Long Old days Poems
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I was a classic 1957 Chevrolet Bel-Air, in mint condition, admiral and white.
My owner had other beautiful, classic cars, like stars sparkling into twilight.
My owner loved his old cars, saying 'they don't make them like they used to;'
And I enjoyed getting out upon the open road, to show him what I could do.
My fellow cars and I saw lots of sunny days, in bliss freedom of the flowers,
Traveling the length and breadth of this land, in the clasp of jeweled hours.
Flighty friends and I recalled 'good old days,' in rosy sunset times of finally,
Laughing and talking our memories in darkness, as moon shone, indefinably.
Forever friends were like feeling family, in the floral days of fuchsia's reign;
When flitting, green butterflies fanned for long, and falcons flew like a train.
I lived in the house of pleasant shadows, which didn't have many windows;
For it was one huge room without a view, like a path without the primrose.
Sparkling summer sauntered in silently, creating such scenes on my street!
Silken clouds roamed, when Sam ran his errands. Traveling was ever a treat.
Neighbors made admiring noises about me, going off on rides in neon night.
We cars were the toast of the neighborhood, nice nostalgia, in a golden light!
Clown orchids had ceased performing, in gone days of purple, beard orchids.
Now their summer relative had the holy ghost, like bliss from many sources.
Mask flowers held beautiful mystery, in alluring hues of pink, cream and red;
Like sweet secrets of moonlit shadows, and violet dreams after going to bed.
Once, Sam and I were cruising Sunset Highway, for it was my turn that day;
While dear friends waited in the cool, quiet of home, for their chance to play.
I felt a sudden impact on my left, and I knew I was hurt! There was damage;
But if not for Sam's expert driving, we might not have been able to manage!
This had happened to me times before. Such is to be expected in a long life.
As ever, friend Sam was my Superman, my mechanic in times of cruel strife.
My convalescence didn't seem so long, as I laughed about old days with pals.
When streets were not very busy, and many listened to front porch musicales.
For we were darling, daring trailblazers, quaint old paving way for all modern,
Leaving lingering feelings of fond nostalgia, like lovely fall leaves which yearn!
How am I doing
Well thanking you very much indeed
For being kind enough to ask
Because I am doing just fine
In fact I can't tell a lie i am actually
way far better than that bordering on
great
Because my business is downright
booming at the minute
To the point I have had to stop taking
bookings as I am now fully booked
up till Christmas
And the reason why you may well ask
well is due and down to this
You see what I do for and earn my living
as my proffesion and business is
I am a fully qualified certified card carrying
Clown
So much some of the very best in the
business which you may or may
not have heard of
Like for example Sideshow Bob and
Ronald McDonald who actually based
a lot of their own act and performance
on material they stole off me
But they have all but since gone to
ground so now I am all but the last
standing remaining Clown
Due to the dwindling amount of work
after COVID -19 rules etiquette and
social distancing ensued
The best excuse money can buy
when all else other's used have failed
thus far since the classic good old days
of my dog eat my homework
And left them without means to
earn a steady income to support
them in order to pay their bill's and
lifestyle they had become accustomed to
But hey at least this story has a happy
ending and they didn't want and go
without for very long
Because blessed with the particular
skillet they garnered and possessed
They simply just went joined signed
up and pledged allegiance to and
became a fully fledged member of the
Clown Union
Because as everyone full well knows
Clown's are the star's and reason why
people choose go to the Circus in the
1st place
And politics if nothing else is in all
but name the greatest Circus on earth
Only difference being although littered
with clown's these one's have or feel
no need
To slap and adorn their face in
makeup or wear a funny customized
suit
Because they are and their act and
material on which it is based upon is
in itself funnier than hell
But whereas Circus clown's wear big
shoe's for comical affect
These here clown's wear big boot's
in order so they can fill them up to
brim of their stetson hat
After the pockets of their shinny designer
bespoken suits look like they have
$100 handkerchief hanging out all
of them
Strangely, the world – strange
Has transformed from graceful,
With stardust laughing across the plains,
Sunlight silences the darkness, the night
Falling beneath the shadows of light…
As I lift my eyes to see the alterations,
Changes that speak to my spirit,
Stirring up the silence, lifting the ability
To reach out in anticipation, for the wonders
The amazing – bravely coloring the earth
In spectacular shades of joy so worthy
Fluctuating between silence and sound,
The inspirations imagine a softness, gentling
Hearts, trembling through the spirit in waves
Passing through the seas of memory, the past
Warms my faith and reminds me to listen
To the abiding truth, the ancient – forgotten
Among the memories of my youth, my life…
Before the new – before I knew paved roads,
Skyscrapers – cars who break through my dreams,
Singing of places I’d never imagined or believed
I might see – because in my past, where I lived when
There were horses everywhere, dusty roads,
Fighting with swords and fists, never expecting
The police to carry away the problems in shackles
Yonder, where there once stood a barn – a fence
A cow and a sheep, the horses in the pasture…
There stands a building, a sidewalk or some car
And, everywhere I look… there are people checking
The little boxes they’re carrying, taking chances
Never looking beyond their hands where the mysterious
Little boxes appear to be the reasons for their attentions
To be drawn away from others, into the mightier lands…
The lands of mobile dreams, ideas that seem to bleed
Through the impossible cells where they believe
Others can read all their feelings, their thoughts, their
Opinions… alive inside the little boxes they carry everywhere,
Revealing the wonders of the future that has come to us,
The ones who once knew freedom in living with the natural world
And, finally, discovered – here in the present, a life that will
Silence the past with its slow moving theories, lighting today
With the stars, twinkling in a sky that still has not changed
Despite the transformation of the entire earth, - the natural
World erases every doubt, each cloud, that dims the candle
Lighting up the past’s memoirs of what once was so normal
Shakespeare in 2023 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
January 12, 2023
"The streams are my veins."
Can you hear the drum beats of fear as do I?
Does the mere sound of these fears make you want to CRY?
You don't want to believe it, and hope it's all a 'Big LIE'.
Whether true or false, it's best to bid our fears GOODBYE.
Some say that the 'best is yet to come', and others say
that the good old days are gone and never will return.
Some say that the 'worst is yet to come', and others say
that the good old days are gone, but better days are yet to come.
Yesterday is HISTORY, but today does not have to be a MYSTERY,
nor does tomorrow have to be filled with gloom, sorrow, and
MISERY. You did not pour the glass; whether half empty or half
full. Even when dealt cards we don't CONTROL, we still must be BOLD.
Even when we are often TOLD that the entire deck has been RIGGED;
Or that the troubled waters that we see below have no BRIDGE above.
Although not a brave one, it does appear that we stand on the precipice
of a new world? A brave world does not self-DESTRUCT, but finds ways and means to better its COMSTRUCT.
Can we leave the world into which we were born better than we found it?
Whether or not the future is misery largely depends on our belief system.
Have we a belief system that flows like a river unclogged, free and clear?
Or like a stream of fresh living waters gushing unhindered through a creek bed? I pray that I might be a conduit; and may the streams be my veins.
By a most reliable source, the Bible, we are told that 'we spend our years as
a tale that is told'*. In a movie, the words of one actor to another were,
"There's no normal life. There's just life".
Is the tale of my life being told presently;
Or must I fly away before the tale is told of me?
Me thinks it is both, but we write the tale presently.
If history repeats itself, perhaps it's because humans won't CHANGE.
If history repeats, perhaps we thirst for control and ill-gotten GAIN.
It is said that to repeat things, hoping for change, defines INSANITY.
Me thinks that life is not a 'crapshoot' but dominated by choices we make.
On a cross, one man chose and said, "If you BE....". Another man chose and said, "...Remember ME". *
080122PSCtest, Let your Muse Be Inspired-R Form, Constance La France
Contest Theme #2: "The streams are my veins." 4P
*Luke 23:39,42; Psalm 90
...See, when she let her guard down, when she looked deep,
she saw things that left her somewhat disturbed,
Roxanne didn’t know her man’s favorite color,
and that fact didn’t really upset her.
She didn’t know that much of his home town,
or of the dreams that pushed him on in life,
she didn’t feel the need to learn the things
you normally expected of a wife.
And sometimes she imagined, when they made love,
some of the men she knew in the old days,
she even recalled a fine brothel client
the night that their second daughter was made.
It wasn’t that she didn’t like her Stu,
there was little to criticize in him,
but could she survive without him by her side?
Yes, she could, she realized to her chagrin.
When she realized this she heard that damn man,
her last client back at the bordello,
the man she had dismissed as a sexist,
now she wondered, had he been in the know?
It took her many months to accept this,
it went against all she’d ever been taught.
Could there be truth in his thoughts on women?
And if it was so, then what had she wrought?
Had her teenage self been so arrogant
to think that she could outwit tradition?
Had she destroyed her chance to truly feel
following her 'free-spirited' vision?
She’d always though the restrictions on sex,
at least those placed on the female kind,
had been oppression, acts of injustice,
but now troubling thoughts came to her mind.
If all this was older than what she learned,
if innate truths had long been in action,
why had she not learned about such a threat?
Why had these ideas never gained traction?
Why weren't women being told how things were?
Why all the half-truths of what lay beneath?
Could she have avoided this emptiness
if she'd been warned of what paths not to seek?
And now, nearly forty, it was too late,
she could not change the girl she had once been,
she had lived as they told her to believe,
and now she never could really bond with men.
Roxanne liked her husband, liked Stu a lot,
but she now knew it could never be love.
She wouldn’t divorce, that would hurt her girls,
she would stay with him, she would make it enough.
How would she live, how could she deal with this?
She didn’t even know where to begin,
but she’d do what she could to make sure her girls
both made it to the altar as virgins.
Stop! The violent protests and leave peaceful protesters out to make a difference strictly along. Whether you are in law enforcement or the national guard. You need to pray for peaceful solutions! But if all you want to do is assault police officers. Or if protesters burn down business and destroy personal and real property. If you want to incite rioting and violence! You need to be apprehended! I am sick and tired of racist police officers using African American males, Hispanic, and Native American males as "target practice" or unlawful harassment! Black Lives Matter! Today the city of Houston is holding memorial ceremonies for George Floyd. They firmly believe the time has come for closure and for our nation to move forward.
I am sorry about what happened to George Boyd and other minority groups! But letting your explosive anger erupted like a volcano! That Minnesota police officer committed nineteen years of similar acts of racism and violence. He just happened to get caught in the act! He never should have been admitted to the police academy in the first place! The other officers just stood there and watched! It was a national tragedy! In London England, Black Lives Matter are conducting peaceful protests in solidarity with the United States!
Some groups will use any excuse to riot! Some police officers will use any excuse to commit acts of violence! I firmly believe in peaceful protests! Unfortunately, they often end up in tragedy! One bad reaction by one or more groups leads to retaliation by the opposition! Resulting only escalating violence! The president wants to call out the United States military. And it will happen unless senseless acts of violence come to an abrupt ending! The Beatles once sang, "come together right now over me." "Let there be peace on earth and let it begin with me."
Stop! The senseless acts of violence! Private citizens even in communities such as Snohomish Washington! Are arming themselves, and standing outside of the business to protect them. They are citizens vigilantes. They want to stop looters and vandals in their tracks! In the days of the old west, there used to lynch mobs! We do not want the bad old days back again!
Love as always,
Roxanne Lea Dubarry
Roxy Lea 1954
Roxy 1954/ October Country
June 02-03,2020
June 09, 2020 edited
We were cousins and had grown up
Close friends, living not far apart.
When I was nine and he was eight,
(His sister and my brothers were younger)
We were going to get married
Some day and have ten children,
Ten dogs, ten cats, and ten horses.
We played on the park playground
(He broke his arm falling from a swing).
We climbed trees, played card games
And board games and soldiers, and
In summer our mothers and we
Cousins took the long trek by train
And boat to swim at Nantasket Beach
One day my father found a new job,
And we moved away, far from home
As we had always known it.
My cousins also moved away,
To another, farther place, so
For years we saw each other only
On holidays or special occasions.
Although we weren’t strangers,
We were never really that close again.
We grew older, married new sweethearts,
And started families of our own.
Of course we always made promises
On Christmas cards, “We really MUST
Get our families together this year!”
But it seemed only funerals or weddings,
A 90th birthday, or a 50th anniversary
Would find us once again together,
Reminiscing about the “good old days”
When we were all children, and
We were oblivious, and time
Seemed to stretch ahead into infinity.
We have lived nearer to each other
In the last few decades, but days
And years have drifted by. Often we’ve
Put off visiting ’til “tomorrow”.
Now we are grandparents, even great
Grandparents, we and our spouses
Suddenly surprised with health issues.
And so we wake to find tomorrow
Is not always a possible option!
Finally, next week, I WILL travel -
It’s not so far - to visit with my cousin,
His sister passed on, wife in the hospital.
He is not well, and she will not,
He tells me, leave the hospital.
Why, as years go by, do we always
Assume an endless supply of time?
We toss off, “See you next week”,
Or “We’ll get together next summer!”
But can we ever be sure of that?
Forget the excuses! Do it now!
We most regret the things we didn’t do!
CODA
We had finally made new plans to travel,
At last, to see my cousin Don
And, possibly, even his wife, Ginny.
We had bought the ferry tickets.
But the night before, a storm came up
And forced us to cancel our trip.
---------------------------
Tomorrow I will go to his funeral.
Poem: Memories
Poet: Sulamani P. Dukuly
Netus N. Nowine, Jr.
Sulamani P. Dukuly: I once had a memory and never will I forget
I can't stop picturing all of the moments
we once had and shared together;
I once had a great dream
And that dream brought all the lovely moments,
I felt like all was over until I saw a memory of you,
I laugh, smile, and all of a sudden, all my broken pieces were blended.
Netus: You took away all your pictures
But you can't delete your memory;
They are stored in my brain
In my brain your memory stays
For they will never go away
When I fall at sleep, they play.
Sulamani P. Dukuly: Whenever I think of your memory, I feel embraced
Because it heals my wound and my heart sticks together:
Your memory is the best thing that I have ever experienced,
Your memory reminds me of all the good times we once had.
Each time I dreamed, I see you, although you are gone
but your memory keeps blowing my mind and it feels like we are not done.
Netus: In my mind, your name and face are stored;
They will never find an exit
For I have well sealed it,
In my mind only your memory fits
And it is unforgettable;
It helps me to be upright;
For you left a positive mark in my heart.
Sulamani P. Dukuly: It is true that memories don't die
And yours is a living testimony to that
It is impossible to get it off my mind
It's true that you are out of my sight
But your memory will keep reflecting till I depart.
Netus: When I sit, I imagine your face;
Pains come to me when others romance
I always think about when we used to dance;
I used to joyfully wait for you outside your fence
For we kept our love real and intense;
I was well clothed with your love sense.
Sulamani P. Dukuly: For each time I picture you
it usually reflects my mind back to the old days,
Your unforgettable memory has lightened up my day
And it can't stop bringing out the smile in me
Whenever I think of you, I can laugh and smile,
Thanking God for such a Queen like you.
Netus: When I inhale, your love comes in
Mixed with my blood and travels through my veins
Relieving me from pains;
Your memories help me to focus on my aims,
I recap all the scenes correctly
Never do I record the sorrows;
Your memorable scenes are well packed in rows,
And you return, I will give you rose?
A memory is like a rock in the river
The longer it drifts the smaller it gets
Possibly distorted by the waves
Like a memory over the course of time
It gets whittled down and fades
And eventually you wonder if you just made it up
But perhaps the idea is greater than truth
To say we need the idea is perhaps an understatement
To cling to some ancient ideals
The way a man might cling to a fading memory
Even as it drifts down the river being whittled away
Perhaps then that rock is something more
Not just a memory or something to cling to
But a living embodiment of all we stood for
Perhaps the rock drifting down the river
Slowly being whittled away by the rushing water
Is the rock we call the American Dream
And the longer it drifts down the river
The more the American Dream gets whittled away
We start to wonder if it was ever truly there
Or if it was ever what we truly stood for
Perhaps it was merely a grand illusion
A facade in memory that we repeated enough
Thinking that through repetition a lie becomes a truth
That, no, there was an American Dream
An American dream we fought desperately to save
That the consternation we suddenly felt would fade over time
And we'd all go back to holding hands
And dancing through the river with joined arms
Singing about the good old days
Because over time the memory became smaller
It faded as it traveled through the river
And we replaced the missing pieces with prettied lies
For when that rock finally settles on dry land
It's not the same pretty rock we all saw in our minds
It's an ugly and pathetic little thing ravaged by time
Ravaged by the river of people who sullied it
Though it was never righteous to begin with
The American Dream is simply that, a dream
It's something we sleep with at night to keep us cozy
To help us get through the harsh reality
That much like the ugly rock that went through the river
Our nation has become that very rock
We're painting America with pretty lies
Because the truth is ugly
Perhaps the lie is greater than truth
And eventually wonder if the truth was ever a truth
As it got whittled down over time and faded
Like a memory over the course of time
Definitely distorted by waves
The longer it drifted the smaller it got
The American Dream is a fading rock in the river
IF JESUS ASKS
Dew on the grass
Wants to disappear
As a day wakes up
Frightened by the red eyes of sun.
Again all those men
Will remain tireless
For some more hours.
Sharp arrows from their mind
Defeated-
Distance on the earth,
Boundary of the of universe,
Pride of stars being alone,
Even the game fate plays.
But today’s day is tired.
That green tree
Standing naked in a landscape
Used to
Sunbath during winter,
Play with wind on stormy days,
A born again make up
As spring bade good bye,
Or get drenched in rain
Like a farmer’s son.
Old days have enjoyed them all.
That green tree
No more there,
City’s claw has removed,
Roots of its existence.
Is it only that lonely tree
Has been killed by city life!
Did not you see the tears of ocean!
Her tides,
Like a beloved lady
Wanted to wipe out
All weariness of humankind.
And in exchange
Modern life poisoned her heart
With all its senselessness.
When the day,
Wants to hide her face,
From shame.
Men are still preying,
What else is remaining?
What else is faraway?
When daylight disappears,
They declare
Now penguin’s blood is our subject matter.
Or if this world becomes a bomb in fire
Then we shall hire
Our extraterritorial neighbor
To settle us in space shuttle,
Above the earth atmosphere.
So, the day unwilling to wake up any more.
Only the red eye of sun wakes her up.
Remember how morning birds
Use to sing melodies,
To wake her up.
All that resonance is missing,
As dew fell from leaves to leaves.
Glorious smile of shining water drops
On a lotus leaf
Cry alone now.
Misses how pleasant was twilight’s tune.
In today’s day
Who is there has time for them all.
But every year
There are seminars
To declare
Those entire glorious chapters
Sun, moon, even heaven is not too far.
And many more
All are in the memory of a computer.
But today’s day
Redeye of sun wakes her up.
She doubts,
Are men no more sacred now!
Yes;
May be like polluted water,
As sacred from holy Ganga river.
So one day,
Jesus asks to the heart of mankind,
You have achieved so much,
Your glorious days are here,
Then why you still keep me crucified!
For how many centuries
Shall I remain!
Human child knows age-old answer
‘Its your greatness
To remain there,
So we worship!’
Only red eyes of sun
Wakes another day up.
A day -
No dew falling on her lap.
A poem by GOUTAM HAZRA