Long Set the table Poems
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The old ruin sat near the brow of the hill
it had been there for centuries forgotten
none now knew for what purpose it had been used
not even the elders who had many suggestions
A not unattractive looking building of stone
and that in it's self only added to the mystery
for these stones were not locally quarried
the nearest place being over 170 miles away
Yet here they had been dragged, then hewed
wrestling them into place quite some task
an imposing building nestled in the hillside
and the views surrounding it post card perfect
Inside was airy and light with most of the roof gone
a strange hearth in the corner of the main hall
large enough for a man to walk into upright
Bread ovens built into the walls and a sitting niche
This was all that was left apart from one roofed room
in here it was dry and warm even a single trundle bed
admittedly very rockety but still it was usable
I decided to camp out the following night, it would be fun
The following evening I climbed the hill as the sun set
tonight it would be a full moon, already the air chilling
I settled in with my few belongings and lit the fire
soon it was roaring, with crackles, hissing and spitting
It was a fine clear night and the heat wonderful
so I made up a bracken bed in front of the fire
I laid back enjoying the stars and a comet shooting past
lazily I slipped not realising into a strange sleep
I found the building restored though it's use still not clear
only a long table and chairs in here, beds in the rooms leading off
then a man came into view, he did not seem to notice me as he passed
he stirred the pot cooking on the fire and set the table
Soon more men came in and sat down to enjoy a hearty meal
I realised from their armour that these were soldiers
so the ram-shackled ruin had once been a lookout post
I woke in the morning well rested remembering my dream
As I walked back down the hill I looked back at it
drenched in sunshine it seemed to gleam a wisp of smoke
curling up from the chimney it looked as if once more alive
not an old forgotten ruin moulding slowly into the landscape
I used the word ram-shackled recently and it struck me as a good theme
for a poem so I wrote this.
My heart is the same full of love
My house that shelters it full of pain
But it's autumn in my life, Dove
The hair of gray and wrinkles reign
I set the table full of food
For the family to dine fun times
But it is autumn in my life
When changes prepare for winter
I'm not sure I'll know winter now
For I have not experienced it
But it's autumn in my life somehow
Where beauty glows bright from the depths
Producing leaves of many hues
Love the autumn of my life, Dove
Now all that's left winter's white snow
I think that when winter comes cold
Plants freeze if left out in weather
They will need a warmer place inside
But since it is just autumn now
There's time to prepare room somehow
I still watch the birds from window
They have not all gone away love
But it's autumn in my life now
Soon most will be gone for winter
Winter soon will approach with cold
Seemingly death of the roses
But it's autumn in my life my bold
There are few thoughts of approaching winter
But when winter comes my way
The body rest to rise another spring
Now it's autumn in my life this day
On another day I'll be called by trumpet away
I set the table; I did not.
The pourer did. The poor did not.
The seats are cold; merlot is warm.
The pourer asks; there are replies,
sips, guzzles, sighs, manners.
I am satisfied as each one’s drunk.
The pourer leaps from spot to spot,
wincing, squinting, craving approval.
I smile; I nod; with each intonation, accent,
sound of a lady and a gentleman.
The table is set quite elaborate; each course,
choice: salad, pork, dessert.
The hour becomes late;
drunkenness from each glass poured.
I am satisfied by the pourer; rich
with the scent of merlot and more.
He’s the only one left of my friends.
The seats are cold; he is warm.
A low wind rises
tracing earth colors
on canvas
under your fingers
the bottoms of our love
interweaves.
Your laughter
reverberates
like an evening of wine
on a set table
without a glass.
Your shadow on the wall
drinking and saluting
our love, forever.
Shadowy tattoo
a curling snake
your signature.
Your low wind rises
beyond the walls
of remembrance,
whispering.
Your whisper slips
through the cracks
nothing else between us.
Ascend the high wind
of love and
set the table straight.
But be careful of the
dog that bites you
along the way
Your whispers haunt me so often
gusts past my wall.
You remind me of the days
when we thought being here and now
was enough for us.
We were young and carefree,
We thought we were invulnerable,
We didn't distrust time.
You remind me of our promises,
that our love would live forever
beyond eternity.
But we ran too fast,
time caught up with us
and out path separated.
Your whisper is now
an old joke that
has outlived its usefulness.
Yet I am its easy prey
listening with attentive ears
forever.
Today at bookstore
I looked for a manual
on how to bury your love, in vain.
For love is love and not to be burdened
by definitions, in hot and cold furnaces
apart.
Cook white rice with ochroe in
Coconut milk-----stew
Pigs-feet and pigs- tail seasoned
and spiced ------ain't that nice
Yummy Yummy -----now
set the table
Eat
Hot.
Dig in man
A caribbean feast
and juice of lemons
Cucumber, hot peppers, salt
pour into jar------- add
Boil pigs-feet, in iron pot
Once I could recall every birthday
To places I had been I knew the way
From memory I could sing gospel songs
I knew each verse, not a word would be wrong
I taught children to say the alphabet
A basic in life they must not forget
I helped them learn to add and to subtract
To multiply, divide, and be exact
I could organize a holiday meal
Entertain family and friends with zeal
Clean house, set the table, and decorate
Cook all the fixins and never be late
But then I would forget and be confused
From activities I myself excused
Alzheimer’s stole my dignity and glory
My life began a different story
My soul filled with pain, denial, and tears
As the disease tarnished my golden years
My heart beat but I could not remember
Nothing was left but a dying ember
You visited me but I never knew
My moments of understanding were few
The world became small, I rarely cracked a smile
Lonely, I lingered, through this earthly trial
Then God’s angel came in death and in love
We made the trip to the promised place above
I met Jesus, I worshipped and adored
He gave me a house I could not afford
I’ve met the neighbors, I know them by name
Seen old friends, now some new ones I can claim
I’ve not been here long but it feels like home
I know where I am, not afraid to roam
So don’t cry for me, but laugh and rejoice
I am singing hymns with new mind and voice
Of the heavenly choir I’m a member
And every song I can remember
Christmas in Australia
by Robert (Bob) Moore
Its Christmas in Australia, the weathers stinking hot
got to do some shopping, but I’d really rather not
the crowds are large and noisy, the kids get in your way
and its just so you can buy some things, you have to give away
You dress the tree, and hang the lights, a fairy on the top
you hope you’ve covered everything, but your brain just won’t stop
thinking there is more to do, something you’ve not done
and then at the last minute, to the shops you’ll have to run
You’ve boiled the Christmas pudding, and added a bit more rum
it’s time to set the table, for when the guests all come
we should have done this inside, as the flies begin to swarm
too many clothes, and too much heat, the drinks are getting warm
Is all this really worth it, now I can hardly think
as if things are not bad enough, the AC’s on the blink
don’t think we’ll do it next year, it really is too much
and with the Aussie sunshine, every things too hot to touch
Now friends and family start to arrive, the air is full of cheer
a kiss and cuddle, or a handshake, can I leave these presents here
it really feels like Christmas, when all are gathered round
Singing Christmas Carols, it’s such a joyful sound
Then food is eaten, drink is drunk, we are feeling pretty tired
except the little children, running round like they are wired
it really is a happy day, family and friends are near
we had such a lovely time, we’ll do it all again next year
it is a sad, sad tale indeed it is
father passed when i was but a babe
left with mother, sisters, dog, rabbits
there were three parakeets
and they all shared a commonality
they were female, still suspect the goldfish
such was life for me
mornings i had to prepare baths
hang towels, washcloths
then set the table with placings
wake my sisters for their baths
begin their breakfast
as they began to dine
prepared their clothes
cleaned the bathroom
cleaned the kitchen, wash the dishes
i cannot continue in this nightmare
later in life, i would pen this story
set it into a fairy tale
where my heart could always go
and wish this had been my life
sent it off to a publisher
low and behold they wrote
such a children's fable
we will print your story at once
joy filled my heart, my narrative told
and then the shock, the final blow
they had changed everything
even the name was gone
and the world was to be denied
the story of Cinderfella
who won the heart of the princess
and it was no pumpkin
it was a purple eggplant
the color of royalty
i am working on my next book
i dreamed i was orphaned
out of that feminine pit
found a balanced family
and such my new novel
Danne of Blue Gables
the "e" is silent
and pray my four daughters
find it entertaining
gentlemen may i share some wisdom
an adage belonging to the ages
in life there are times
from which there is, alas, no escape
OKC 6/22
shadows
”When you are not fed love on a silver spoon, you learn to lick it off knives.”
—Lauren Eden, The Lioness Awakens
i was raised by the dark—
mother taught me to swallow
the unsaid. my tongue split
on edges, learned to sip honey
from blades.
shadows don’t starve.
they chew the unspoken:
hiss of struck matches,
salt of a wound,
a fist clenching grief
like a prayer.
i wear my scars as cutlery.
each night, i set the table
with my father’s silence,
my mother’s marrowless bones.
i eat what the light abandons.
i drink what it fears.
John and Peter having set the table came down to get the rest
More than willing and able in wanting the room to look it's best
And as they all walked in the door Jesus seated at the tables head
Peter becoming a little sore the next seat Jesus gave to John instead
But when Judas was then next seated Peter really lost his inner cool
Feeling completely betrayed and defeated he began acting the fool
He went and took the very last seat 'look at me, way down here'
What Peter thought was defeat would later become much more clear
But in so choosing to sit there he should wash all the feet of the guest
Yet Peter didn't want to care once again the rock wasn't at his best
So now Jesus took that role as He began washing there feet one by one
He was here to save their wretched soul, the Redeemer, God's only Son
But Peter could not allow this,... "If I wash you not thou has no part with Me"
And this point Peter didn't miss saying not only my feet but hands and head be
Peter was always just a little behind and In talking to Jesus who wouldn't be
But the sorrow Peter would find in denying the Lord that night times three