Long Parking Poems
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how much is it worth to you to feel safe and secure?
how much would you spend? how much could you afford?
what is the monetary value that you would place on your life?
how much money would it take? how much would you sacrifice?
what price safety? what would be the cost?
what price safety? what would you spend to prevent the loss?
too frightened to get on the elevator in the building where you reside
don't know if you'll make it to your door before a thief is at your side
too scared to walk to your car alone in a public parking lot
don't know if you'll get the keys in the door before you're assaulted or shot
what price safety? how much money would you spend
just to have that feeling of security once again?
most every elected official in most every country in this world
have their own taxpayer funded security detail
the celebrities, movie stars and TV personalities
have personal body guards and/ or private security
America has been on heightened alert since the Twin Towers did fall
the airports, the borders and Homeland Security are constantly on the ball
security has become one of the nation's fastest growing industries
and you can't go anywhere in this world without showing identity
so how much would you spend to remove from your life that spirit of fear?
how many dollars would it take to protect what you hold dear?
there're not enough police to go around to be in society's face
so security officers take up the slack and stand in their place
we've become the front line defenders that the community sees
to detect, protect and defend them and their property
retailers spend thousands of dollars just to secure their goods
from thieves, boosters, shoplifters and your garden variety hoods
the government be it federal, county, city or state
use security officers to keep the peace in abate
yet without benefit of weapons, no batons, no vests or guns
we hold to our positions and we get the job done
we alert the police, FDNY and the EMTs
at the first signs of violence, fire and any emergency
but we're at a disadvantage when it comes to getting paid
for we barely make what would be considered a livable wage
what price safety? what would it be worth to you
to give security officers what they are due?
what price safety? I ask you once more
what price would you pay just to feel secure?
WHAT PRICE SAFETY?
There was something spectacular
about a winter, long and hard,
on the Miles River.
Some days will never be the same.
Greying skies, heavy hung
with crystal burdens
of the wind, and air. Twenty above,
after sunset, zero.
And the snow was the problem
of every man of driving age
with responsibility. His children
were busy getting ready.
And getting ready! The flurry
of wool, and the long john-ed cotton.
A long and hearty walk ahead, river bound,
passing ponds along the way...
A pair of skates, tied together,
a knitted cap and a smile
crossed the frosted fields, the puddled
slush and slurry, hurried
to gather like the feathered geese
who gathered
on the ice inside a frozen cove,
a forgotten day one January.
And the town of Saint Michaels:
a sidewalk of salt and shovels
digging out the shops...
the smell of warmth, of oak,
drifting thick from brick and mortar,
soups and running noses tucked away
inside the bars and churches,
snowfall on stones in cemeteries
of the Methodist, St. Luke's,
and of the Catholic.
There's birds at the feeder
of a residential tucked nearby.
A sigh, a whisper of air
between the shops
from the docks, chilly regards
from river and bay.
And a waterman, on his way
to the mouth: leather skin, covered
and coated in khaki and denim,
with permanent painted on flannel.
The oysters busheled up are icing over
in a harbor of seafood trucks
and white liars, old men who carry business
no longer, young boys with no blood to offer.
Forsaken a tradition, over a dollar.
And so the middle aged...age. With bad knees,
busted knuckles, and a thermos of lukewarm
coffee, black and heavy.
Cigarette smoke and rubber boots,
bibs and denim jeans drying inside
beside a stove of wood, the cord
stacked long outside.
And babies buried deep in coats
and blankets, mothers careful
in the parking lots of
Grauls and Acme.
Stews for dinner, Oyster based
and beef, warm tomato
with Saltines for crumbling
and butter for spreading.
Just the way of things.
On Spencer Creek, someone took down
a Christmas tree: a tomato cage
on a dock. Distant echoes of a motor
lapped the shoreline.
Some men dreamed of spring time,
when the cold would stop biting
and the creeks would clear
away the winter with the rain.
Some days will never be the same.
About several years ago
I had a car accident in my sporty fancy car
the car was clean and full with gas
I stopped to make a left turn
a few miles away from home
on that day, I was alone
possibly, my Mother and Daughter, or other were to go with me on that day
somehow, I think that they cancelled as I went on my way
I imagined if someone was in the car with me on that day
Oh Lord, what would of been if they was there
you see God knows your life
it was a miracle that I survived it all
after being hit from the back as I can re-call
an elderly man driving so fast
the noise was so loud as it quickly lasted
the back end of my car was dented all of the way in
as I got out of the car and looked so surprised
I said to myself, It is not so bad
until I looked at the back end of the car
half way gone totalled out, as I could of shouted!!!!
But, I thank God that it was not me that was damaged
I can get another car, my life was in a surprise mode
I am so glad that my seat belt was on
someone said that if I did not have my seat belt on
I could of been thrown, maybe long gone
some people started bringing my car parts to me
gathering around at the car accident scene
as people were standing by
the driver was there too, he was okay
I am glad for us both we made it through
I asked him later at the hospital
What happened? He first said; are you that Lady that was driving the car?
I replied yes, He said that he just did not see me
I said to him God is good
Angels were there on that special day
a extraordinary way was made
I was guided into a parking lot and the car then stopped
after I was hit, I wonder if this man was lit
I just knew that I was a survivor and he was too
the Lord spared me on that most terrifying day
All I can say is Thank you Lord with Praises
I could have died or maybe been paralyzed
my neck was so sore after that scene
I went home later that night after being tested
it was a day that I'll always remember
I am here this day to tell this testimony
I am here for a purpose I made it out alive
Until this day and always I am thankful and greatful to GOD
I am in my right and sound mind.
By: **Catherine Jackson Townsend.
~~I was spared. I am a survivor of many many obstacles in my life.
Fractured prisms reflected the light as blood her apron, The mirror was first to see the deed and all the mayhem. Sunlight screamed thru the only window, making the room seem smaller still, Even with the summer heat I felt a sudden chill. The kitchen floor ran red, my father’s back did too. Mother stood in triumph like a cold starring statue. I never heard a sound ‘till someone yelled ‘My God’. Time seemed to be on holiday. All motion slow, unreal, odd. Sirens and red lights soon filled the parking lot. The excitement charged the air but we children seemed forgot. I never saw the ambulance as it sped away. I didn’t even. Get to say goodbye to this sad and dying day. Mother never swayed, she continued to stand her ground. She never made a sound. I don’t think she heard a word. I pulled my brother to me, he wiggled and pulled free. He went to stand by mother, that’s where he most wanted to be. I looked around the room, where could the baby be? Through the blood she crawled unaware of the violence shaping our history. That was the day my childhood died. I had o grow up fast. I learned right then about cruel life. As my world erupted into a volcanic blast. The fallout lasted for so long. That memory was seared into my brain. Never would I trust my mom again. Every day I lived in fear. When would her anger turn to rage? I saw that look in her eyes sometimes, like an animal in a cage
She sits on the bathroom floor
Hiding behind a tightly closed door
Afraid that prying eyes will see
What society has forced her to be
With fingers pushed halfway down her throat
On the remains of dinner she silently chokes
The taunting cries of her classmates in mind
Loudly calling her fat all the time
Just a size ten but not a three
Like the girls in magazines you see
Thighs that need to be as slim as a boys
Boobs need to be as large as flotation toys
He sits and stares at his pale skin
Apparently white is out, tan is in
Long hours spent on a tanning bed
Risking skin cancer to fit in instead
Only sixteen, muscles not developed yet
Need to be leaner and stronger he frets
And so the need to be more than he is drives
To bottles of steroids he soon arrives
The school bell rings, all the kids scatter
Except one lonely girl that seems not to matter
Classified as poor by the labels on her jeans
Not worth socializing with by those that have means
The parking lot is filled with such flashy cars
Kids talking on cell phones, their heads in the stars
Gucci sunglasses draped across their nose
Life as an stereotype dawns clear and slows
Everyone wants to emulate a great big star
Society tells them it's no good to be who you are
You have to be better than everyone else you see
The thinner, the tanner, the richer, the better you'll be
Girls should be blond, blue eyed and demure
Sexy and seductive, rich and not poor
Boys should be muscular yet tanned and lean
With smiles so white they blind when seen
Everyone needs to drive a fast fancy car
Designer clothes are the very best by far
For all those that don't fit the wonderful dream
The world doesn't even see them it seems
Too much hype splashed across billboards to the young
Expectations are too high but are haphazardly slung
Into the schoolyard the hype does quickly spread
Feeding egos and turning them into bullies instead
Those that have more and who fit the desired mold
Hassling those that haven't reached the gold
Next thing you know there's a kid with a gun
Trying to silence the voices of everyone
Then we wonder what happened to him
Well the truth is, he just couldn't fit in
Too many stereotypes not enough understanding
Life just became too absolutely demanding
You Never Know What You’ll See on Elm Street
Take my hand – follow the plan,
Let’s go for a walk down wide Spruce Street;
Friends to play with and neighbors to greet
But now that we see all that we can
Let’s turn the corner and go to Elm Street.
Questions run all over your face
Where is Elm Street – a magical place?
A kingdom where marvelous wonders live -
Where fairytales dance and marvels sing?
I can only say: “You never know what you’ll see on Elm Street.
Your eyes now look like giant white saucers,
Glowing and shining in the moonlight darkness,
Not a word, not a bird’s song, breaks through the sunlight
Look very carefully so you won’t miss the delights…
Our hearts beat loudly with wild anticipation
Every hair on our heads stands up in great animation
Peek round the corner! Open your eyes! Tiptoe lightly!
Don’t disturb the surprise.
What’s that on the corner – I can’t believe my eyes -
One of Santa’s eight reindeer all decked out in lights;
What is he doing here at the end of July?
Do we see snowflakes in the summer sky?
There in the sidewalk - a long jagged crack!
Where will it lead us – how will we get back?
Look – red ripe tomato plants grow up through the sidewalk
All we can do is wonder and gawk.
Who is that calling us – how do they know our names?
We’ve never set foot here - we’re not even famous;
Our friend Mrs. Smith from the village bookstore
With snickerdoodles and lemonade at her front door.
There on the parking strip flags of red, white and blue.
Fifty bright stars flutter on a field of dark hue.
How did they get here from Main Street in July?
Did they walk, skip or run just for our eyes –
Sit here on the curbside – rest from your quest
What’s coming next – only a guess -
Way down the street more adventures beckon
Pause just awhile – wait just a second.
Now a scary fierce giant stomps high in the sky -
A high flying ogre – dark as the night;
Only a cloud ship gliding on frisky breezes -
Heave a great sigh the giant can’t reach us.
At the end of the street we’ve finally come.
Turning back now -look at all of the fun.
The reindeer, tomatoes, flags, clouds and the cookies
All wave good-bye and with wide-eyes you ask looking
“When can we come back to Elm Street?”
A walk down Elm Street with G-Man and AJ
July - 2008
I was dreading my return to work. There would be a multitude of questions
especially by that sod, Riley. He and I had never gotten along; he was too weird. Death was desolating but an untimely death at the hands of a murderer seemed somehow a tiny bit worse.
I realized with a heartfelt pang that I had mourned until my eyes could not mourn any more. They were so raw already, the damage might be irreparable.
As a kind of glorious consolation Monday was a placid day. The sun was out,
the birds were singing, it felt like the first day of spring; although spring was a
few weeks away. There was a peaceful solitude when I arrived at the office.
The only car in the giant parking lot belonged to my boss, Howard. It was his old red Volvo, a monster car that we had always laughed about when we
were dating. Howard was the best kind of boss, smart, open-minded, friendly,
helpful, a great listener. As a date he had been a dud though.
I like wild boys - bad boys, not nice guys. I have no idea why, but if my adrenaline is not racing, you are not the one for me. Howard’s innocence made him seem dull to me. Yes, I think that was it. He was so quick to flush, inexperienced, I did not want him to know my wild side. I thought
it might jeopardize my job.
I would not mind having a few seconds alone with Howard
this morning. Dull was something I could do after this last week of hell. I raced up the concrete steps. When I reached the glass door my badge did not work. Dhram! I thought maintenance had fixed that.
Howard was in his office alone. I spoke to him briefly, as I could see he was not in a conversational mood, which was odd for him. His eyes were red, so I left. Sometimes work is not the best place to unleash a bunch of grief. When I reached my desk all of my things were gone. Cleared off.
I looked up and saw a giant picture of me and my boyfriend
Spider, on the other side of the room. What the ….? Irritated, I walked over there to get a closer look. Spider had been nothing but trouble lately.
A bright light surrounded me as I approached the painting. An angel was standing in the middle of it. You have said goodbye to Howard now. It is time, she said gently. I nodded. Ready now to take on a new endeavor; my real life. This one had never been what I was looking for anyway.
Under the dark sky of 2025, where the Genetic Basin pulses
like an overloaded server beneath the shadows of a Sulimi,
my thoughts flow like a faulty algorithm through 6G networks,
whistling beneath faces lit by screens, with AirPods in ears,
running through Amazon Go, crushing biodegradable packaging,
in a digital chaos colder than the melted ice of the Arctic.
Faces of extinguished moons, scrolling TikTok under artificial neon,
with quantum phones vibrating in pockets, lost AI messages,
in the metaverses of a world forgetting to breathe under the gray sky.
Baneasa Mall, now an NFT hub, with free tokens fluttering,
like false stars, bots from online marketplaces invading,
shouting "IT'S FREE!", grabbing synthetic meat, solar energy by the box.
The autonomous bus rattles like a faulty drone, shaken,
where the Suleni virtually trample each other to be the first to board in AR,
to be the first to descend, to sit, crawling slowly through VR, but dashing,
like panthers at the "drop" of a rare NFT—a grotesque dance under the sky,
gray with climate change, under lost AI rhythms.
The Church of the "Holy Sepulchre", a 4K live stream, with digital bags,
sprinting at bayonet, ready to overturn a sanctified NFT, shouting,
"Sirrr, we're in line too!"—a knowing but blind mob,
under pixelated vaults of forgetfulness, under the heavy sky of 2025.
On graphene slabs, between cleaning robots and 3D printers,
I ask: those who built Opera, Roman baths, divine statues,
would they have crawled on nanotube floors for virtual energy?
The master whispers: "These were brought, heating with biofuel,
on trodden floors, with straw under the gray sky!" Today, assistance,
robotic parking, digital muddle, quantum discord, discipline,
under AI sanctions, like Pavlov's algorithm—a metaverse of oblivion.
Under the dim light of a holographic screen, I see the Sulimea as a shadow,
hybrid, with neural implants, unsporty digital fauns, lost.
In quantified globalization, wings broken by AI, stars melted in carbon clouds,
a drained Genetic Basin under the rhythms of an AI mimicking
Inna's voice—my melancholy is a lost code, an eternal bug, a dream,
magic under silent slabs, where Chess Pieces no longer see, and I remain, blind,
under the sky of 2025, an echo of a millennium shattered into ashes.
The haunted train of Schwenksville
After dark every Halloween
since living social in Perkiomen Valley
for seven long years,
a shrill whistle train whistle
(often compared to the sound
of a bird's call, particularly
a large bird like a hawk or a crane,
due to its piercing, high-pitched
and long-lasting whistle-like quality)
soundcloud heard
from afar clear as a bell,
yet nary a train present
since locomotives stopped running
through Schwenksville, Pennsylvania valley in 1976,
when Pennsylvania Railroad
gave up its rail assets
to Consolidated Rail Corporation (Conrail).
However, some passenger "rambles" took place
from Reading to Schwenksville in the late 1960s.
Matter of fact beginning at the junction
of the Schuylkill River Trail in Oaks,
the trail uses much of the former rail bed
of the Perkiomen Line of the Reading Railroad.
The Perkiomen Trail
created in 2003, often called, the “Perky”,
the trail rolls down the valley
of Perkiomen Creek,
which may have been a reference
by local American Indians
to the surrounding cranberry bogs.
The northern end of the trail begins
at Morrow Pavilion in Green Lane Park,
where trail users can find parking and restrooms.
The 20-mile Perkiomen Trail
follows the route of the Perkiomen Creek
from Oaks to Green Lane Borough.
It connects to the Schuylkill River Trail
and the Audubon Loop.
For most of its length, the "Perky,"
known by many, uses the former rail bed
(as iterated earlier)
of the Perkiomen Line of the Reading Railroad.
Every other time of year
outer limits of the twilight zone
spread dark shadows,
which creep along the edge of night
startling a driver unexpectedly
yet instinctually to veer
away from harm's way
courtesy a nocturnal creature,
now ghost rail activity heard to scare
the living daylights
out of atheists like myself,
who quickly utter a prayer
immediately afraid then jubilant,
cuz prevarication (housed within
a ghastly fashion) my métier,
which brilliant notion
sparked immediately, née instantaneously
after discerning unquestionable choo-choo
within a kiloampere,
a unit of measurement equal
to one thousand amperes.
An ampere is defined
as the amount of current
that flows through a conductor
when one coulomb of charge
passes through it in one second.
I don't think about you in everything I do like I used to.
But a part of me still holds on one year later.
With memory of glassy eyes on top of the parking garage
I laid down in your lap, looking up and feeling the seatbelt dig into my back.
I didn't care, because your hands were holding me and tears were melting down from your face meeting my messy hair.
I felt it though.
Digging further in.
Bruising pressure.
Imprinting in my skin.
I ignored it as you asked me to stay.
I ignored it as you told me things would change.
I ignored it as you said you had never felt this way.
I was ready in myself.
I could've jumped that night and been at peace,
And you were almost going to let me.
But then you begged and pulled and pleaded, not wanting me to go.
How selfish of you
Acting as if you loved me
Pretending and putting on this show
I came back for you again
History repeats itself, haven't you heard?
...I should have jumped that night.
You were poison and
By now
By now I should have learned
One month went by
And we ended up at that same very spot
Overlooking city lights
You held my hand all the way to the edge
My toes curled, gripping onto what balance I had left
Now you say you're sorry
But you told me I was safe
Lies lap around your lips
You're the one who pushed me to this grave.
You try to apologize
Swearing you're going to make things right
But you can't take back the water That fell like glaciers from my eyes
You can't take back the whispers
All those talks late at night
...You can't take back those words That slithered from your tongue
That tempted and persuaded
Braided the rope from which I hung
And you cannot take back those letters
Because I set them all on fire
I watched them go up in flames
But darling, the words you wrote,
They're still burning in my brain
When I hear your name in passing
At first my chest tightens up
My face looks flushed
And my palms get sweaty
My stomach is in a knot
And my heart gets heavy
I don't know when I'll finally be able to go a day
Without you crossing my mind
I spend my life in the fires that burn but do not consume
And even though you sent me through hell
I hope you're getting through this better than I am...
I hope you're doing well.