Long Slip away Poems
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Come, my pretty, and comb your hair;
Fun is waiting at Scarsdale Fair!
Leave your seat upon the stair,
And sunny view at the window there.
Let's make the most of the golden days,
As we do of summer's lush bouquets,
And let not the heyday slip away,
For what now happens, time replays.
Scarsdale Fair is greatest by far.
Scarsdale Fair is where the people are.
Scarsdale Fair is most singular.
Scarsdale Fair is honey in a jar.
Let's go where happiness reigns,
And taste of pies, eat sugarcanes;
See what new wonders life contains,
Beyond the country lanes.
It's been awhile since cock last crew;
So, put on your pretty red shoe.
I'll don my new hat and so will you-
And discover Scarsdale anew!
How soon the heroes daughters and sons
lost in the morning shadow run
of a distant and clouded sun;
all the dreams that survive
are mere nightmares still alive
of what we once contrived
for America and freedom cries.
Names engraved upon a wall
tombstones for the bodies laid low as they fall
and the spirits that live in history squalls;
come home dear hearts
where those left behind survive at the start
in forgotten memories that fall apart
of America and freedom to impart.
Who is left today?
Power players and football stars at play
made weathy and famous in their shadowed way
long since faded bliss
in coming home celebrations, only hers and his
of what a hero really is
of America and freedoms quiz.
Where are those heroes today
the men and women of yesterday
left behind in congressional power plays
folding over the blanket of constitutional truths
to lie and coverups of what we say to youth
in our living and our dying blues
of America and freedom views.
Quietly forgotten heroes bear the cross,
with names and the nameless loss
of the war and some hidden cause
of freedom escaping at the gates scrutinized;
pandered away for lack of compromise
exposed in the tears of innocents chastized
of America and freedom as it slowly dies.
A young boy not yet eighteen
In pursuit of his lifelong dream
He made a pledge and took an oath
Sworn by one, bound by both
To serve his country with great devotion
In Vietnam beyond the Pacific Ocean
To a place filled with mortal strife.
And leaving behind the love of his life
Trained with honor, great dedication
To serve with pride his great nation
Willing to fight and willing to die
And if to fall...to heaven fly
His mother, father, child and lovely wife
Upon their lips a prayer to preserve his life
One by one the day’s slowly slip away,
God’s gift, his pleasure for another day
Deep in the jungle unaware of his fate
But now no more, he wanders to heaven’s gate
Outside her home a car appears
Bringing rise his wife’s greatest fears
Two soldier approach the door in slow cadence pace
Like rushing waters her heart begins to race
The door bell rings
What news they bring
On behalf of a grateful nation
Their words immediately caught her attention
These words are written across the wall
For the heroes who gave their all
It all came fast, a sudden start,
I wondered why I won your heart.
The days we’ve shared are still so few,
Yet everyone brought smiles with you.
The beginning remains a mystery unknown,
Your touch, a presence still not shown.
There are times you face a question’s weight
Your eyes ask why – unsure of fate.
But eventually, you’ll feel I’m yours to stay,
No what-ifs, no buts – just hands that won’t slip away
Your gaze becomes my forever’s light
Your arms, my rest through every night
Why you? Was it the meal that you lovingly made?
Why you? Was it the warmth in every kind gesture laid?
Why you? Was it the laughter we both freely shared?
I choose you – why not? You’re meant for the road I’ve prepared
Besotted, beguiled, bewitched,
I walked outwitted and benumbed
into her web of love willingly.
She stared at me like
a black widow sizing up her prey.
What draws a moth
to flirt with the flame
or a nimblest fish
to bite the deceitful bait?
What lures a fawn
to step on the snare?
What heavenly bliss do
fools in love seek to attain?
As the moth
singes in the flame
and brings not its wings
to steer away
Nor the feisty fawn
set itself free
try as it may,
So does he
who’s smitten with love
to wiggle and thrash about
like the foolish fish
until his last breath!
He who dallies with a maiden
With rue his heart is soon laden,
Dabble not with this flame of love--
A firestorm from the heavens above.
Slip away, oh, slip away
at the first light of day!
~Form: 3 Freedom
In a world shrouded in the mist of memories, time unravels like a silk thread
caught between the fingers of a hand trembling under the weight of the past, and I wonder who I was
and who I will never be again, for as moments slip away, I become a stranger
to my own story, a shadow that light no longer recognizes, lost
in the echo of a voice resounding from the abyss of times past, like a forgotten song.
What I had and will never have again, what I felt and will never feel,
for the love of yesteryear is now an extinguished star in the sky of my soul,
and the dead who loved me when I was a child are today just whispers in the cold wind
of memory, shadows dancing on the edge of a river of forgetfulness, and when I think
of them, my entire being chills as if I were an ice island adrift
on the ocean of time, without anchor, without lighthouse.
I feel like an exile from every heart, a lonely soul wandering
through the night of my own self, searching for that lost warmth that will never return,
and I cry out like a beggar at the closed silence of every door, seemingly seeking
an escape from the labyrinth of melancholy, but only the echo of my steps resounds in the darkness,
accompanying the unseen tears born from the longing to rediscover that lost world.
In this flow of thoughts and sensations, I return always to the same images,
the same beloved faces that are now just shadows and dreams, and I wonder if I will ever find
the way back to that lost innocence, to those days when the future
was just a promise and not a burden, when my heart knew neither the weight of regrets
nor the bitter taste of lost time, and thus I continue to search, to hope, to weep.
(“Mrs. It Dances Through It”, 2014, original pen & ink)
My mind is in a tangle
My life an unraveled ball of threads
Stretching off in every direction
Each one a choice
Each one a decision
And I in the middle am at a loss
To make heads or tails of it all.
It is dark, I am alone
Confused as to even why and how
It has come to this, always come to this.
From an early age I have known
My life is blessed, simply because it is alive.
And I have consistently mistaken this
As something personal,
Something about me and mine,
While it is in fact the other way around.
It is all the others I have known who bless me.
Each has come into my life touching it tangentially
Like a game of tag, reminding me I am it
Without ever really knowing what it is.
Now an old man,
Mostly I’m left with memories,
All those moments, all those contacts,
And wonder if I gave anything useful in return,
Or if everyone was better off without me.
I know that can’t be true
Because Life is always a two way street
And everyone has their own tangle to mend.
Maybe my gift to them was simply
To show how tangled it all is.
Everything seems to slip away
While it also hangs in the balance,
A frozen cascade or exploded view
Which I hold and view in still-life
Discerning its beauty, while avoiding its pain.
And as friends come and go, each of us
Bound on our own paths
We touch, exchanging something,
A glance, a word, a kiss,
A baton perhaps in a relay without end.
In this we are not alone.
In this we are always only alone.
My mind is in a tangle, and I am at a crossroads
Again, uncertain if that light on the horizon
Is from the dusk or the dawn.
I’m sure I will make a decision
At least with an appearance of choice,
As everyone I have ever touched
Shares in the weight, for better or worse
Until death do we part, again.
(5/13/26)
I let it slip away,
That silver fish I caught,
For life-freedom, it sought
On that Summer Friday,
I let it slip away,
That lovely fish I caught,
For it struggled distraught,
Gazing in sad dismay,
I let it slip away,
That fleshy fish I caught,
For with such strength it fought,
I could not make it stay,
I let it slip away,
That shining fish I caught,
For my line was pulled taut
And about to give way,
I let it slip away,
My feet slipped, I was caught
And fell into that spot -
Fishing is not child's play.
26th April 2023
For John Lawless' "I let it slip away" contest
I don't leave all at once, but slip away like ink running off old pages,
Like a song you swore you'd never forget, until you do.
It starts small—your name becomes foreign on my lips,
Your messages remain unread, not out of anger, but from a strange helplessness.
You don't ask why, maybe you don't notice, or maybe you just let me go,
And that hurts the most—not that I faded, but that you watched.
You let me dissolve into silence, to become a shadow of a thought,
To lose the weight of my name, to become an echo lost in the wind.
Tell me—did you ever truly see me, or did I disappear from the start?
A silent dance of shadows among memories, each step a whisper of goodbye,
In this labyrinth of silences and echoes, I wonder if I was ever more,
Than a blurred dream in a universe where words scatter like leaves.
We remain prisoners of our own illusion, searching for meaning in the void between us,
A void that deepens with each day that passes without us touching,
And in this silence, questions dance like stars in an endless sky,
I wonder in the quiet of the night if I was ever more than a faded dream.
He was airlifted to another place.
The heath, the dales,
the ridges, the high moors,
they all began to slip away
under throbbing wings.
Occasionally a woman would approach,
a silk moth in the semi-gloom
of a night flight;
he was tucked semi-consciously
into a droning life-support system.
When you are unearthed,
green roots tug,
mud and twigs come with you.
Pools and sediment
make their way as seeds and marsh
traveling as your incubated life.
Places you have slept on,
waded across,
had breezy sex over,
they tether you to a tillage and turf,
of lived experience
even as you fly far from it.
He began to plant bits of himself
into the soil of his new home.
He hid mossy stones amid plastic rocks’
left lichen trails
on the marble floors of shopping malls.
He recreated his own clay
from the sand-shifting soil he found
in an alien loam.
Slowly the land began to own him.
He dug himself into the past
of this remodeled wilderness.
Became a native of rooted and uprooted things.
When he was asked:
'to which country he belonged?'
He would show the dirt
under his fingernails.