Long Noisy Poems
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I was an inscrutable, capricious mystery writer, like a pure mystery of days;
And I had composed best selling novels, like westering sun's scarlet phase.
An unparalleled passion for writing, had for quite long been the motivation,
Behind novels which captured hearts, like pink clouds, drifting in formation.
My office desk faced the picture window, near the border of riotous blooms;
And sunny views enriched often eager eyes, owing to birds of many plumes.
Friends were a forever force in my life, like the natural floods of floundering,
Or as sun and moon meet in an eclipse, darkening heyday, with no warning.
Fairy-like forests, and fields of colored flowers, flamed with furious abandon,
Frequently, as fulgent family found one, to dazzle brighter than amber sun!
I lived in the house of mist mysteries, in haze shrouded, mighty mountains;
And each cherry dawn doled surprises, like roving redbirds in the thousands.
So sleepy in sun-drenched summer, my silent street was stained with hues,
In new modern, stylish, songbird days, like a gold treasure you cannot lose.
Neighbors would navigate narcissistic night, bearing an apple pie, or a joke;
Sharing fun and noisy laughter, like a blue undersea volcano, magma awoke.
Birds swept peaks of sculpted, stunning mountains, in the hot, daisy season,
And sky and the earth merged twice a day, in affinity hues of love cohesion.
The naked man orchid shivered with breezes, like quivery trees of November,
And Johnny Jump Up puckered at lemon sun, like a sour taste remembered.
In a sapphire sea near the mountains, a friend and I set out sailing one day,
As a youth follows wildest, golden dreams. Yet, heavy fog descended to stay.
Were we heading for wide open water, or drifting to shores of purple flowers?
That danger held a lovely mystery, like adventure during the nighttime hours.
Hour after rosy hour, we were drifting blind. Our motor had long since died;
Like green butterflies, questing for hours, in a place pink daisies lately cried.
We were afraid of being lost forever, so Pearl and I joined hands and prayed,
Also praying for our downhearted families, if fate's hand would not be stayed.
After many anxious, vagrant moments, a foghorn sounded, loud and so near;
Our desperate prayers were answered, by the voice of our Savior, very dear!
There were several women nearby who were crying and wailing over this condemned
man. The convicted man turned slowly towards them and that was the first time Simon heard
him speak.
Breathlessly, the convict stopped and quietly spoke to these lamenting women. Simon
stopped with him under the weight of the beam. Simon never understood these words at that
time, .. but he never forgot them. This blood soaked, ravaged dirty half dead man turned to
the women and rasped ,…
“Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for Me …but weep for yourselves and your
children.“ He caught his breath, wiped the dust and blood from his eyes with the ragged
sleeve of his torn robe and continued…“For indeed the days are coming in which
they will say, “Blessed are the barren, wombs that never bore, and breasts which never
nursed!”
The crowd had already become silent to hear what the accused was saying, because this
kind of talk was unheard of in a time when bearing children and mother hood was considered
extremely holy and a gift directly from God Himself. It was proof that he must have been
possessed!
He continued , blood dripping from swollen lips, “Then they will begin to say to the
mountains, “Fall on us!!” and to the hills, “Cover us!!” …“For if they do these things While I
am with you,…what will they do when I am gone?” …… The sound of a lash slapped across his
torn bloody back and he shuffled forward but not before looking directly into Simon’s eyes..
The crowd again took up their noisy, morbid mission.
Simon grunted under the weight of the beam and thought they all sounded like a pack of
hungry jackals. He was certainly confused and inexplicably terrified.
After that gruesome unholy nightmare ended and for the rest of his life while walking the
hills, he kept hearing and was haunted by this man’s words over and over and wondered
what on earth they could mean.
“ Do not weep for Me…but weep for yourselves and your children…for indeed the days
are coming in which they will say, “Blessed are the barren, wombs that never bore, and
breasts which never nursed!!”......
This, to the people of his time was impossible! Children were a holy gift from God himself.
Blessed are the wombs that never bore...and breasts that never nursed?! What could he
have meant?
Author’s Introduction - A word about Minot’s Ledge Lighthouse:
The Minot’s Ledge lighthouse, built 1850, lying off the southeastern chop of
Boston Bay, was the first lighthouse built in the U. S. that was not protected by
exposure to the fury of ocean storms. It was, then unfinished, in the shape of an
egg-shell painted red and supported by iron pillars. The first keeper, Isaac
Dunham, quit after 10 months citing how unsafe the structure was (swaying 2
feet in each direction in a storm). His fears were well founded, for in April 1851, a
colossal storm struck the New England coast. The lighthouse was toppled and
swept away, and the two attendants, Joseph Antoine and Joseph Wilson, were
killed.
The following day only a few bent pilings were found on the rock. This tragedy set
the standard for the construction of more solid structures using granite blocks for
greater support and a new light was built by June, 1860.
To this day, legend has it, that in dark and stormy weather, sailors hear a voice
coming from Minot’s Light crying in Portuguese (the nationality of one of the
deceased keepers – Joseph Antoine) – “Stay away!”
The Ill-Fated Lighthouse
The towering light that threw
Its friendly beams afar
Over the foaming waves,
The sailor’s guiding star,
Is quench’d – and darkness glooms
Where late it bless’d his sight,
As homeward bound he came
In the dark hour of night.
The thundering surges swept
Over the rocky bed,
From which the lighthouse rear’d
Aloft its flaming head.
And lo! They bore away
In that mad fearful hour,
The work that man had made –
The tempest’s rightful dower
And yet a richer freight
The heaving billows bore,
Than wreck of perished Light!
For tossing to the shore
The drench’d and lifeless forms
Of youthful dead there were,
Two brave and manly hearts
That sadly perish’d there!
Farewell ye faithful ones!
Your memory shall live,
While feeling hearts remain,
Pity’s sweet drops to give,
Or any to recount
The terrors of that night,
When the drear sea engulf’d
The hapless beacon light.
And you, ye rushing waves!
Sweep – foaming, sweep along,
And ever as ye go,
Lift high your noisy song;
For thou, remorseless sea!
Maketh all things thine own!
Then send aloft your tune,
And madly thunder on.
The klaxon sounds and off we do scurry
Up to the gun house we head in a hurry
Through narrow p-ways and up noisy stairs
We pass each other with far away glares
What threat to meet, all do wonder
We’re well trained and there’ll be no blunder
Hatches closed and scuttles secured
Drive motors humming, we speak not a word
Ammo to the hoist, battle dress in place
Flash hoods cover all but our face
“Mt 51 manned and ready!”
Gas eject air pressure is holding steady
“Air action port!” our circuits align
Gun slews, the target to find
“On target aircraft!” the checksight declares
Our peril confirmed, no drill, all just a deep inhale
“Right and left guns load!” first powder then shot
To the mad dance, cast we all our lot
Guns loaded, we track knowing not when
Waiting the salvo alarm, the dance soon to begin
Fourteen men poised, ready for the show
Bound to each other, not for their own glory they do go
Gong! Gong! Fire! The first stanza a roar
Then rapid and continuous we feed each bore
“Bore clear!” signals to load the next round
As hot-case men pitch spent brass to the ground
Practiced harmony, each motion robotic
Load!, Ram!, Fire!, Eject! the cadence hypnotic
Smoke and flareback, gases choking
Onward we whirl, and curse the foe attacking
“Foul bore left gun!”
A stuck case has us undone
Pry bar in hand, the Gunner appears
The extractors are broken, confirming worst fears
Casing removed and the gun finally clear
Up all night we’ll be, fixing this gear
“Cease fire!” all safely emerge
Realize we now, our fears to purge
Destruction averted, another hour to draw breath
Till the enemy returns, seeking our death
“Police up that brass and swab out those barrels!”
The chief keeps us all intent on the peril
They will come again, or we will seek them out
So little rest we take, while the issue is in doubt
***************************************
This describes a live shoot from the prospective of
the men manning a twin 5 inch gun aboard a destroyer.
These ships were common in our Navy from 1944 through
about 1980. The "old salts" out there will find this very familiar.
This is a spinoff from my "Tin Can Sailors" write even though
the ships in that story were single mounts. Same gun, but
with just one barrel. Those were before my time.
Oh wow. Oh look. Over there. A fish tank is jumping through a hoop. Now that is a sight. How rather remarkable and just how agile. Wish I was young said the ancient log. But all I do is sit here in the forest. Roots exposed to every breeze. Little creatures rely on you for shelter though. Shouted the shrew. Who was scuttling through the leaves after a busy day marketing moss. The tree sighed. It missed being upright. Nose to the winds. And rooted. Not one to dwell on such sadness he turned his attention to the commotion further down his gnarled trunk. It was a party of two legged. Giggling and shouting. Must they be so noisy. To make matters worse they ate from large packets. Took photographs. Then upon leaving left all their packets behind. Why? It would not have been this way in the days of old. Fed up now he began to devise a plan to rise from the woods. He notices a large flock of birds close by. Oi he shouted help. The birds came over immediately. This tree was most revered. And highly respected. They enquired as to how to assist him. To wish he replied that he wished with all his heart to leave this woodland home and float downstream via the lake. The birds squawked noisily discussing how to move such a weight. Then they noticed some rope and picked and pecked till the tree was secure. Then with heavy powerful swoops in synchronized fashion up they went and so did the tree. Nearby the cool waters of the lake greeted the tree with a gentle caress and the flock untied the knots with occasional fish caught. Good for their tea. The tree thanked them with all his might. Then began his journey to where he hoped there would be two legged ones who cared, new friends, and a chance to be upright again. The waterfall in the distance roared. Down went the tree landing upright in a rock pool. And there he remained. Smiling. Occasionally brightly coloured folk pass but no packets though. Just jackets. And little animals made their nests and homes in his sturdy frame. Divined driving dripping drops drink dramatically delivering delicacy. And a little purple frog laughs in a bucket home on a lawn. Haha beads becoming breaded beaches. Hahah organised orangutans officially ordered overtures. Hahaha wastepaper baskets jumping over a finishing line beating the dustpan and brush and the rakes too. Xxxxxx exemplified z z z z z.
Form:
Song:- 1990
Mother Mother
love me love me
love me love me
I need your love
(repeat)
why don't you like me?
why do you hate me?
why do you hit me?
Mother Mother
where is your love?
where is the safety I think of?
when I hear -
Mother Mother !!
Mother Mother
are you mine?
why don't you love me?
why do you hate me?
why do you hit me?
Mother Mother
How can I live without love?
I hide in the dark
I build walls in my mind
For I can't believe
Mother Mother
You don't love me.
I have posted this for others that are facing suicidal questions.
This was a healing song written to release my own walls that I used to protect
myself from age 4 and onwards. Was reading Daisy Tyrell request for feedback. Hope it helps a little. I could fill a book on the subject of the fight for life. Will attempt to put some in words as I can.
And it is a fight - those that are willing never to surrender will live. I remember, one time - stuck in a noisy hospital wing, a friend also suicidal at same time in another city. I wrote every moment, filling a large A4 pad. On my knees, crying - I was writing " I want to live" I am willing to live. Over and over. Line after line. Page after page. Also writing to my friend -
encouraging him to fight and live. I won my fight that time -but my friend
did not. When I heard of his death - It put me right back in hospital again.
The fight started all over again -never easy, but I won that one too and several more after that!
Daisy's poem talks of wanting to find beauty within. That may not be what there is to find. A great truth is found the point of rock bottom. Mental health counsellors term it 'bedrock'. When you find bedrock -you find your truest self. It was to my great astonishment I found my bedrock housed an
unquenchable spring of joy! Once I came to terms that this was the real me -
I was able to identify what was capping that well of joy. It took another 15 years to free myself from all those restrictive people. Once totally free never had another mental health issue. Funny that.
I have only shared this to hopefully encourage others. These times are long gone and totally cleared for me. Live a joyous, happy clownish though late starter life. Love always - Virginia
It felt like someone was tugging at his veins
His head…
Ow!!!
A carnival of noisy masquerades!
His head hurt
His eyes hurt too
His tongue was dry
The side effects of “the cure”
IVs
Tablets
Needles
Tubes
Machines
PaIN!!!
Discomfort
Nausea
He hated this feeling
He missed his life
This wasn’t his life
Someone must have played a really mean prank on him
This life wasn’t his
He couldn’t wait to give it back
He missed his life!
This was medical torture
The cure!
The torture!
He couldn’t take it anymore
He didn’t look like himself
He didn’t feel like himself
He wept!
This was too much to take
He had no strength to talk
The cut was healing
But it hurt like hell!
He held on to his bible
The words in this book consoled him
They strengthened him
They filled him with hope
He needed hope
This journey was difficult
He fell down to his knees
He wept so hard
He cried out,
“Lord help me!
I can’t carry this yoke!
It’s heavy…heavy…so heavy!
It’s crushing me!
Please lift it off me!”
His tears wet his cotton shirt
He was so sweaty
So he dropped the book
He continued to weep
He cried out to the Lord
He wept!
Tears and sweat
Washing his face
He heard a bird chirp
It chirped so sweetly
His cry interrupted the beautiful song it sang
He stopped
And he listened
Eyes close
He enjoyed the melody coming from outside his window
It was so sweet
So perfectly harmonized
He opened his eyes
The bird was right outside his window
Perfectly colored creature
Red
Pink
Yellow
Black
It was magnificent!
What a great Creator!
He looked down at his bible
It lay open on the floor
He smiled at the highlighted verse
A message of love
It brought him more hope
Strength
And courage
He wiped his damp face
A message of hope
A promise
He received it with faith
He encouraged himself
He would beat this illness
He would win the battle
Oh yes he would!
Deuteronomy 31:8
King James Version (KJV)
And the Lord, he it is that doth go before thee;
he will be with thee, he will not fail thee, neither forsake thee: fear not, neither be dismayed.
By Sylvia Chika
sylviachika@gmail.com
http://sylviachika.blogspot.com/
http://sylviachika.wordpress.com/
https://www.facebook.com/sylviachikablog
Twitter:@sylviaoz
© SylviaChika 2016
A baby gorilla's bedtime is a harmonic period when the bananas line up with little leaf rattles to softly croon to slumber the furry ball. Priceless is the process of pacification and pacifications are not prevalent in the pacific, the polar regions, nor do they play with piñatas in Paraguay. It is to be said that a tortoise shell footstool can rotate at great speeds do cast iron boots must be worn if placing one's feet upon the tapestry printed square form. The chime of lime is very very noisy but not as noisy as the incessant chatter and chuckling from the bowl of sugar cubes. Sugars state signalling shaped saying stuff silkily and silly too. But a mild mannered oxon could take a heifer to a ballroom but only if properly attired in a beach towel, sun glasses, three piece suit and a gown. Then an entrance can be made. With a thud. And a bellow. Brass bands made of cream donuts can entertain at this dance and the hall is quite packed with skimming skirts, scantily clad pea women, and the tidal spore has come dressed as a ringmaster but no whip for whips are for the underground stations and platforms of legs. Legality leaves legs lingering liberally. Akin to sprinkling a fine spray of salt across a plate of the towering vegetables. Piled high. Architectural really. Very mesmerising is the mist of a fine diner whose aroma lifts the air surrounding with a unjust uniquely identifiable stench. And stench drenched can be a wench, a bench but never a welk. For welk belong in tree houses and tree houses are not tables and not talking ash trays either. Ash trays do not modify a month of moon shaped mammoths. And a tree semi formed can bite so always walk very very very briskly when passing a thicket. Zoom then. Go on zoom. A zoom in a room. How rather entertaining and entertainment is equal to a climbing plant pot scaling a sky scraper. How great. Such feat with no feet. And how deserving of the medal at the Olympics of Oscar fish in an oceanographic weave of seafood cocktail with melon jus. Haha the wide mouthed octopi are singing gospel tunes to a small party of crabs. Ha the divinatory dogs diving definition digging dreams. Ha the musical mustard jar moving in time to the fish fork forte. Xxxxxx reciprocal z z z zzz. At ten loaves to forty seven slices of butter cake. Z z z z z z. 57294894907398%. Z
Form:
Moving Into a Haunted House
By Elton Camp
It was a story the Realtor had heard before
We were looking for an old house to restore
“It has to have a basement and two floors
If it was a Victorian, we’d like that even more.”
“On a large plot of land the house has to be.
We don’t want to look out and neighbors see.
It can’t be some old relic that is falling down
But we’ll do work on the house and ground.”
The agent then tried to hide a delighted grin
“Long on the market this one place has been.
Your description made think of it right away.
Get in my car and we’ll drive out there today.”
The fine old mansion wasn’t near to any towns
The driveway twisted through neglected grounds
Through a break in the trees, we caught a sight
The place brought a mixture of fright and delight
When we found that all furnishing were included,
We made an offer and the deal was soon concluded
At closing, the Realtor one thing more did reveal
“I learned it’s haunted so you can cancel the deal.”
“Hey, I am not some ignorant, superstitious fool.
One who believes in zombie, ghost, witch or ghoul.
If any spirits are in our house as you have predicted,
They better be packing as they’re about to be evicted.”
The very first night after we moved in from the town,
We were about to go to bed, but heard a horrible sound
It was something like from a movie or a scary dream
It was frightful, as if some tortured soul did scream
The source of the disturbance was on the first floor
We crept down the stairs and heard it more and more
I wondered if we would still be alive the next morning
I reproached myself for failing to take agent’s warning
Finally to find the dark, noisy room took us several tries
I shone into it the light and saw a pair of glowing eyes
The cries came to a stop and trembling I stood still
And down my back there ran a fright-induced chill
The flashlight tumbled to the floor from my hand
I couldn’t decide if it was better that I run or stand
What happened next was, to me, almost too much
A soft form, my lower legs began to lightly touch
I felt that I could not withstand the fright any more,
But my very feet felt as they were glued to the floor
My wife switched on her flashlight and yelled “Scat.”
Down the hallway scooted a lost and frightened cat
One morning Ernie and I awoke to a noisy train yard,
It was that place many hitchers feared known as Chicago.
Since Ernie had traveled there before he warned me,
In that little voice he said don't open the door.
Praise our Creator my English lessons had actually taken,
He had spoken to me and I mean in no uncertain words.
I'd heard of animals whispering to humans in the past,
Yet this little hobo mouse had talked loud and clear.
We sat that day huddled together behind his wood crate,
Then in the afternoon someone shoved open that steel door.
He climbed inside and began tapping hard on the wood crates,
Feeling like forever he climbed back out and shut the door.
I whispered to Ernie and asked who was that invader?
He told me it was a dangerous bull not to confront.
Confused I asked him what he meant by that comment,
He said it was a mean human called a train policeman.
That day I almost learned a lesson in home invasion,
Ernie said he would have killed us both if he'd spotted us.
I said not even an animal would be so ruthless as that,
Ernie said animals only attack when cornered or starving.
The next morning our almost coffin pulled from that yard,
Our temporary home on wheels now had became our savior.
Such is the irony of what it is to be a mortal creature,
Both of us embracing in celebration of our lives saved.
We traveled the rest of that day never closer than before,
Each and every mile of our U.S.A. journey appreciated.
So very grateful for this wonderful land given to us,
Given by so many who gave their lives so we may live free.
I'll never forget the day we rolled into Washington D.C.,
Ernie said it was so poignant it was my first time there.
How ironic that a mere mouse had been there before me,
I told him that a monument should be built there for him.
He blinked up at me with that stare that always captured me,
Robert my human friend why would you say such a thing?
I said because you are that smallest giant friend,
One that has helped me so truly to love my country.
In the beginning I had tried to teach you to understand,
And now Ernie you have opened my mind to my being's center.
If only most humans could be touched by your friendship,
Maybe enough might bow to the reality of changing our world.
(to be continued)
Copyright © 2014 Robert William Gruhn A.R.R.