Long Neighborhood Poems
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A group of couples met for lunch—
a quick one—talked, and watched the clock.
They spoke of their demanding jobs.
Must soon get back—tick-tock, tick-tock!
So many things they used to do,
they’ve little time for nowadays,
like board-game nights with family
or helping with church Christmas plays.
They once found time to show concern
for shut-ins in the neighborhood
by doing home-repairs for free.
Those times made everyone feel good.
Some once played instruments or sang,
wrote poetry or painted scenes
from nature—talents they let die
when they were barely past their teens.
*********************
The thought of guitars never played,
piano keys not touched for years,
blank pages in a writing pad,
and unused canvases brings tears.
Imagine shut-ins with no help,
church programs falling by the way,
and game nights that don’t come to pass.
Some can’t work these into their day!
The way we use our precious gift
of time determines what will thrive
and what will not. Good stewards see
that better things in life survive.
Date: September 22, 2018
Contest Title: The Parable of the Talents Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Holly Hippocampus
ROSE FROM THE DUST
Sixteen sweet springs she had seen come and go,
blooming thousand flowers on her dove eyes,
touching her tender heart with the cadence
of the whispering breeze of juvenile romance.
She had found a friend in the close neighborhood,
and he turned into a lover, when she didn’t know.
On her 16th birthday they met in a secret wood,
she was in veiled rapture as he gave her a red rose.
She kissed it and tucked gently in her black hair,
as if it were a rare jewel on the crown she wore.
Returning home a sudden gust of wind blew on her,
the rose dropped down a storm drain, gone forever.
She had silently cried her broken heart out,
for with the rose she had lost her nascent love.
Dust of dream got swept into closet of memory,
for he had disappeared, gone with the wind.
Life had taken her far away on the whirlwind,
when years later to her old home she returned,
and stood by the storm drain on a windy morning,
the red rose called memory rose from the dust.
February 27, 2019
Checked on PS Grammar Checker
Scattered plastic battles
and yesterday's newspapers
weren't tossed by a capricious wind,
blame this on the capers of careless humans.
I angrily watch them dispose of them where they sit....
on the seats of buses and trains as they stand up and rush out;
cities have their problems and littering increases abuse...
would anyone thinking of some kind of haven, do that with intent?
In my neighborhood I often observe a Chinese man picking up
Pepsi bottles and newspapers while cars ignore him and speed up...
doesn't he teach us to be neat, to clean after ourselves and be good people?
Many couldn't give a damn, leaving rubbish everywhere for the sanitation to pick up.
You have heard my allegory...did it offend?
Have you experienced it and really gotten you mad?
Who would walk at night, stepping on strewn trash, and fear the ugly rodents?
It's a social plague we can't cure, unless we clean up our act and try to make amends.
Nile beams as proud Mother of the land,
it's benefactory, gland.
Rushes to tend, to lend her foster
fauceted facet of hand-maidening
brand of bands in bend.
Oasic endow'n.
Matriarch, life blood gives, with arch of brow,
busy busy show.
Cache Cow.
Papyrus Pupae peeks up, her adopted,
Tamarisk, Acacia. Ebonies and Reedlings,
latched to her lactate tit.
Swaying, carefree Tops of Topologings
in the desserted cream of heat.
Bestow~ings.
Be ye blessed if you become Barren,
to (know) the miracle of Elizabeth,
(one well beyond her years)
Mother of John, that one
(who Baptised Man in your sister, -_
Jordan, of joyful tears.)
Fertile Sow.
So be it, be then blessed to again,
cream your milking and honey dew
your tap of berry beers cheer.
Verily so, endow anew, your Motherhood, to the Neighborhood,
to the Crocodiles and Textiles and Dunes.
Again, gain flow er in pregnancy,
in busy busy show er,
shedding advocacy in pinks and blues.
**BIO- IN RHYME FORM**
Living there..... was quite an unusual trip.
I was no flower child, but they ruled the city.
They actually rode on flower painted busses and
laughed at all the tourists.
Who looked to me, like worn-out jurists)
Nobody was mean or killing one another.
In fact, color had nothing to do with being a
'sister' or a 'brother.'
Though straight, I lived in an all gay, beautiful
community.
We had the chance to live together in harmony
and opportunity.
I came back to Chicago for a few months.
Felt lost in the Midwest, just like a dunce.
I drove back to SF as soon as I could.
Into the arms of old friends, in that gay, friendly
neighborhood.
I did not meet Grace Slick,of Jefferson Airplane,
right away,
But I knew California was my my home, forever
and a day!
I even got t to be an extra in a real movie!
What can I say, but "Groivy MAn, Groovy'"
5/1/20/1
~4~
With springtime now upon us,
If your town has lots of Jews,
The supermarket has some foods
You might have need to use.
For Passover’s approaching
And the holiday demands
No bread nor pasta be consumed;
Thus, stores have made their plans.
A special section’s filled with
All the substitutes we need
To serve at Seder time, just like
The ancient texts decreed.
There’s matzoh meal, gefilte fish
And macaroons and cakes
And all of the ingredients
For anyone who bakes.
This Passover array depends
On neighborhood and store,
So often pickings might be slim
While other shops have more.
For Jewish folk with markets
With no matzoh, I’d behoove
You to tell the owners how you feel
Or do what I’d do - move!
We used to take off our shoes and push them under the edge of the merry-go-round
Not when school was in session, because those mean teachers would have stopped us.
But in the summer time, when we were neighborhood kids, running around, doing stuff.
We would like on our tummies and take turns spinning the merry-go-round as fast as we could.
When the spinner yelled “go” we would reach under that monster, grabbing up shoes fast and furiously.
Laughing and trying not to fly off. Sometimes as a little one started to slide off, the older kids would grab them.
Johnny blew his head open once but he was always doing this kind of stuff, and we all agreed to lie
About what happened.
We were exhilarated and excited, on the school playground, away from adult eyes.
Daring, and wonderful days, none of us wearing helmets or knee pads or other protective stuff.
Silly children of the 50’s and 60’s, alive to tell the tale, and here I am sharing it now as proof.
Remembering how excited we were to collect the most shoes and get to be the next spinner.
Old school.
Nothing like it!
The time is now! A new future event has arrived!
From where God created the moon the stars the clouds
and other things! Time time the breeze that flows
In every soul the healing tree's airy mist of rest deep roots with one.
A refreshing drink from the fountains slowly moving streams everyone knows I mostly most times is writing about my soul feelings my soul thinking on these or those things whatsoever is good huh! The romantic audacity of the Soul.Echoing love songs in the house down the walks across the tarp all in the neighborhood
Soul branches everywhere time and laughter is a windy breath of love even when we get in and out of our car the soul embraces the soul itself!
Then what blossoms by the Healing Tree with invisible soul!
Sweet Fruit swayed with electrical currents or magnetic fields pulse beating melodically in tune to every beat of the heart that only a soul mate can touch!
Loves Agony!
Beat the drums Beat Melodicly energetic Beat the energy of the drums whispered call of each soul is different! But I do I live to try this pure tone 210.42hz with no picture pure energy frequencies Listening all day long from the branch of my soul nighttime, I Wonder!
My Son
My son will never grow up.
He will be forever young.
The room he lives in is small.
That is okay,
it fits his needs.
The house he lives in
is not large at all.
That is okay.
It is in a nice neighborhood,
with kind people all around.
His life is full of every...day...
He draws colorful pictures
and watches programs,
he loves on the TV.
My son is not a child,
but he will be a child...
his whole life.
Autism has stolen his manhood.
It has taken the dreams of tomorrow
and made them still as stone.
My son is big and strong,
and trapped forever.
Yet, my son is always happy to see me,
or go places with me when I drop by.
His smile lights the world,
and the world is made a better place,
for his smile.
It was Christmas Eve and growing late;
This was the last of his paid Santa dates.
Still dressed in his red Santa gear,
He stepped inside to have a beer.
One pint soon turned into two,
Then half a dozen before the hour was through.
Nobody was waiting at home for him,
So he chased the beer with three shots of gin.
He stumbled outside the neighborhood bar;
His one bedroom apartment was not too far.
He started walking on unstable feet,
When a father and a young daughter he happened to meet.
“I wonder, Santa, if you can help us out;
My little Sarah is starting to have some doubt.
She told me tonight in her hospital bed,
That she thinks Christmas and Santa both are dead.”
“I snuck her out of her hospital room;
We were really lucky to find you so soon.
Could you please give her just one good reason
To still believe in the holiday season?”
He took a deep breadth of the cold winter air;
Even drunk he could feel the father’s despair.
He simply put his finger to the side of his nose
And let out three hardy, “Ho, ho, ho’s”.
“If you’re the real Santa,” she challenged him,
“Then what is my Christmas wish?”
“If he’s the real Santa,” she said to her Dad,
“He could give me my Christmas gift.”
Charlie looked at the father for a clue
He shrugged, not knowing what to say,
Somehow in an instant Charlie knew
And he answered Sarah in this way:
“You didn’t wish for toys or other things,
The way other kids do when they come to my place.
You just want your father to look at you
Without a sad look upon his face.”
She turned to her father and said through tears,
“I’m sorry Dad, I didn’t mean to make you sad.
But you really did find me Santa Claus,
This is the best Christmas I ever had.”
Charlie turned to the father and softly said,
“Now, I think it’s time you take her back.
Either way, things are going to be okay,
You need to accept that as a matter of fact.”
Charlie was left standing all alone,
As snowflakes started to fall.
In his loudest voice he shouted out,
“Merry Christmas and Good-night to all.”