories of glories till late afternoon
And share in the evening the big bobcat moon
We sit by the lakeside past sunset one time
The end of another communion sublime
The moon looks like a big orange in the blue
And summons a vision of friends we once knew
She flies round the barrel with her long ponytail
He yells and rings joy on the victory bell
We loved them and all those who left us too soon
We'll remember them well with the big bobcat moon
©January 10, 2013
For my high school reunion group. The bobcat is our school mascot.
In Texas, girls often dressed up for the homecoming game and were given a chrysanthemum (mum) corsage by their date. In the late fifties an inexpensive "fur" coat made from straightened and dyed sheepskin called a "mouton" was often worn by girls wanting to look elegant.