Long Leaned Poems
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"The teacher who is indeed wise does not bid you to enter the house of his wisdom but rather leads you to the threshold of your mind." Kahlil
Grade one, six years old, born to immigrant parents
not a word of English did I speak, but I found compassion
in a kind loving teacher who smelled like talcum powder
and wore baby blue eyeshadow, the color of the sky.
She never married for the love of her life died at war
each time she spoke about him her eyes shone like stars *
I will never forget that first day at school
when I began to cry. Not understanding the language
I walked a dark corridor of oppression and gloom.
She walked over to my desk and leaned into my ear,
don't worry I speak Italian too in case you get stuck.
Its as if someone had just let me out of a dark suitcase.
I inhaled the scent of her talcum and the color of her blues.
Everything would be fine I knew as I walked through
the portals of my mind unafraid, I began to trust and learn.
Miss Cartolano was my first grade teacher.
She was the one who taught me how to never give up.
My love left me a letter,
"Dear one, I hate to make you frown,
But there seems to be a part
That's missing from my heart.
I need to find it
Before I can settle down."
Then she sent me a postcard,
It read, "Caro, ciao from Rome."
She loved the music, food, and wine,
And the Vatican was fine,
And she didn't know
When she'd be coming home.
She caught a cold in London,
Thought she'd glimpsed the King at tea.
The Thames was far less than sublime,
But Big Ben keeps perfect time,
And the galleries
Reminded her of me.
She got a tan in Rio,
The beach there is divine.
Confessed she'd had a little fling,
And leaned a most peculiar thing,
That Brazilian kisses
Don't compare to mine.
Then in a card one morning,
"Dear one, I'm coming home.
The world's too big and much too wide
Without you by my side,
And I've realized
I didn't need to roam."
Now my love's done with traveling,
And she knows in her heart and mind
That the thing she went to find
Was the love she left behind
And wasn't missing,
It was right here all the time.
Author's note: To paraphrase Dorothy in "The Wizard of Oz", sometimes if you go looking for your heart's desire, you don't have to look further than your own backyard.
While driving along, just after Mass
Father McGee drove a bit fast
But the person he passed, at eighty two
Was Sergeant O'Mally all dressed in blue
The Father pull over and it didn't take long
To see the cops cruiser with all it's lights on
McGee rolled his window, down ready to talk
As O'Mally got out and cautiously walked
When O'Mally leaned down to question McGee
He smelled something wrong, poked his head into see
"Have you been drinking" the Cop entertained
"Only water, that's Holy, McGee did explain
Then both looking down, what lie on the floor,
An empty wine bottle, there two, maybe more
"WATER" replied The Cop with a grin
McGee then declared, "Christ's done it Again"
The breeze a scent of salt and fish
beneath a wash of puffy cloud--
soft cotton hung upon a wish--
the breeze a scent of salt and fish.
The waves whispered in briny swish
secrets to girls with heads unbowed;
the breeze a scent of salt and fish
beneath a wash of puffy cloud.
The parasol shielded with red
the words the waves from dreams recalled
and hopes upon the sand were spread;
the parasol shielded with red
the happy thoughts on which they fed.
I strained to hear, my heart enthralled;
the parasol shielded with red
the words the waves from dreams recalled.
That day the sun in awe leaned down,
captured the essence two hearts shared
of planned bouquets and bridal gown.
That day the sun in awe leaned down
and I who dream in shades of brown
forgot I said I never cared,
that day the sun in awe leaned down
captured the essence two hearts shared.
The grasses swayed beneath the sun;
my heart was warmed in spite of him.
I feel my joy newly begun,
the grasses swayed beneath the sun.
The threads of hope their words have spun
have calmed me like a healing hymn;
the grasses sway beneath the sun,
my heart was warmed in spite of him.
The breeze a scent of salt and fish,
I turn my gaze again to sea ;
red parasol shielding her wish--
the breeze a scent of salt and fish.
Hidden remains this heart anguish
betrayal has bequeathed to me;
the breeze a scent of salt and fish,
I turn my gaze again to sea .
Copyright, July 3, 2016
Faye Lanham Gibson
Kitty Fluffy and her Thanksgiving plate
Invited us to dine, yelling “Don’t be late!”
Kitty was welcoming, her plate was absurd.
We are having a twenty pound turkey, a hideous bird!
That plate is annoying said my cousin Tom.
But funny, I added, what planet do you live on?
My first talking plate, he said. I find it crass.
Take a valium said I. It will polish your brass.
Kitty Fluffy served the best eats on Thanksgivings Day.
We ate until we were stuffed silly, in a marvelous way.
She served salmon, spinach, squash, spiced pumpkin bread too.
We had cleaned that plate sixteen times before we were through.
The plate was grateful; I guess each lick gets him off.
He said we’ll all be napping in a bit; and Tom gave out a scoff.
Kitty Fluffy’s glorious green eyes rolled back in her head.
For a couple of seconds I thought that meowing fat cat was dead.
Not dead, just comatose, said a wee voice from the salt shaker.
I leaned my ear down there, as Tom became a grabbing salt taker.
A talking salt shaker! He hissed in my left ear.
I think this is amazing, clever, unique, and quite dear.
I knew he was a kleptomaniac and wished I had not brought him to Kitty’s.
He was a bit inebriated too, and sang a weird song about women’s titties.
Kitty Fluffy awakened and accused us both of being wicked and bad.
I gave her salt shaker back, but toward Tom I was now really mad.
"The Lantern of the Inner Sight"
Ere dawn had breathed upon the silent pane,
I stirred, a half-suppressed, half-mirthful yawn.
The kettle hummed a low, domestic strain,
While shadows lingered, tangled still in dawn.
A moth—like tiny ember—tapped the glass;
Its tremulous wings murmured to my thought.
I traced the mug’s warm rim; and time did pass,
While sparks within, unbidden, were then caught.
No borrowed lantern from the world’s harsh glow
Could chart the filaments that stirred inside.
Each shadow leaned, as though it wished to show
Some secret mortal eyes might elseway hide.
I laughed, recalling childhood’s timid dread,
When silence felt as tyrant or as thief.
Now hush bestows a kingdom in my head,
Where even fear is tempered into brief relief.
The filament expands, a patient flame,
Threading the mind’s dim corridors with light.
No tempest, nor the outward tide can claim
The lantern born of waking and of night.
I step upon the frost-kissed garden floor;
My footfalls echo softly, nothing near.
The leaf, the stone, the distant creaking door,
Resound the truths my quiet mind holds dear.
O revelation, subtle, deep, and still,
Thy herald needs no sound nor brazen call.
I bend to touch a stone; and in that thrill,
The cosmos yields—its secret unto all.
Love In The Library
by Edmund Siejka
( East Of Seventh, poems by Edmund Siejka available on Amazon)
He was a scrawny kid
In 1st grade his lunch money
Often disappeared
By the 5th he was street wise.
Mother worked in an office
And Dad assembled radios in a factory on the West Side
On his own most of the day
He had a choice
Of going to the Boy’s Club
Or the library
For some reason
The library became his favorite place
A place of books and knowledge
A place of hushed voices
Bespectacled librarians
Hard wooden chairs
Light maple rectangle wooden desks
Marred by carved initials
Grownups
Reading
Sleeping
Or glancing at their watches
That’s where he met Susan.
She was twelve years old
A year older
A little taller
Red hair and freckled face
Aggressive
Attractive
And smart
She asked if he would walk her home
To a tall apartment house
On 12th Street
Bricks the color of pale mustard
Leaving her by the lobby elevator
He listened to its muffled sound
Gliding effortlessly
To a place he was never invited.
In the privacy of his room
He dreamed of her
Incessantly
Clutching his pillow tightly
Making believe it was her
Blood flowing
Roaring sounds in his ears
Dreaming that they were always together
Holding hands.
She, wearing a starched white shirt
Carelessly unbuttoned
Looking deeply into his eyes
As he leaned forward to kiss
Her with every passion he could muster
That Spring
His days were inspired
With dreams of her.
One rainy morning
Awakened by familiar kitchen sounds
He wandered in
Yawning
Arms folded
Fighting the morning chill
As a feeble day
Silhouetted the rims of the fire escapes
And the sea of blacktopped tenements.
In the misty light
Among the empty rooftops
She danced in the air
Her body turning
Twisting
Spiraling away from him
A fixed smile on her face
Mocking,
Mocking,
Mocking him.
As she noticed her reflection in the mirror…she was frightened and appalled
and as she took a closer look..her tears began to fall.
She had trouble recognizing the person reflected over there
Cancer had made her thin and frail…Cancer had taken her hair.
Her husband noticed her standing there…And said, “I saw you from afar
and I just had to come and tell you how beautiful you are.”
She leaned back into his arms saying, “I’m not as beautiful I fear…
as when you fell in love with me…but, still, it’s nice to hear.”
“It’s true you’re not as beautiful.” he said…
”But that’s because you’ve found a way
in all the years I’ve known you…to be more beautiful every day.
It’s why when I look at you when we awaken…it’s easy for me to say
you are more beautiful this morning than you were yesterday.
Then he held her tightly in his arm…and whispered in her ear
words that eased her sadness…words that mollified her fears…
“In all the years I’ve known you…I’ve admired from afar
how warm and kind and wonderful…how beautiful you are…”
“Nothing can take from you what has taken you a lifetime to instill…
nothing can steal your beauty…
nothing ever will.”
The Last Shift
I worked because I needed the money.
That was my only reason.
Who else would want to work the holiday(s)?
No one, surely not anyone.
My first job as caretaker, taught me…
everything I needed to know, but never…
leaned until my shift.
The old people were quiet, most of them.
Not all of them. Some of them.
Room six was sadly coughing. It seemingly would not stop.
Room seven had taken a bad fall and was sleeping fitfully.
Down the hall there was Ms. Burner, “Is that you Henry?” weeping…
I thought I was going to die. No one told me what to expect.
What things were really like.
I prayed, “Lord, get me through until the sun comes up.”
The music was very low, and far away. Christmas…
How nice? The director, had put up a Charlie Brown tree,
and a few cards were sparsely placed about at the entry desk.
My job… to walk the isle, check the board, and make sure…
nothing happened.
Down the hall I walked. Nervous, my first day on the job, even if it was a night.
A beeping far away. Then water running. A rush of wind.
The smell of a storm, mixed with flowers?
My heart thought to call out, but I did not.
The night went well.
There were cheerful smiles in the morning, as if someone had switched a light…on.
Six had stopped coughing. She got better in the weeks that followed and went home.
Seven, had no break at all. At the next doctor visit they could not find any injury no matter what test they gave her.
Ms. Burner. She died that first night I was on duty. The angels came. She was not crying.
She was laughing and smiling…
Now I work all the holidays.
I also pray every night, “Lord, get me through until the sun comes up.”
as I believe he was listening very closely.
Every dawn looks the same.
I chased the sun.
I pleaded with the skies.
I waited behind my watching eyes.
I needed to break the knot.
I wasn’t made for straight lines.
I taught the light to bend,
when the wind was going my way ...
Going my way!
I waited until the wind leaned in,
To blow my way and follow.
The sky leaned in; It knew my name,
but the sun's light refused to bend.
I grabbed the rays in shaking fists,
Wove them round my wrists,
Pulled them in close,
'til they broke,
And shone a new path for me,
etched by the wind,
now chasing behind me.
I taught the light to bend,
when the wind was going my way ...
Going my way!
You think you know the game
Until the light won’t change.
Your path stays the same again,
until the wind changes,
and you bend the light
to your direction.
I taught the light to bend,
when the wind was going my way ...
Going my way!
You can't control the sky for long,
Or hold a cloud fixed in place.
Until the wind changes -
Fills your sails behind you.
I taught the light to bend,
when the wind was going my way ...
Going my way!