Long On the far side Poems
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Hey babe, we're gonna go far.
All 'cause I am tried of working
for the man's with smelly Cuban
Imported cigars. He must honestly
spend a small fortune on them.
We've been living much too long
on the far side of town. Living
on the other side of rail road
tracks. Hearing their lonesome
whistle blowing loud as can be.
Hey love, your old man really knows
how to make a fast buck.
He does not go traveling
in in a beat up old blue
pick up Chevy truck!
Struggling really hard just
trying to make both ends meet.
Wondering and worrying about
paying the rent before all of
our meager money has been spent.
And we both wind up living on the streets.
Hey babe, I know your old man
really knows how to make the
scene driving around in his female chauffer's
driven black limousine. Reading
The New York Times and the Wall
Street Journal and Newsweek every day.
Hey babe, I even did hear about
your old man making the front
cover as Time Magazine's
Man of the Year.
Hey Chickee, your old man really
has all of the money changers
beat. 'Cause he is known and
loved, "As the Wolf of Wall Street.
And hey girl, I did want to make you
cry, we've always someone managed
to barely get by. Some day, our boat's
going to come in! I just wish I only
knew both how and when!
Love as always,
Roxanne Lea Dubarry
Roxy Lea 1954
Roxy 1954/ October Country
January 24, 2020
My Healing Prayer
Written: by Tom Wright
The “Miracle Man”
6/30/2018
Jesus, the Good Shepherd, you’ve heeded another’s plea,
While on the far side knowing, they interceded for me.
You touched my body during Sudden Cardiac Arrest,
Placing me in the low percentile, who survive this test.
You gave sagacity to those who attended me, each day,
Your Spirit was mentoring them, each step of the way.
You know what it’s like to endure pain and even loss,
For you gave your life for my sin, upon a cruel cross.
My cardiologist called me Lazarus, others, Miracle Man,
And at times the Protected One epitomizing God’s plan;
Now I seek to feel useful and productive once again,
And thank you Lord Jesus for your healing touch. Amen.
study period
It’s December and my roommates and I are deeply into Christmas. We’ve got a little 3ft tall Christmas tree with about fifty-thousand little multicolor LED lights on it (LEDs because we ARE saving the planet). We’re in the ‘study period’ right before finals and It’s a lowkey Saturday night.
Lisa and I were pajama’d and gelaxing in our suite’s common room. She was in a tan easy chair and I was slouched on our red corduroy couch and my slippered feet up on a white coffee table. We had a Christmas playlist playing throughout the suite, a ‘Christmas lights of Paris’ Youtube video streaming silently on our TV and cups of Keurig brewed hot-chocolate with little marshmallows.
Leong came out of her room and joined us, taking a seat on the far side of the couch with me. After a moment she stretched-out, putting her head in my lap. I love her jet-black, cornsilk hair and it wasn’t long before I found myself stroking it, a gesture primates have been making since the pleistocene period. When Lisa glanced over at us and smiled, I started making gestures like I was looking for fleas in her hair and eating them - in a silly, momentary comedy lost on Leong.
We got back from November recess a few days ago. After three years together, it was easy, almost automatic, for us to fall back in our rhythms as roommates. On arrival, I glanced through my drawers, dirty clothes and shelves, taking a casual inventory. Everything was as I remembered it but still, everything had the feel of trivial leftovers from some lost civilization.
I got a new M3-iMac, it’s really the best platform for putting docs side by side. The first thing I did was hit ‘restore my setup’ from the cloud. I love futzing with tech - I can remember when that kind of restoration would have taken all day - but fifteen minutes later I could tell from the files on my desktop that everything was restoring nicely.
As I sat back on my office chair watching the restoration, I felt myself relax. THIS was real life, this was how life should be done. No matter what else I’d done or where else I’d gone - this was how my life should be - at school, with friends, facing those challenges. It was a peek-moment.
It was an illusion that my little iMac welcomed me back, like an old friend, as it finished restoring - wasn’t it?
.
.
jelaxing = gelling & relaxing
Same Roof
We shared a roof, a table, the same four walls,
and still I lived on the far side of a door
no one had thought to knock on.
Their voices filled the house each morning,
familiar as the kettle, the taps, the stairs,
and none of it ever reached me.
I was in the room. I was not seen.
You can stand in a doorway for years
and be furniture to the people you love.
They were meant to be the ones who knew me
before I knew myself,
who could read the weather in my face.
Instead I learned to fold my heart small,
to keep it in a pocket
where no one would ask what it weighed.
I have grieved the things that happened.
That grief has edges. It has names and dates.
The other grief has none.
It is the hush where the conversation should have been,
the hand that never reached across,
the people I sat beside for years
and never met.
I was not only mourning what was done to me.
I was mourning the child who kept waiting to be known,
and the closeness
that never had its chance to exist.
They crawl in a line
along the esplanade
between beachfront mansions
and the bay's indifference,
windows down, elbows out,
hands tapping on doors in time
to the doof doof base
pulverizing air and eardrums
inside their metal sanctums
of pure testosterone.
Throbbing engines ease them
along the street, slow
and deliberate as if to give
pedestrians time to admire
and take in such potency.
An occasional pump
on the pedal sends a roar
rasping out of twin exhausts
and stutters a squeal
of tyres announcing to the locals
and all gathered, the "boys"
are here.
Marooned in another era,
they seem oblivious
to the derision flung at them
as they pass, misinterpreting
a smirk for an approving smile,
the shake of a head a gesture
of wonder rather than a judgment
on how silly they look.
Their egos blaze like the sun
reflected in polished chrome.
When satisfied
they've given onlookers their fill
of metallic ****, they hang a left,
plant their foot
and in a wake of tyre smoke
and deafening noise, rocket off
back to their own private planet,
time frozen somewhere
in the exhaust filled clouds
on the far side of their minds.
Anna and I were sitting on an outdoor bench. To get some fresh air, our classes are virtual this week and we were feeling claustrophobic. I was working on a poem idea on my iPad and Anna was uploading an assignment from her laptop.
The bench is by a walkway and there were a few people passing by. I asked Anna, “What’s an alternative word for paralysis?” And three rando students walking by answer my question, in less time than Anna can even look up from her Mac.
“Tetraplegia,” says a girl on the far side of the walk - who passed us right to left - her friends laughed at her for answering my question. “Palsy,” says a guy who was passing the other way, on our side - he didn’t even look up from his phone. And last, a guy behind the girls says, “standstill.”
I just look up and smile - I love this place. Everyone’s friendly and collaborative. There’s an almost homogeneous curiosity about the world.
“Maybe I should create a sidewalk, crossword-puzzling channel on Twitch?” I ask Anna, who just shook her head, “No.”
Here’s a short poem for the blind among us,
A poem that’s written in braille,
A poem that hopes to enlighten the world,
A short unique, beautiful tale,
About a blind old wise man, who lives all alone,
In a house on the far side of town,
With a poetic dog, who faces the moon,
And howls a short poetic sound,
And the man can see what the dog softly sings,
Can see what this dog tries to say,
Can see the love shared by this most beautiful dog,
The love on full public display,
As he drifts off to sleep, every night of the week,
Drifts off with this dog on his mind,
This poetic mongrel, a terrier cross something,
This poetic dog who is blind.
Desire and want are on the far side.
A lifetime to crisscross black waters.
Say goodbye from your porcelain boat with a rudder of bones
Set sextant for shores of honey and gold.
Offer a diamond-studded prayer to Poseidon.
Sails filling with faith and tattered hope.
Tides can be cruel, or tides can be kind.
Rarely are they indifferent.
Currents are jesters that tickle the will, then smash the mind.
You'll soon yearn for tiny treasures long ignored and loves left behind.
Say, what did you find when you finally arrived?
On the far side -the furthest side.
Did you find what you needed: peace of mind?
After you scraped off barnacles and leeches.
Did you manage to sift the dream?
From the sirens and seagull screeches.
Now you've had your fill of the nymphs and the thrills.
Yearning to go back to old flames that you fled from.
The porcelain ship is cracked -weighted with gold
You shallowly pray to the God of infinite chances.
But he's finally run thin on custom-made patches.
You've gained no humility or wisdom.
So, you continually curse him.
Now you're stranded by your mind, tormented by time.
What did you extract from this great expansion?
From the journey of mirrors and hollow-eyed enchantments...
Now, brace for the pangs of the coming contraction.
Far Side of the Moon
Winter and summer begin on a solstice
That marks the shortest and longest days of the year;
Spring and fall arrive with the equinox.
When the sun is closest to the equator
And day and night are of equal hours.
Daily, the Earth spins on its 23.5-degree tilted axis
Called its “obliquity” and orbits the sun once a year.
And this orbital plane gives rise to changing positions
That usher in opposite seasons
In the Northern and Southern Hemispheres.
The Moon orbits the Earth every month
(Synchronized with its rotational spin on its axis)
And spins at the same speed it orbits the Earth
And explains why the near side of the Moon is always in view
As seen from Earth and the far side remains a mystery.
***
Notes:
In October 1959, the USSR spacecraft, Luna 3, transmitted back to Earth the first images of the far side of the Moon (the side unseen from Earth). The Chinese rover Yutu-2 landed on the far side of the Moon on January 3, 2019, and found the lunar soil to be stickier than on the near side facing the Earth.
She flies on the wings of a dream
Soaring on nothing but a breeze
She's a free spirit with a sunny gleam
Her flight takes her among the tall trees
Soaring on nothing but a breeze
Riding the wind to catch another butterfly
Her flight takes her among the tall trees
Nothing can eclipse her joy beneath azure skies
Riding the wind to catch another butterfly
She finds a monarch on the far side of the hill
Nothing can eclipse her joy 'neath azure skies
Just a dream away she'll find another thrill
She finds a monarch on the far side of the hill
She's a free spirit with a sunny gleam
Just a dream away she'll find another thrill
As she flies on the wings of a dream
----
Songs by John Denver
On the wings of a dream
Nothing but a breeze
Spirit
Flight
Catch another butterfly
Eclipse
Far side of the hill
Just a dream away