Long Motorcade Poems
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A voice whispered at 1 am.
As I sit alone at the worn gates of Yesterday
Looking through the Past's
White painted windows
Unafraid
Lost in deep thoughts as I watch once lost memories
Drive past like a new presidential JFK motorcade
Looking closely at the happy and sad games
We once played
You and me
Eventually
Holding hands tightly
Whilst the ungodly
Gossiping band
Loudly played
As our Titanic slowly sunk
I can still see
Reflected in your deliciously dark eyes
The night I surrendered
A magical night
I'll always remember
But as all things
In my cursed life
Everything changed as
The metaphorical iceberg struck
And our love slowly drowned as it
Shrunk
That seemingly endless night we once shared
Is it now torn beyond all repair
You were once all I ever needed
And will never forget
But as I still live in here
Wandering through the Alabaster Hall
Of The Great In-Between
I will always write your beloved name
Using beautiful syllables
In my eternal book of spells
Beside other failed dreams
Called
The Grimore of Light
Filled with Dark Regrets
Where you'll forever live
As I sometimes sit at the gates of yesterday
Once again
Wandering through green fields of yellow memories
Still clinging onto fragments of your sensuous silhouette
Somewhere
If you can hear me
I hope our old love
Still in your heart as in mine
Holds forever strong
With memories of me
As it too
Pirouettes
Before it too enters your
Grimore of Light
Filled with Dark Regrets
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
through the murky knottiness of hollow winter trees
I saw the pale face of unseeing man
who wasn't there through years that went by
the candlelight is about to turn into fluid clay
and wigs are prepared for nocturnal art
art of waiting
art of strangeness
art of wishing
art of breathing
necessary for the stay between animate walls
in a place where secrets buried within rise up
in a place surrounded by forests of steel
and aluminium prairies
where vigilant cherubs carry revolvers
and deliver all the cryptic revelations
the disturbing motorcade is slowly approaching
and someone is tapping
on my shoulder
Take me to the show and let me meet your beau
Take me to the show and let me sit in the front row
Everyone is talking about it, and some people travel
From the other end of the world to see it. Everything
It touches turns gold and if you stare at it too long
You have to surrender your soul. It’s witty and strong
And its vision surpasses the intellect of mankind for its
purpose is divine.
Morning whistles with a sweet harmony over my head
And I pinch myself several times to make sure that I am not dead
I walk down Fifth Avenue looking for the store that sells
That special pair of shoes for I have been preparing for more
than five years to meet it so I have to make sure that the shoe fits.
I have waited for that autograph for so long, for heaven knows
that when I meet it, I will be inspired to write that final song
the album is almost complete but in your presence it will be sweet.
Take me to the show to see your beau,
set a table for it and get the priest to bless it
let me meet with it alone, but gather the universe around
to share cocktails and French dainties before you unveil the tail
I heard that it is coming down the street
and its motorcade is moving with great speed
caps and hats are rustling in the breeze
while honking horns makes echoes abroad
and filters in the deep; friends and stranger
will gather around to say goodbye
But whatever you do, you must not cry
The short-cut is to open your gut and say what you feel
And tell everybody that it is real.
Now that I have met it,
it's time to roll out the next chapter for the show
to make some profit
your beau is neat and it can compete
see you at fashion street on eight avenue.
I am glad that I’ve met your beau
For it is the heartbeat of the show and
You have three to five thousand more miles to go.
Take me to see your beau
Buzzfeeding sustenance (eating/drinking) beyond point of satiation
Bloated swollen cheeks
analogous to first Chinese Brother,
who swallowed the sea,
now non sequitur
off beaten track i.e.
less apropos re: guarding
par for race course as if
ace driver won Grand Prix
latter referencing international
horse race for three-year-olds,
founded in eighteen sixty three
931 + 932 = above number
satisfying ghost of Fibonacci.
Original idea predicated whereby
all Americans heartily feast
(stuff themselves to the gills)
salivating cornucopia dime
a dozen lonely people
bemoaning holiday re:
traditional Thanksgiving time,
celebrating joie de vivre chime
wine glasses clink full house,
where ushers pantomime
proffer gobbledygook and
motion rapidly hungry guests
toward smorgasboard prime
tables for gluttonous
to commit punishing crime.
Tentative arrangement made,
whereby oldest sister, and husband,
(who live a jaunt away from Maple Shade
more precisely Woodbury New Jersey)
would swing by Schwenksville
comprising one car motorcade,
thence to shuttle 31.5 miles southeast
our mutual (of Omaha) friend,
I met when counted orbitz
during late 30/early thirtieth decade.
Offer to drive out of their way
presented, since our 2009
Hyundai Sonata did betray
accountability, dependability...
reliability oy vey
woolworth no more than
couple/few Benjamins
yet real challenge constitutes
yours truly, née
theme underlying mein
kampf pennilessness pray
I did (despite being orthodox
atheist) to no avail
relying upon social security
regarding disability (mine) Mayday
forthrightly, feebly, faintly...
calling before men
donned with white coats
came to take me away
to the happy home with trees
and flowers and chirping birds
and basket weavers who sit,
smile, twiddle their thumbs and toes.
Communication break down
compromised eating humble pie
regarding this ole man
upended above mentioned plan
whereby attending
hosted by: Gail la Dorfman
afforded rubber express
thus with Forrest Gump I ran
all the way across
Ocean thru to Japan.
Saddle your horse and get ready for the ride; this will be your final day before you take off to the sky, the weather is too dry over here and we have nothing more to share; I have to reserve what I have for the others living over there.
Come and stir the pot with me and walk with me through hills and valleys, we will survey the vast landscape, lofty mountains and fine river bed. You will observe where the skyline meets with the earth and where the river is washing away the dirt, and then you will understand what I have been telling you all along.
Saddle your horse and come with me, I will take you through the route that leads to the top of the mountain and you will see the optical phenomenon that is baked beneath the earth giving rise to a meteorological vision.
I can see streams of light parachuting from the earth , carving out a circular spectrum in the sky with multi-colored dyes spreading all over the sky. It meets with steep slopes interfacing the earth and refracting around the slopes.
Saddle your horse and come with me, I will take you to the corner store
And show you why poor people are always asking for more. The cost of goods and service are real and grocers have to work out their own deal, a pint of oil is sold in plastic bags and thin slice of cheese is all that they have. The backs of chicken makes good curry and the necks of turkey is poor people’s luxury.
Saddle your horse and come with me and let me show you what life is like in the inner city. They are running up and down the street with guns shooting at one another for fun, the Don Man rides in with his motorcade and flick a sharp blade. He cut the box open and shower gifts to the whole community.
Saddle your horse and come with me, we will ride to the other side and you must tell me what you see. People are hustling and bustling in the street and men and women are dressed in suites and fine gown, their tables are laden with lamb, beef, lobsters pork and all the meat in the butchers shop, but wine, beer and whisky are pouring from the top.
The trees are laden with fruits and everyone is wearing a fine pair of shoes and they are dining in fine restaurant and having nightly party. You have got to correct this disparity. Saddle your horse and come with me I am ready for the next leg of the journey.
I remember the land of drums I was born
bedded beneath great hanging nets;
the sound of the conch and the horn.
My blue suitcase filled with stuff,
the red tricycle and pedal car
that made me race and made me puff.
I remember the hounds of revolution nightly howl
on the streets of my island home.
Now I reign afar in the land of my exile
as might a king given up his throne
I remember my first day of school so bleak,
a gingerbread house on Picton Street
where I first kissed a sweetheart cheek.
Hearken tales of men in Sherwood,
Nelly Stone in her rocking chair
reading The Adventures of Robin Hood.
The loud guttural yard turkeys’ gobble and flap,
and kids singing their songs of joy.
I remember the year, the girl, the songs
in all its virtue when I was a boy
I remember the front yard we would play
and the annex rooms we called home
watching The Riki Tiki Show at 17 Gray.
Waving at the Queen’s royal parade
down on Saint Clair Avenue
in the crowds following her motorcade.
I remember huddled around the old valve radio,
long siestas in the hot afternoon
till late beneath a corner streetlight halo
raving drunk slumped Blue Moon
I remember sticky chewy peanut brittle
with my cold Nestle chocolate milk
while gorging my tummy little by little.
Behold down-de-islands dashing
in a pirogue out on Grand Fond Bay -
the sea spray across the bow crashing.
Watching as darkness fell on high moon and tide
shining on bay and jetty so bright,
when as young eyes grew weary I would
rest at peace all through the night
I remember all dressed for Sunday School
and afternoons at the Country Club
splashing around in the swimming pool.
And at sea playing captain and sailor
on board a ship Panama bound
in my cabin with my toy boat and trailer.
I remember the ports and voyage of no return
into the yonder crossing the equator,
when old Neptune rose from the undersea
to bless our ship and navigate her
Written: September 1990
I feel my spirit burning inside me
And years of fatigue draining out me
My heart is racing, my spirit is swelling
And my heart is singing a wonderful song.
I can still feel my heart beat and I can
still hear the noise in the streets
Motorcade after motorcade brighten up the streets
And the jubilant crowd waving blue
and white handkerchief high in the air.
I could see it from a distance
people join hands in hands
rocking to a spirited beat
as they watch the parade
floating peacefully through their street.
It moves from community to community
through rural towns and dangerous hills
cascading the untrodden green valleys
sweeping darkness and poverty away.
The trumpets and drums grew louder and louder
It pulled my great grandma out of the house
And had her rocking to the rhythmical beat.
I listened to the sound as it fades away
and the life in me was perishing away.
My fatigue grew stronger and stronger
And nothing I do could make feel better
I bore the penalty of sleepless nights
and the torture of guiltless sound.
I could hear my heart murmur
and the blood gushing inside
whoosh, whoosh, swish swish
the sound grew louder on every side.
It’s as if the world was walking with me
And something powerful was propelling me
I took one stride and walked boldly by its side
but something stronger than me was forcing me
to surrender to hope and succumb to the boldness inside me.
I fought relentlessly to deny this feeling
That was forcing me to get away
but something very forceful was beckoning me to stay.
I am here and I am still breathing
dying to journey to the mountain top
to appease the Gods and make my final stop
so I inquired of a special place where I could
be alone and meditate for the rest of my days.
The endless journey has exhausted me
but I was determined to go through it with dignity
my chins up, a smile on my face and positive words
to keep me ahead and on top of the race.
My blood suddenly felt hot and
And fire starts catapulting out of my belly
I found myself on the mountain top
Looking down on throngs of people
singing, shouting and dancing.
It sounded like a grand jubilee
But for me this was my final destiny.
©2015 Christine Phillips
As His plane landed on the tarmac on and on the band had played
The people He does attract in such an act of love being displayed
Greeting all the dignitaries and others who are in front of the line
We all have our own worries wanting to know that all will be fine
Waving to in blessing the crowd humanity now becoming the sea
The Rocky theme playing really loud and everyone filled with glee
But so soon must He now depart as He has a busy schedule ahead
So many with tears in the heart and this with barely a word said
The band playing another song Our Pontiff being led by a Philly Cop
And then for what we all long the whole motorcade comes to a stop
As the Pope walks over to the side to meet a little boy Michael Keating
The family looked on and cried, as so many would during this meeting
And the smile on Michaels face and the crowd who were all filled in joy
A bright ray of God's Golden Grace shinning through this one little boy
You had to so feel the Lord today in His Way coming to your very heart
Under all those clouds of gray with the Lord's Love how easily they depart
http://www.washingtonexaminer.com/tears-disabled-son-of-band-leader-blessed-by-pope-francis/article/2572885
It's five o'clock, she checks her watch, at last the work day's done
Her forehead pounds, a coke is found, she gulps two aspirin down
Walking through the parking lot, a cell phone to her ear
Three calls to make, six texts must wait, until she reaches home
A dreadful day, is worsened now, by a cocktail shade of smog
Too dazed by crazy sitcoms that seem to fill her life,
on an escalator going up or down, to nowhere in the strife
A contrail stream of traffic noise, is brandished against her ears
The snail-paced freeway travelogue, a prequel to the dialogue
that sails into her blue-tooth buds, enhances all that aches
The modem in her deep-fried brain is in a dismal state.
Just blogs of malware, here and there, is skyjacked by the haze.
She fails to see a taxicab, in the multiplex of cars
A screech of brakes, a near escape, it's not her first mistake
The rushing, crushing motorcade, can't stop to see her scars
The escapade, the glitzy parade, no shelter from the beat
The drum that pounds, the sounds that come, awake or fast asleep
The docudrama of her life has muddied up her brain
Dumbfounded, by the life she leads, is lost before it's found
Some think, perhaps the gods are crazy, (at least that's what some say)
I think, instead, it's not the gods, but folks who've lost the way
________________________________________________________
1/6/15
For Contest: "The Gods Must Be Crazy" Sponsor: John Lawless
"We have the power to make this the best generation of mankind in the history of the world or make it the last."- John F. Kennedy
~
In three shots an assassin snuffed his life's worth
Noble a man's purpose with breakthroughs achieved...
Such vile demise made a country roar, 'Unearth
Truths about our leader's fall. We were decieved!'
And beneath red Texan sky... the whole world grieved.
One thousand days of service were not enough
For beloved JFK to instill reforms--
His vision of liberty decent yet tough
Igniting nations to advance honored norms...
Only to be riddled by dissenting storms.
----------------------------------------
The presidency of John F. Kennedy was shortened after his
assassination on November 22, 1963 at 12:30 p.m.
while riding in a motorcade in Dallas during a campaign visit.
Despite the official finding, many conspiracy theories arose--
from organized crime to the CIA to Cuban exiles.
Some 30,000 never-before-seen documents were released
to the public by the National Archives in 2017 and 2018,
with another release set for October, 2021.
John F. Kennedy was seeking a second term in the White House.
Source:The Warren Report Archives
----------------------
A Historic Event Contest
Sponsor: William Kekaula 9/20/2020