Long Roadways Poems
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gestures of merit
light in letters
with fluttering words
simplicity
of impulse
twixt art &art
white silence
shape emotions
with
power of the image
in
the inner
state of mind
oozing unevenly
seething
constellations of perception
random
splinters of sound
roadways of
thought
out
of everywhere
sequenced elipsis
visual blanks
on
a spatial pitch
in
spiritual breaths
minimal linear
flows&
stopped
by streams&visions
bruise-blue
cloud shapes
rouse anger
&exhileration
in
the absence of constraint
belonging nowhere
looking
touching
longing
wishing
choices scattered
blunted
by helplessness
uprooted
crumpled in small tokens
shaken
crushed
fallen shapes
abandoned
upwards
sideways
in silent
unshapen
shadows-
the unspoken
essence of knowledge
&
sounds remembered
After a few years, I visited an old friend at his
Office. He was not there, but I was informed
That he would arrive shortly. I waited, and
Waited, and waited until I could wait no longer.
I left my friend a message with words that
He would understand from one who' had
Ground older and learned new lessons
Of life. Message: "In years of not so long
Ago, I waited more on men and less on God.
I have now learned to wait less on men and
More on God".
The paths I have troded;
The places I have tasted;
The people with whom I have been treated;
The purpose of which I have been presented;
The plans that I have been assigned to execute.
My Lord and my life have been good to me;
Giving me cause for much gratitude.
I have walked in shoes crafted just for me,
Carrying me above and beyond, to points
And places both familiar and otherwise.
I was never afforded a life without pain,
But granted one more than filled with change.
So I adjusted and when required, changed lanes.
Through pathways both broad and narrow;
Traversing twisted and rugged roadways;
Leaving me sometimes feeling lost and lonely; But always belonging and evermore fulfilling.
Should I see His face
a countenance of innocence, love, purity, and grace
or hear His voice, every melodic flow
the very rhythm of life, I pray that I would know
acknowledge the Son of God, walking upon this earth
blended into the side paths and roadways of life-s after birth
in awe and appreciation
within the embrace of His creation;
the beauty, bounty, magic, mystery, and wonder
of a God's love, His heart, His spirit, His thunder,
His existence, presence, the essence of being
within the marrow of my soul, eyes open wide to seeing.
Would that I could recognize through these human eyes
His endearing boundless efforts to save me undisguised,
call me to His arms, teach me the truths
that I fail to learn alone in old age and youth.
Surely, I would get down upon my knees
pray for wisdom, guidance, direction to believe
the inclination to open my eyes, my ears, my mind, my soul,
my heart to the miracle of being God's child to behold
if I were one of the chosen.
Simple reflections, after watching another episode of THE CHOSEN
with gratitude, awe and amazement.
We lived about a hundred miles Northwest of Chicago It was the winter of '73, and snow was covering the roads
In the land of cheese and phesants, the air was crisp and cold Surely, I must have been bored; or more likely, I was a lunatic
I should have relaxed on that quiet day with my lovely and wise wife who pleaded with me not to drive on such icy roadways.
I was convinced that duty demanded I balance the books. I deemed myself important and vital for the success of our
drug prevention program. Yes, I was obsessed with my work and blind to any and everything else that tried to change me.
I was in love with my wife, but I was also having an unhealthy affair. I had heard of extra marital affairs, but no one told this 23 year old about obsessive affairs on the side. How could my premarital counsellor
have overlooked such crucial fine print and denied me of such vital details? Why wasn't I informed that I could be driven by an unseen combustible
engine inside my brain, compelling me to committ forbidden and obsessive actions? How was I to know that I could be so wrapped up by my job?
Not to be denied though, I would soon learned the hard way which is probably
the only way I was going to learn anyway. Less than a mile up the icy road, my vehicle's tire blew; I went into a spin, knocking down a mail box; and the next voice I heard was not an audible one, but my own mind speaking. "You should have listened to your wife!!!". I was all ears and sitting quietly in my 'upside down vehicle'. The only injury was my bruised pride.
That was my first bout with my form of obsessive compulsive behavior which was before the term was even invented.
71917PSContest, Obsessions, Silent One, P2
The journey to our destiny is paved with many experiences.
And there are many and various highways available.
Please allow me to share just a few highways that
Over the years have ushered me along my journey.
Alphabet 'A' was a highway that often denied ACCESS to me.
'B' represented roadways that looked like two U-Turns,
Indicating times of UNCERTAINTY requiring me to turn back.
For a time, the 'E' roads always pointed me EAST; Never West.
The 'F' roads were DISCOURAGING, but I always did my best.
I tell you, the 'G' and 'Q' highways were very CONFUSING.
At times, it seemed they were leading me nowhere.
There were times on the 'O' roadways I went ROUND and ROUND.
On this long road to destiny, there were forks in the road,
But the "Y' highways taught me how to be DECISIVE.
This journey would not be realistic if there were no 'W's.
There were always QUESTIONS of what, when, where, which way,
and why. But it was the 'W' highways that took me all the way west
to the Pacific Ocean, a region feeling most like home. Out west
is where I lived and worked for more than 40 years.
No, the journey isn't finished, and there are yet highways of life to be traveled. As I keep sight on my destiny, may l not Iose focus of my journey.
On every highway, God directed my path as I acknowledged him.
The 'L' roads were always there showing me how to LOVE.
And the 'T' roads reminded me that God was always THERE.
Beautiful to look at;
Glittering, shiny, chilly, sparkling, frosty, freezing ice.
Gently it started, a light mist descending from a leaden sky.
Looking harmless, clinging to grasses, roofs, roadways and branches,
Soon covering power lines, getting thicker and heavier,
It glimmered in the evening light.
Darkness obscured its total take-over,
Until the lights went out!
Cold came creeping into our homes,
While flickering candlelight barely showed us the way.
Suddenly a shot blasted outside!
No- it must be Ft. Knox,
Shooting cannons in the middle of the night.
The whole house shook and rattled.
Large branches, weighed down by ice,
Broke off the troubled maple trees,
Crashing onto the unexpecting rooftop.
One is followed quickly by another, and another.
Knowing to stay away from windows and glass doors,
Yet we want to see what is happening.
Apprehensive we peep out into the wild, yet still night.
Still only until another utility pole crashes.
Ice pellets slowly change into fluffy snowflakes.
By daylight we find a wondrous sight.
Hard ice covers the snow, more ice under that snow.
The world has become an ice palace.
Doors are barred by fallen, broken branches,
Yet still, we admire the icy beauty we see.
Even the smallest limb is coated with the frozen substance.
The world we see looks fresh, clean and white,
Sunshine turns it into a magic winter wonderland.
Ice- it has the power to stop the flow of life
As it is, freezes transforms, and redecorates.
It has the strength to pull down poles, power lines and trees alike,
One tiny, freezing drop at a time,
It grows until it evolves into a mighty, unstoppable force.
February 28th, 1968 marked the date
Boyce Brandon Harris
(my octogenarian widower father)
purchased a small tract of land
Pooh would Winnie
constituting shadowed sliver
once hailing, hallmarking, harkening,
glorious vast "Glen Elm" estate,
which circa 1910 encompassed
a hundred plus acres of woodland
(including a pond frequented
by migrating Canadian Geese)
eventually zoned for commercial,
industrial, and residential development
(all in the name of productive land use)
particularly put into motion
courtesy Donald J. Neilson,
who transformed expansive woodland
rivaling shutterfly
sprouting like mushrooms towed stools
booming explosively
after ample precipitation
little houses on the hillside
little houses made of ticky tacky...
popped up overnight
transforming landscape
displacing flora and fauna with vinyl city
(minus spit of property papa bought)
manicured bumped uglies with wild wisp
reduced pristine niche leftover jot haven
squawking disoriented geese instincts
thwarted, where drained wetlands
a Arcadian past suburbanization
overlaying (palimpsest like) rural setting
trademark bucolic print Currier And Ives
stock in trade signature prints
landscape sparse human population
country aire sprinkled with family farms
fresh dairy, produce, vegetables
butchered animals free ranging
without synthetic injections
nostalgia faintly recreated here
Highland Manor Apartments
Schwenksville, Pennsylvania
a slip of country revered
against a Paul Ling urbanization
nothing appears familiar
retracing roadways now major highways
frequent moments breeds alienation
familiar ground confusing, frightening, and perplexing.
We were iced-in during the winter of '26
Flortunately, it lasted for only one week.
Although the roadways were safe and nice,
We were surrounded with lots of ice.
8 days and nights of black-out
4 days and nights of endangered food
A new generator refused to generate.
An old generator held Faithful to the finish.
In a broad southern sweep, with no desire to please,, Febuary rushed in with a freeze.
Although underneath, the roots held tight,
Peach and plum trees, so laden and leaning
Low with ice, were a very pleasing sight to watch.
There were heighten fears of broken water lines
And the weight of ice broke many electric lines
But at no time did we feel a threat to our lives.
Standing on the deck of a Quebec Eastern township home,
Views take my breath away, you are alone in the wilderness.
Hints of lavendar, pine and cedar fill the air so fresh and clear,
Red coloured earth peeks through spots between forests of green.
High on a hill you strain to see the river meander through the valley,
The sun kisses the tops of pines, leaving reflections on the water.
Only at night does the valley start to reveal its true secrets,
Lights peeking through the trees glow down the mountainside.
Smoke rises from the chimneys of the hidden homes,
Bonfires burn in backyards, voices echo over the air,
Rain rolls in with lightening flashing pictures of the scene,
Thunder rocks the hills and mist begins to rise from the trees.
Revealing the roadways where the water evaporates on the tar,
Showing the winding pathways to the hidden houses in the forest,
Then the sun shines bright bringing the forest back to life,
Leaving only the earth, water and air as it was meant to be.
While in the prime of my adolescence,
I left a lovely town under Heaven...
the sleek palm trees swayed softly
and the perfume of the stooping orange trees
sweetly entered into my nostrils;
I had no time for tears, only an uttered goodbye...
friends and neighbors cried,
wishing me immense fortune!
In my naiveness, I didn't see any sadness
and hoped to find my new home
under another Heaven...a town
never lurking in complete darkness,
because every star came out
in full luminescence to insure me I wasn't alone....
I walked other streets much longer and wider,
thinking of the old clock-tower
overlooking the busy square where folks chattered
and sipped their cappucino or espresso
with an incredible gusto;
I wandered among glass and steel skycrapers,
searching for twinkling stars,
but I found none that glittered!
A lost traveler...weary and stranded,
not found by anyone on roadways,
standing at crossroads and making hard choices;
a fortune-seeker never finding his treasure intact,
envisioning an elusive concept
at the cost of an unconceivable regret!
Time has finally lost its grip on me,
allowing me to free myself of its captivity..
making clarity even brighter than perception:
to anxiously see me walk in that town under Heaven,
and to hold in my trembling palms
the velvety petals of falling roses!