Long Take a back seat Poems
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A garden sun chases our ginger cat.
Dad watches World War Two
up close on the TV
he grinds his teeth,
a general forced to take a back seat.
Mother in the kitchen,
not her natural territory.
She opens cupboards exploring contents.
It is a blue and white kitchen
made of trees that died in 1964.
She shakes a martini like a
blind cardsharp. Her wrists
heron bones
that click a gold-toothed chain.
Flashes of recollection
follow me up beige carpeted stairs.
Small bathroom-toilet to the right,
where once I saw mum naked.
Oedipus lives down the hall
as a young teenager.
From my window
I see the long narrow garden
with its back gate.
Passion-flower crosses
entwining pine boards.
When the Nazi Storm Troopers come
I will fire down at them
lobbing hissing grenades
that land like angry cats
onto their fleeing backs.
Charley company lives in Vietnam
they shoot from the hip.
I am not sure which side
of this on-going war they are on.
In my British school atlas
America is colored, blue or yellow,
not Empire red like us.
A patriotic gas stirs vague imaginings.
A knock on my bedroom door.
I can hear myself breathing heavily,
as I jerk off. Keep out!
Mum pauses to catch her breath.
She is out of uniform,
and speaking in Slo Mo
to a camera in my head.
When I was a child,
summer at my Aunt Joanne’s
meant staying out as late as it took the sun to set!
And mostly with my cousin Chris,
I threw a baseball back and forth
with exhilaration each time I felt
the impact of Chris having thrown the ball
right smack in the center of my glove.
Chris’ dad, my Uncle Clifford, loved his baseball!
One time I remember
being loaded with the other kids into his old car,
summer wind blowing through my hair,
as he drove us to a game in Davenport.
Uncle Clifford used to play on that same diamond
where he took us to watch that game.
I wasn’t all that keen on it.
But the atmosphere was so lively.
Vendors selling hot dogs, cracker jacks, and candy -
this was my childhood delight!
I am sure I must have cheered
for a team of which I knew absolutely nothing,
mimicking my elders there in the stadium
as wildly they called out their reactions to the game.
In school I played baseball myself,
standing like a statue in the outfield.
It was more exciting to watch my brother Dale from the stand,
those long hot summer afternoons as he played on his league.
It would be at least twenty years later
that I would sit and cheer for a baseball game again -
this time for my son in Little League.
Rooting for a loved one makes the game more alive for me!
Grimacing with every strike my son made;
standing up and going crazy when at last . . .
he knocked it out far into right field!
Glowing with pride that my son’s forte was as catcher
and watching him in all his gear behind home plate.
When I hear the old familiar song Take Me Out To the Ballgame,
it reminds me of the simple pleasures
of my youth,
a time when life was slower paced
and those summer days with my cousins.
America’s pastime, which has trained so many kids
to love being part of a team,
now seems to take a back seat to that rowdy sport called football.
But give ME a game I can follow,
a game that through time I came to love.
My Uncle Clifford has since passed away;
oh to spend one more day with him
at the old ball game.
Sister Aimee
An angel in white floated down from the heavens
Onto a small farm in the northern land of Salford
Illumination and imagination combined
She was divine and with inspiration, sublime
Inquisitive eyes shone out from this beautiful creature
Her airs and twinkle surely from above were derived
She questioned the existence of the god, her creator
What child would not ponder the universe and nature?
She wanted to save the world
A one angel salvation army with a smile
A romantic with desires of angelic love
She was humble, her knowledge was from above
She knew the tongues of many men
Languages’ known, languages’ today unspoken
Her worldly desires to preach, affection to mankind
She became a Semple lady, united in humanity no matter how blind
Around the world
Singing praises of the lord
Malaria left her alone with child assured
A Star was yet to rise
Head strong and a heart of gold
Her children grew up with god’s undying love
She was not one to take a back seat
Her gift was her message; she delivered from a heavenly stage
In the city of Angels, a miracle born
The temple of Angels
The fiery flaming fascinating preacher of immaculate beauty
Would rise to god’s glory, a message to be celebrated and adored
On the shores of a beach long ago
The white angel of the lord disappeared from the shore
The devils monsters accused of devouring her whole
Her followers waiting patiently for a resurrection to show
The ultimate Kiss was to awake her
From south where the water is brown with evil sin
She wandered back to her own echoes
Now to be spectacular, heavens evangelical angel
A sensuous sermonizer, a preacher of love
She fed the poor during depressing times
Her hand would cure the sick and wayward
She brought the values of the ancients, to modern times
Angels often do not sleep
So in the year of 1944 she was recalled above
Her work her on earth a splendid score
Now in heavens, she leads the choir of angels
things die down for a bit
i put on an old 45 and become hooked
if i do not slow it down i know i will have a fit
i put on a second 45 and i am fully booked
dust is flying everywhere
this time here is for me
i have been a professional listener for too long
other peoples' problems can take a back seat for a spell
things die down for a bit
i put on an old 78 and become hooked
if i do not take some time and rest the body i know i will have a fit
put put on a second 78 and i am fully booked
static is frying up sound all around the space
this extended moment here is for me
i have been a certified housesitter for too long
other peoples' fun can bring up the rear in my mind for a spell
things die down for a bit
i pop in an old cassingle and become hooked
if i do not tone it down and lay low a bit i know i will have a fit
i pop in a second cassingle and i am fully booked
there is no other feeling than that of being with yourself
when a person cannot help you, you yourself is all that you have
somewhere within the vibe of the moment i take the time to pray to God
it is then that i feel complete....and the saga as i know it continues....
You think it's going to be your way or the highway but that's not how it's going to be.
You'd better change your way of thinking if you want to continue to be married to me.
You are not always going to get your way.
You'd better learn that if you want me to stay.
You need to learn that marriage is a two-way street, it's not a one-way street.
When it comes to our marriage, I'm not going to take a back seat.
You don't care about my dreams and desires, you think it's all about you.
If you don't change, I'll have this marriage annulled, that's what I'll do.
You've started laughing because you actually think I'm not serious.
When I talk about this problem, you think it's not worthy to discuss.
It won't be your way or the highway but that is something that I have failed to make clear.
I no longer want you for a wife so I'm going to pack my bags and get the hell out of here.
(Even though this poem is fictional, I really would leave such a person)
Engraved like stone upon the writer's sense
a waft of inspiration flows from here to there
like fragrant spice of myrrh and frankincense
inside a writer's skill the savoir faire
a waft of inspiration flows from here to there
word to verse assembled and remembered
inside a writer's skill the savoir faire
it can be read but never be dismembered
word to verse assembled and remembered
the poet holds his own but shares at large
it can be read but never be dismembered
crafted words of what cannot disparage
the poet holds his own but shares at large
like fragrant spice of myrrh and frankincense
crafted words of what cannot disparage
engraved like stone upon the writer's sense
an active writer who writes to succeed
will be a blessing to all those they meet
so, take up your quill it's all that you need
keep penning and never take a back seat
November 26 2022
The garden sunlight plays tag
with our fat ginger cat.
Dad watches World War Two
he grinds his teeth
a general forced to take a back seat.
Mother is in the kitchen
not her natural territory.
She opens cupboards exploring contents.
It is a blue and white kitchen
made of trees that died in 1974
along with linoleum dreams.
She shakes a martini like a
blind cardsharp. Her wrists
are heron bones
that click a gold-toothed charm chain.
Flashes of recollection -
they follow me up beige carpeted stairs.
Small bathroom-toilet to the right
where once I saw mum naked.
Oedipus lives down the hall
as a young teenager.
From my window
I see the long narrow garden
with its back gate.
Passion-flowers entwining pine boards.
When the Nazi Storm Troopers come
I will fire down at them, lobbing hissing grenades
that land like angry cats onto their fleeing backs.
A knock on my bedroom door.
I can hear myself breathing heavily,
a teenager desperately yells: 'Keep out!'
Mum pauses to catch her breath.
She is out of uniform,
and speaking
to a camera in my head.
We are heading to New Orleans she says
The Parade is exactly what we need for Dez.
Dez is a cousin who has style and flair
His enthusiastic exuberance hangs in the air
No one can control him our grandma warns
No one has to, this crowd will all swarm.
The parade is filled with costumes of all kinds.
Created from the imagination of brilliant minds.
Oranges, greens, silvers, golds, swirl and dance.
The crowd is cheering and chanting, a united prance.
Food smells of garlic, cloves, and cinnamon too
Wafting over the heads of this maniacal zoo.
Laughter and gaiety are afoot on the scene.
The wildest crowd most of us have ever seen.
Fat Tuesday and Ash Wednesday take a back seat.
Mardi Gras Parades simply cannot be beat!
They laugh, they giggle, they titter and they toss.
They jump, they dive, they swing and they sing.
Their exuberance runs around the room, chasing whatever.
Energy boings out of them in all directions.
They are the children of course!
We watch, remembering, loving those days.
Our aches and pains and bowel problems take a back seat.
They are the show, and we are the onlookers, feeling blessed.
There they go – crashing and dashing, breaking things.
Apologizing, and then breaking something else.
We do not care. We are loving the show.
Remembering a time when we were astronauts and ballerinas too.
Our old dogs and cats are in hiding, terrified of the energy in our house.
We clap along, sing along, and ride along, loving the ride.
No one is more joyful that a child.
Two children? All the better!
A couple of Sundays ago, my daughter called me stating that she wanted to go to church with us. She realized that it was getting late and apologized for calling at the last minute. She inquired about our schedule, and when I informed her of our normal schedule, she said that she would hurry to get ready so as not to delay us. I said, "No, take your time. We will skip the morning pre-service prayer.
I will never forget that morning, because that brief encounter provided me a fresh understanding of the Christ we serve and worship. I already knew this lesson, but with my daughter, the observation became even more personal. Religion was saying one thing. Relationship was saying another.
Man Made Religion was saying, "I'm sorry honey that you called at the last minute. Perhaps you can go to church with us next Sunday, because we are dedicated and obligated to be at the pre-service prayer. The Lord and the church are depending on us. The Lord comes first you know.
Christ Made Relationship was saying, "The interest of my daughter, a living soul, takes precedence over my scheduled prayer activity. My daughter's interest and spiritual well being become a higher priority than my obligation to the pre-service prayer." Because the priority lessons of Christ were deeply rooted in my heart and spirit, I immediately knew how to respond.
For example, the 99 sheep had to wait until the shepherd found the one lost sheep. The Sabbath had to pause for the rescue of the sheep who had fallen into the pit. The Sabbath had to take a back seat to the crippled man whom Christ healed.*
Christ is not about religion or merely religious activities. Christ is about relationships with Him and his people.
11262017 PS *Mat.18:12-14; Mat.12:11; Mk. 3:1-6