Long Occupants Poems
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Resistance
When the German occupation of Norway ended
in April 1945, those who had willingly worked for
the occupation power was arrested.
Most of them were middle-class people and they
were sent to farms to do menial work.
(One has to add the farmers too was willing to sell
Their products to the enemy.)
Only a handful of Nazis were shot among them
Was Quisling and a few others.
There was no mass- shooting of the enemy and
the traitors, on the whole, it was rather a mild affair.
For the workers the new peace meant redundancy
as all construction works the occupants had undertaken
came to an abrupt halt.
I write this because there is in the national psyche
of the Norwegian to be a bit right-wing and haters
of foreigners especially those of Arabic heritage
Furthermore, Norway has never faced up to the past of a war
where only a few resisted.
The people with a fascistic mindset are in power today
It is sad but what can a sailor do?
The only exception is the merchant seamen
every ten of them died during the conflict, and when
they came home were told how lucky they had been
avoiding the war.
I woke up this morning in the silence of my mind and looked outside
Not a sign of life was moving, and the city has lost its pride
I looked up at the skies above me searching for an answer, but the clouds keep rolling by and everyone was bidding the earth goodbye. A long road formed into the cloud and human forms was moving around, I kept looking at the shapes from the ground, but I could not see the face just the body of the human race.
I pinch my hand to see if I was still alive but something more powerful than me was giving me life the people have evacuated from the town
But I was still hanging around because destiny had me bound and courage kept spinning me around.
Thousands of cars lining the streets, trucks van and buses on one side and the smaller vehicles on the other side everyone was moving in order and bush doctors and the sorceress had to move and their portions and jinks fell into the sea and the troubled young man was finally set free.
Tons and tons of garbage line up by the wayside with everything that the occupants had inside, the rich and the poor have suffered the same fate
They all had garbage lining up at their gates leaving empty house behind a memory that cannot be replaced in a brand-new place.
The federal workers are working against time to clear the garbage before the cloud breaks, bulldozers, trucks and crane busy up and down the street creating a new landfill with all the remains from top of the hill.
And as they wait patience start to move slowly out of the gate and the town that once stood proud was reeling from loneliness. No one can go back there; there is a story for everyone to share so listen carefully. When the north wind combined with the south wind and the wicked wind of the east combined with the ferocious wind of the west nothing will be left; this town is inhabitable.
Being a Scot I can be a little biased
but I have been here all of my days
at first hand, I've seen this land total
having walked over many banks and braes
Scotland by its occupants seem drab
tending not to appreciate it's glory
but when the sun shines over its land
brings out a rather different story
Even when the winter chill bites
there's a lovely stillness in the air
makes one stop to take it all in
planting desires for all to share
One sees trees and greenery abound
so beautiful and majestic to the eye
raises one's outlook on such a scene
those wooden bushes so very high
Scotland summers can be inconsistent
unsure of what the good Lord will send
but springs usually are fresh and bright
enough to gladen winter hearts as a friend
Scotland has so much to offer
among its rivers, mountains and glens
come and see for yourself such grandeur
sure you'll want to come back again
dead end street …
mostly elderly when we came
always quiet …
empty nests side-by-side
aching for spring
but winter came instead
(the winter of life)
friends … good people -
town folk who raised this little
borough with pride
came to this blind alley to wait for God
and He obliged …
one-by-one, this road of
retirement rolled over …
the reap saw these quiet abodes
flipping fast and furious
and the once-aged occupants were
replaced with families -
young professionals and upstarts
fresh-woven nests filled with
chicks and younglings -
little voices and wings to test
upon the breeze
training wheels and swing sets
where lounge chairs once grazed lazily
backboards and rollerblades
and a valid reason for the ice cream
truck to loiter, it’s silly music box
jingling the afternoons with cold, tasty
wonder-in-a-cone …
time - passing like a subway car -
just a flash in the dark …
grain-by-grain the
hourglass steadily sifted
and a once-peaceful lane became
a circus of activity -
giggles and screeches replacing the
silence with the music of life
the rarely-a-car avenue, vibrant and joyous
picnics and lawn parties
birthdays and showers and fireworks
playballs left unattended
bicycles laid at the curbs in a rush
pets being walked
and the commonplace, everyday things
started being … every day …
oh, no mistake -
I loved the quiet when we came
and tho’ I dread the winter months now -
the post-Christmas cold, dead and
long-dark days, grinding on me
like a ragged old dirge -
that quietude and peaceful contemplation
is STILL one of life’s greatest
“little pleasures” to me …
yet … it’s the NOISE that I’ve come to
miss the most this time of year -
those little voices of
youth and vibrancy that sing me
through the warm months,
reminding me what being here is
all about, and making me
yearn more than ever
the sweet, joyous, callow kiss …
of Spring.
(Photo of Maplewood Drive by yours truly)
From fence to fence
From curb to fence
For all occupants
We seek Your defense
Your light projects
Your will protects
Evil spirits everywhere
I say to them to beware
The darkness will not prevail
For God‘s love will never fail
When we worship together with angels
The blood of Jesus is my divine covering
Turn around
Don’t drown
When encountering (1)
Thank you, sweet lamb of God.
Always goes with me.
And the angels that go before
And minister for us
Peace and grace fall
I’m covered by fresh fire
Unholy burns away when I’m with you.
We are loved dearly by God
You are the apple of my eye.
Hide me under the shadow of thy wings. (2)
I thirst and I am hungry.
I’m not here for blessings. (3)
I’m not here for miracles.
I need you, all I need is you.
I know my identity.
I know whose I am.
On the day of Christ Jesus
Sometimes I am weak.
God is always strong. Sometimes I doubt.
God is always faithful.
Soak in his light and inwardly we let Him in.
footnotes:
(1) National Weather Service: flood warning alert
(2) Psalm 17:8 NIV
(3) Nothing Else (Live) - Rick Pino & Abbie Gamboa version of Song by Cody Carnes 2019
I stayed awake all night listening to the sounds fighting with the night and battle raging in the street erupting my heart beat, one bad news after the other the body lie waiting in the gutter and the morning crowd kept walking on without a music or a song, and I said to myself what on earth is going on?
It is the question you usually hear when the dogs’ barks late at nights and the stars over your head are shining brightly and hope looks at you from the window. You cannot read it; you cannot understand it and you cannot deny it.
It looks like a pecan pie rolling sitting on the table with shoes and hat getting ready to connect the dot and the man in the dressing room is walking with a gun strapped to his side and a beach ball bouncing in front of him.
I am still wrestling with this heavy feeling inside it is not pain or any form of physical aliment, it is the environment and its occupants that is sucking the raw energy out of me and the urgency to tell a prolific story. I can’t tell it alone; I have to tell it in a night gown with incandescent lights around my bed and a bulletproof roof over my head. When the tension fades and morning weight subsides, we will write this story together and it will serve for the next century.
The temperature is rising and the squirrels are coming out of the ground they have fist like man and sand to cover the entire land. They are running up and down the streets trying to escape the beguiling heat but the sun creates a simple track and mercy is holding on to the rock with the pipers and the minstrel playing a merry tune
It is not the rhythm that you usually hear or the one that is saturated in the atmosphere, it is not the sound of death that is running the marathon around the track, it is the formula that you dig out of ice and the jewel that is sold at a very high price, it is the type of rhythm that make me feel nice. For one moment the cluttered space around me evaporate in thin air.
The window is wide open in my face and I can see everyone that entered the race, they are still walking under heavy burden covering grounds and surveying the town, and looking for substance all around but just before 2:00pm the ship will dock in the harbor and you will have fine spices and tea for th rest of your life; the window is open wide and I can see you standing in awe gallivanting with your new bride.
he is a guest in another beings dream
a stranger sleeps behind his eyes
when he thinks about this
he shivers and turns to the window
letting himself be distracted by the dusty fields
the wind cranking farms
the bus is half-full
empty seats are occupied by the soon to be born
the soon to be dead and those in transition
hinterlands overlap and leak
a young man yet to be conceived
stares about him thinking he is in a movie
people speak a language known only to hollow trees
and wooden owls
there are no subtitles for his state of mind
passengers cling to the long straps of their thoughts
as the coach sways
some occupants are uncertain
if whether they have a real ticket for a real life
others think they may have purchased a ticket
with no destination
they fidget in their seats
wonder why the trip is taking so long
under spinning rubber
the ground sinks away
while an inverse sky
rises
The End Stool
Always askew
As if occupants left quickly
Such is the life of the bar’s end stool
We’ve all noticed its isolation
Its paradoxical value as an observation point
The lighthouse warnings
Stay away from the rocks
Yes
End stools are special
Reserved for the aloof
Yet
Wanting the “more” of life
Like we who occupy the center
Will never know
End stool has a story
Ancient as Christopher Marlowe
Recent as Oliver Reed, Richard Burton, and Peter O’Toole
Contemporary as Bukowski
Think aloneness is desired?
Think not
Oneness without connection to another something is…
Such is the sadness of lives ended
Atop the End Stool
A room that had been dark and locked
for years was found for socialization.
It was void of everything except oxygen.
There was hope it could be filled with
people who would come alive with openness.
The room was 15 by 20 in size.
300 square feet of space was room
enough for nice furniture, but for
reasons unknown, the dark and empty
room proved inadequate for relaxation
or restoration.
Also, there was insufficient space or was
it the atmosphere, for free and honest
conversation to help them unwind. It never
became a place that left one with a sense
of relief from the pressures of everyday life.
Friends and acquaintances gathered for great
social interaction but were neither vulnerable
nor transparent. So, everyone left with a
sense of emptiness, never finding satisfaction.
The room was filled with physical things,
including at least 10 intelligent humans
whose lives were ripe for receiving something
that could fill the emptiness in their lives.
Sadly, the once-empty room became occupied
to the degree that eyes could see, and ears could
hear, but remained as empty as it always had been,
as empty as the lives of its sudden occupants.
Strategically set on a hill
Overlooking the meadow still
Pulchritudinous from the start
Beauty enough to capture one's heart
Stones were chosen with every care
Stones with colors very rare
All the framing was checked and placed
So there would be no mistake
High on the magnificent hill
Trees of the forest were milled
So each timber was sturdy and strong
To protect the occupants from any wrong
The inviting porch drew people in
Open and wide with pillows thin
Golden door of oak was made
Just the right touch, just the right shade
Inside the fireplace logically placed
Designed to warm each heart and face
Children came to live on the hill
Each child's personality brought a thrill
The hill is lonely now
There is room and too spare
It is said to weep at night
But still puts out its light
(Read Psalms 139:13-14;Jeremiah 1:4-5. Could this house be a metaphor)
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