Long Redding Poems
Long Redding Poems. Below are the most popular long Redding by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Redding poems by poem length and keyword.
AntiPoem 2
You know only one thing and that is:
Dying is not on the agenda.
Let us march now inside St. Mary’s,
March reverently through these green repentant doors,
These holy portals to grace and absolution,
Into a stain-glassed sanctuary of sinners kneeling in disguise,
These sullied souls coming in through the out door again,
Figuring death is furloughed from the crucifixion business,
Two thousand blurry years later.
Let us still march forward now to the glassed tabernacle,
Resting up there ensconced upon the marble altar,
Beyond human touch;
The host inside now transubstantiating as with earthen time,
From dry crusty oatmeal,
To omnipotent King of the Universe.
The boy holds his new Sunday missal,
As the family drives to ancient St. Joseph’s,
Up the asphalt hill, there on Gold Street,
Amidst the tentative Yuletide presentations,
Of tinsel-lit trees and blinking avenue abodes.
In the distance Lady Lassen wears a white bonnet,
As the Redding Christmas Tree stands exuberant,
Seventy-three feet into the icy air on Market Street,
A rainbow-glowing giant with a thousand staring eyes.
Brenda Lee is singing,
Rocking Around the Christmas Tree,
From blaring radios inside Oldsmobiles and Studebakers,
Cruising Placer Street to the Cascade showing Butterfield 8.
The boy is counting the neon cocktails,
While riding in the backseat on blue polyurethane,
His father is intently driving the blue ’58 impala,
Into a gravelly hilltop parking lot.
Blaring outward from the church there I heard voices,
A bubbling sacramental bouillabaisse of silent
Parishioners all genuflecting in pristine Latin confusion.
The girls choir wearing skirts of curious plaid, is
Singing loudly and softly their angelic vocal renderings:
“Gloria in excelsis Deo"
Father Elliot is extending his arms outward now,
Bestowing the final expectant blessing;
He is giving absolution to the captives driving Cadillacs.
You know only one thing and that is:
Dying is not on the agenda.
Chasing my thirst into the
desert at night,
Otis Redding was right….
“You don’t miss the water till the well runs dry”
And marrying the wrong woman
for the second time,
Smokey Robinson was right….
“You better shop around”
Writing my pen empty with the
same old words,
Cat Stevens was right….
“The first cut truly is the deepest”
And living in Macon because
I thought it was safe,
Charlie Daniels was right….
“The devil did come down to Georgia”
Losing my religion only to
seek God again,
Robert Plant was right….
“You can’t buy a stairway to heaven”
And when I’m alone and desperate and have
nowhere left to turn,
Bob Dylan was the most righteous of all….
“When you ain’t got nothin, you got nothin to lose”
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2018)
Ordinary words cannot express the glimpse, this strange eclipse of wonder
Driving over hills, just north of home, it captures first my curiosity
Amid the landlocked green of rolling hills, trees and rocky tundra
Could it be, perhaps a sailor gone astray, whose ship has grounded
Upon the rocky valley floor....so far from sea?
With mast, the sail that hangs so high...pointing sharply to the sky?
This mystery of amazing engineering artistry!
A bridge!....yet, not so simply said, as to be described as bridge alone
A masterpiece, ... as if a giant human hand
Arrived upon this northern California land to craft a timepiece
A sundial, fit to mock, ...fit to rock your faith in any other clock
Where no spring will break, or battery will fail
Where motion works a shadow, which will run as silently as the sun
With a spire that one can see, for miles north and south, over trees and me...
And as the earth rotates the axis on this day
I will walk on glass, across the cantilevered span
Over river wild, and blue and green where salmon run
It gleams as if a giant alabaster sail rules the sea
And when there are clouds it will rest, and all night it will sleep
When the sun lights the earth, then across the land the time will keep.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
For Brian's Everyman's Ekphrais contest
To see a virtual tour of the Sundial Bridge, http://www.virtuar.com/california/sundial/
Or type in Sundial Bridge, Redding, California
This bridge is about 25 miles north of my home
Mr. Prim provoked shame, guilt, and fear
In every heart, mind, and soul of Redding
Pointing his long, boney finger at whoever was near
Screaming out sinner, to hell you are heading!
Mr. Prim went to church three times a day
Prayed morning, noon, and night
Walked the straight and narrow, never to stray
He would shun wrong and always do right
A new movie in town, a huge sensation
Was rated PDV (perverse, disgusting, and vile)
Mr. Prim had to crush this abomination
Not one soul would this filth defile!
But the neon marquee announced: A Tribute To Mr. Prim
Tonight, we praise our saint’s glory
Let all our townsfolk welcome him
As we tell his inspiring story
The MC, Mayor Jones, smiled and took the stage
Mr. Prim began to feel frightened somehow
Introduced as Redding’s godly sage
Then asked to stand and take a bow
A year ago, at the passing of Joan, his wife
Proclaimed Mayor Jones demurely
She left us an account of Mr. Prim’s life
Which was not led all that purely
Now, as we view his spicy story
With our neighbor’s life honestly shown
Please keep in mind, as we praise God’s glory
Beware if you cast the first stone
The lights dimmed as the show began
Mr. Prim shook, sweated and fled the hall
The audience laughed, every woman and man
For there was never a movie at all!
Redding Poem 1
"Oh Noisy Redding"
There at the Thunderbird Lodge in downtown Redding,
I heard the gods screaming from steel axles with rubber
Claws, scratching the timeless asphalt streets with mayhem.
I heard the sirens from the mysterious distances on Market Street,
As monster machines hovered above with roaring determinations,
And the rumblings of the trucks shook the building I slept within,
Like a raging stampede of stallions, coming through the canyons,
In search of prairie grasses and the sap of a million pine trees.
Oh noisy Redding,
You finally drift to sleep in the late hours,
But your Kansas-like silences seared my soul with your plaintive noises,
Something you could have whispered perhaps, but were not inclined to try.
Then in the wee times at vulgar five o’clock, they come asunder again!
The madness machines with roaring engines about to explode like maniacs
On hyper-drugs, make their appearances with screeching brakes,
And grinding steel nerves and hydraulic sinews made of entwined madness;
And time stops, as we wonder what monster has arisen from its grave.
Oh you, detestable ghoul from the grave, why must you scream?
There at the Thunderbird Lodge in downtown Redding,
Oh noisy restless Redding,
You belch loudly as you drink to the new day, and to the last.
Oh Noisy Redding, your maniac trains rumble and massacre the silence
As your old streets grumble like something wanting to get up and dance,
Shaking old hips, as with the tremors of the deep land, the sacred land.
I cannot read small labels, my eyes don’t see so well
The labels on my spices: a culinary hell.
I came up with a system; it’s pretty hard to beat,
‘Cuz most of what I cooked before was not so good to eat.
With pictures on the label, it’s easier to know;
‘Cuz peppermint and barbecue simply do not go.
Anise is a garbage can, I kick it to the curb
Basil, I called Rathbone, a swashbuckling herb
Bay leaves, Otis Redding, sitting on the Dock
My chives, the brothers Bee Gee, ‘cuz it’s the one that talks
Cayenne, picture of a large teepee, ‘cuz man, it's real in tents
I cinnamon Jamaica way; I haven’t seen him since
Allspice, a real Transformer, it sure does add a spark
Cocoa, murdered cuckoo bird, because that’s really dark
Cardamom’s a driver’s license, to check if she’s young or old
Chili is a heavy coat for days that it's too cold
Curry is a horse’s brush, for favorite Indian dish
Garlic, a nasty tongue, to taste an ugly fish
I haven’t any Ginger, ‘cuz Mary Ann’s the best
Lemon peel, a self portrait, to scrape with zeal and zest
Sage, a wizened wizard, ‘cuz they give fatherly advice
Hibiscus, pics of flowers, because it smells really nice
Mustard, a colonel, in the library, with a pipe of lead
Pepper, a peck, what Peter picked (or so they said)
Nutmeg is a soccer ball that’s passed between the legs
Paprika, scary Lucifer, atop my deviled eggs
Parsley just has Elvis, for when you need a shake
Pumpkin Spice, a perfect pie, the kind you want to bake
Thyme, can’t keep too much on hand, the liner notes from Styx
Cajun rub, a pair of legs; it’s got a healthy kick
Tarragon, a house on fire, the smell when Scarlett’s mansion burned
Caraway, Mav from Top Gun; okay, it's breath, I'm unconcerned.
Tartar, from the Enterprise, Kirk wearing Scottish kilt
Pepper flakes, Quixote's windmill; you'll need the fan 'cuz it's full tilt.
Yeah, some of these are pretty bad, but cooking is more fun.
My family sure is happier; they love a tasty pun!
I've always been a mellow
type of fellow
Laidback like dem seats
in that Cadillac
Yeah! Real chill like that
sleek '73 Deville
Even as a little boy,
The jukebox was my toy
Sweet rhythms of life
abating all ills and strife
A manchild in a candy store
Robust bass, lovely strings, classy keys,
Harmonic horns...Need I say more?
No worries! I will continue___
so vast, so deep, so true
Riding that old country road,
just shaking off the load
Hip-Hopping to the urban ghetto
Tupac and Biggie fo sho'
Miles and Miles of Trane
jazzing through the sun and rain
Blues up, blues down, blues all around
Willie Dixon and that Chess Records sound
Feeling it deep in my spirit and heart
The voice of Mahalia Jackson I can't depart
Luther Vandross to Bob Marley
Bob James to Uncle Charlie
Madonna to Marvin Gaye
Earth, Wind & Fire to Coldplay
Jimi Hendrix to Janis Joplin
Stephanie Mills to Phil Collins
Blondie to Muddy Waters
Whitesnake to Crystal Waters
The Beatles to Bobby Bland
Sam Cooke to Duran Duran
Jackie Wilson to Jackson 5
Otis Redding to the Maroon 5
Cassandra Wilson to the Doobie Brothers
Earl Klugh to the Pointer Sisters
Regina Belle to James Brown
Patti LaBelle to Chris Brown
(Pause)
Man! I think I'd better stop
Before I start talking about Prince
and the King of Pop
But I have a confession to make
Please hear me out; it's not fake
I can't help it; I'm a melophile
Now, excuse me while I go tune
in for a while
Everybody lives with a sense of hope
looking always for a better thing
they go for many a different wish
not really sure what to sing!
Now there is a hope that's secure
the only one that holds you still
gives you foundation great and strong
a view that overcomes every hill
This hope is eternally focused
for the author is of divine origen
creator supreme of perfect love
His spirit does need no oxygin
Your real hope is simply divine
the Lord brings a certain assurance
giving His presence to fill you for real
this source of hope in abundance
("Our hope in God pulls us into the future. Hope allows us to affirm the reality of the abundant life that is ours in Christ. Hope allows us to stand in pain and to hold them until they are able to feel the love of God for themselves again. Hope allows us to work and bring God's reign upon the earth even when we see no results. Our hope begins and ends in God, the source of all hope" - Mary Lou Redding)
I Recall the Smell of that Place
I recall the smell of that place.
It came from the small side cafeteria.
I ate there daily for two months of my young life;
From the heat of September 1959, to the chill of early November;
Just a freckled, hungry third grader at Bonneview Elementary,
There, in the outskirts of Redding, a short walk to the cold Sacramento.
Other boys and girls my age were standing in line, waiting
To receive their lunches on green plastic trays at the side window,
With three smiling ladies waving for us to move quietly forward.
The smell of that place was the same everyday, like my mother’s kitchen.
It was the smell of serial casseroles, cheesy and heavy with boiled noodles.
It was the smell of restless postwar children working up a chance to scream at recess.
All of us, just a bunch of 9 year olds, staring at the coming 60’s with no clue;
All together oblivious to the future roadkill to appear, down the highway a bit,
The tragic endless parade of body-bagged playmates from 1959,
Coming into Dover, draped and cradled in the triune colors of the Mother Republic,
My friends from Bonneview who were with me in line all those times,
Smelling the smell of that place; that small side cafeteria,
With the three smiling ladies, waving us kids to keep moving forward.
I yearn for shades of Autumn and all that it could bring
the chromis strews of redding bricks the chilly burrr
Blushing apples high as kites tied to apron strings
and acorns full of french berets and nutmeg tinted plur
falling down like parachutes with no inter ;
I do foretell the signs of summer's end and so salute
the fury tilts of sapling greens in soakly forest wood;
Those elongated serenades of change with no refute
who can question them beneath God's plentish hood
except his "FIVE" bounteous leaves of cherry wood;
Swiveling down here and there aiming far with dip
the rusky calls of brownie birds as they lose their fur
The cheep- cheep- cheep of a baby's nest, a quip
that zings across the equinox of fall and oft conjures
the memory of an Autumn's tale and sweet procure ;
I yearn for gatherings of pumpkin pies and feast
the shaky janks of corn roast romps
the evening hearth that says "you're truly blessed"
Yes I love the Autumn's bold audacious stomp,
that sells to me its beauty and its comp...
August 24, 2018