Long Surveyor Poems
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he was the oddest surveyor elf I had ever met
seemed weirdly familiar, strange too, and yet….
I was drawn to his ways, and watched him with pride.
As he measured and wrote down stuff he did hide.
what do you think? I asked him. Are they on my property?
That is for the computer to decide. We shall see, we shall see.
I could not wait for him to return, he was a funny little guy.
He mailed me the results, which nearly made me cry.
I had been drawn to him, and wanted to see him again and again.
What was it about him? asked my mother, father and twin.
Not sure, but I had been snoggersmacked by the likes of this elf.
I felt sad I would never see him again, confused by myself.
Nature made convenient sluice,
when pool water did wend
down the gentle slope
describing gargantuan wetsuit vend
er steadily chugging, chiseling,
and channeling straight away
blindly coursing upend
ding (mankind imposed)
property boundaries demarcations tend
with futile diligence,
asper the whimsical barenaked lady's
propensities, viz mother nature
made short shrift send
ding hours of surveyor labor down
into the behavioral sink also rend
ding inhabitants within the flood plain
to vacate premises and return,
when storm didst abate
comically shaking angry fist
at darkening non sheltering sky -
faux imitating to berate
meteorological processes
many complex systems create
the downpour seemingly
appearing (to me) rainier date
then years gone by scattershot memories,
(which figurative, somewhat unreliable
yardstick of boyhood) did equate
climate affecting
Southeastern Montgomery, Pennsylvania,
registering *****sapiens ultimate fate
burgeoning population, which impact great enough
for this lix spittle country bumpkin to ejaculate
(not prematurely) Hawaii hate
to reckon my environmental impact doth irritate
fragile ecosystems, and
holistic lifestyle aye would trade
(hint...mebbe ya know
of eco-centric intentional communities)
even (yes absolutely)
necessitating sweat of brow spade
work agreeable to this sometime joker
renting from management Grosse and Quade,
who primarily bolster increasing monies to get paid,
perhaps partnership incorporates hiring maid
service for their own households,
no doubt beds get properly made
yet, this regular John Doe (dependent on
social security disability because
debilitating panic attacks undermined
ability to function found (yours truly) laid
up (prior to acquiescing strong suggestions
to accept prescription medication), where grade
to cope much less steep, plus un huff frayed,
now rowing tha old skiff to destination
for to long not fostered and delayed
(christened matthew scott harris) to feign charade
nod duh so merrily lee down the time stream.
I cry at the middle of some nights
When loneliness couldn't bear fights
The roaring silence dare not claim rights
For each time trouble shoots, brings frights
Oh lovely and dying moment, benights
All through, I couldn't hear my voice
Yet, my environ is living in solemn noise
And my muses are my best convoys
Regulating my pen safety and turquoise
To bleeding in a sensational poise
For each time I try to console my wailing
I never get to back out the thrill failing
Of free from the captured thoughts assailing
In its swing up down; left right detailing
Young yonder mountain's view; echoes ailing
It seems like a mile away from being true
Just and brilliant ideas for closed eyes anew
Busy and jestful logics for open minds off clue
Yet open eyes and closed minds couldn't bid adieu
For the fuse of hue lights the night's glue
With every single tide I can't wait to turn
Gets rough to handle with care to yearn
The aesthetic value of what to learn
Honor and grace of its nominal fee to earn
How consistently it has been over struggling concern
For my permission to stamp and burn to ashes
The treasured supposedly not caches
Trying my hardest time to open my eyelashes
Making out ever unbearable rashes
Which I have got to cope with; everyday clashes
There is no need to trace memory lane
For joy lies not in past glory once attained
Unless pleasure cripples to sleep profound brain
Definitely strength has never for once ascertained
Reason mind experience such nice insane--
To win struggle in loneliness via courage
Killing fear of death living in rage
Needs and desires dwelling in Cambridge
What dreams in light heals and envisage
With time to become true cum noble heritage
Gear fear in fair hearing from my solemn mind
Oh lord, kindly hear my cry foaming blind
Through nature explicit sins undefined
Before fate goes out of hand unkind
To win the lottery of cruel worth enshrined
Night has been the compassionate judge
The transforming cookie of fortune storage
Dishing out in abundance when mercy nudge
That even when sins; pure ones hold grudge
Grace pace form the unrelenting smudge
Mornings are my advocate-- reliable lawyer
That pen down the tush street warrior
Those who have been true naysayers
And honestly good and loyal surveyor
Let me say "well done the ball players"
My blue Monday occurred 30 years ago
I being due to get wed a second time
But had to sell my house before that
time was running out for my last dime
It had been on sale for a good month
plenty viewers but no offers to see
had chat with agents to change price
this was Friday glad they did agree
When it came Sunday afternoon
sitting at home really feeling blue
my fiancee getting stressed also too
then a knock at my door gave a clue
Outside the door was a young lady
was passing by saw the house for sale
asked if she could view my place
said liked it and like to nail
Monday morn came, off to work I go
receive call surveyor was on his way
by lunch, call came to confirm
ecstasy was mine receive my blue Monday
"For sale sign came down"
(I want to tell you about my Blue Monday, but not like most folk this wasn't sad but a very extremely happy blue Monday.)
...The two men confirmed Fred went for his gun,
and the captain just let the whole thing be,
Lyle got up and walked out to the deck,
in the fresh air he felt able to breath.
He paced up to the churning paddle-wheel,
then he learned himself up against the rail,
he pulled something from a waistcoat pocket,
it was a letter, tattered, old, and frail.
He unfolded it and reread the words
written by his sister two years ago,
Constance had spoke of her new fiancé
that she soon hoped all the family would now.
He was a surveyor headed out west,
would find new lands in the bright prairie sun,
and a good lot where they would build a house,
that he went by the name Fred Kensington.
Lyle held the letter and then recalled
his sister coming back home all in tears,
unmarried, with child, and all alone,
Fred had run off, and she was drowned in fears.
He recalled the harsh words his parent screamed,
she had brought them great disgrace, they had said.
He remembered finding her in the barn...
hanging from the rafters, by her own hand dead.
He looked at the letter one final time,
then ripped it up into shreds fervently,
threw it past the rail so it fluttered down
to the depths of the cold Mississippi.
I'm love’s iPad ready for an embrace.
Steve Jobs got credit for the touch interface
But mine's up and running with all the updates
I'm love's police regulating the pace
"you took that curve a little fast - this isn't a race."
I'm love's surveyor drawing the lines
"the pilgrims want to explore a new area this time."
I'm love's conductor - whew - hear the engine whine
"A tourist wants the tunnel - he's ready and primed."
I'm love's waitress
"sir, that's not on the menu."
Love's entrepreneur hosting the venue
I'm love’s umpire right there in your face…
"sorry pal, but you’re out at second base!"
okey….
one hour to go
from start...
to finish where
the ever-remains...
that constant
of existence...
speed of change that is
seen as light...
and the accelerations as
the foundations for...
relativity as being of
the sight surveyor with...
respect some object of
focus like the dragon...
fly impacted by my shadow
on it's multi-faceted eyes...
while trying to take
it's picture...
in the sunset the
camera shutter speed was...
not an acceleration
fast enough compared to...
the speed of vision
through the eye...
to catch that dragon
image on the fly...
stan sand
Contest Title: Long Shadows Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Deadline: Wednesday, October 29, 2025
Poem Title: The Surveyor of Dusk
Late Texas summer, wet heat and mosquitos,
running each evening, preparing for boot.
Past the few houses in my small country town,
past the people, past the sound,
running my past into the graveled ground.
The sun was low, a blood-red fruit in the sky,
casting my lunging shadow before me
on the dusty gravel finger of road.
I and my companion shadow strode
to Richland Creek where I would rest my load.
Each day I ran through the silent shadows,
alone and relishing my strength and youth,
pitting myself against my own best time,
enjoying the heat, sweat, and even the grime
of the dusty shadowed gravel road rime.
My shadow was joined in silent watch
one evening as I pushed my youthful endurance
by a heart-faced barn owl with glowing eyes
who brought a stutter to my steps
and a shock to my eyes.
Silently staring with shadow of his own,
his golden eyes still keep me company
in dreams and shadow memory
reminding me of a youth so temporary.
Cramped steps acquaint heavy hatch reluctant
Cushion hush cellar isolate, harsh sun migraines
Catapulted myopic into apocalyptic destruction
Crumple of coastal community permits my gains
Grim resilient, plotted alone, abided by rations
Tidal wave treachery turned streets to swamps
Flotsam tops remnants sea's fury didn't flatten
Successors gorge on corpses misfortunes crop
Erased ocean era, crook posts pitifully campaign
Brashly I churn bathtubs of backstroked arachnids
Inhabit rainforest ripple stream, source I can claim
Traverse canopy like trampoline, scout eyes active
8th March
Out of Mangrove
I lay quietly in a cradle of sand
Warmed by the glow of sun’s affection
Soothed by a salt water lullaby
An ardent surveyor of nature’s perfection
And I wonder if they ever think of me
Am I even a blink of their memory
Lives shared only in brief connection
Engraved now in my mind’s reflection
Friendships made in summers past
Fleeting encounters of my youth
Lost through course of life’s divergence
Savored now like sweet Vermouth
My thoughts now stirred by breezy incense
A perfume of seaside sachet
I tuck away these thoughts of fancy
To contemplate another day