Long Talked Poems
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The hand came forward to hold her wrist
While the other gave her breast a twist
The undressing slowly as he gawked
The deafening silence as neither one talked
She never gave permission to visit her tonight
He said he didn’t need it, she was his despite the fight.
Soon his hand grabbed at her thigh
And started up toward brown sky
With caverns underneath for exploring
Not a chance these caves would be boring.
He delved into the cave, flashlight in hand
Pushing and pulling against the soft sand
Which covered the floor of the cave he was in
He reached back slowly and grabbed her shin
When his search for gold was finally done
He left her as he found her, in the car, alone.
Written for a Creative Writing class in 1990, assignment: a court case given to us to reflect in a poem.
You knew me before
I ever knew you.
A child so innocent
You watched as I grew.
Still of this world
I floundered and fell.
Thank you my Lord
You saved me from Hell.
The day that you touched me
My life became yours.
You guided, you kept me
From worldly lures.
I talked about life
How hard things had got.
You listened and told me
You loved me a lot.
As I drew closer
And followed behind.
Only to realize
You were changing my mind.
Remember that day, Lord
You reached out your hand.
You pulled me beside you
And that's where I stand.
Thank you My Lord
for all that you've done.
I love you and need you
No more do I run.
You knew me before
I ever knew you.
Your name is Jesus
And my name is Sue.
...The devil didn’t hide, he strutted right out,
a smile painted on his red face.
“Why my dear sheriff, how in the world
Did you ever find my new place?”
Abner stared on, seething with hate.
“An old friend told me to find you here,”
He explained, glancing up to the sky.
“You know why I’m here, you son-of-a-*****.
You made those poor people die.
And now has come your time!”
The devil he laughed, and shook his head.
“You think that Colt will take me down?
I’m a damned archangel, and well beyond
The people of this backwater town.
Now behave, and toss that on the ground.”
Abner lifted his arm, taking careful aim
at the devil’s broad, muscled, red chest.
The devil just sighed, and started forwards
“You should not put me to the test,”
The devil did smugly confess.
Abner squeezed back on the trigger,
And a shot rang out in the night.
The devil lurched backwards, screaming loud,
his hellish face a mask of fright.
He looked down, shocked at the sight.
A hole their awaited, the flesh dissolving
around where the bullet had hit.
He gasped and looked up at Abner,
saying,”No! No, I don’t believe it!”
Abner just smiled, then on him spit.
“Pride, its goes before a fall,
that you of all folks should know!
I talked to your Pa, and He answered true,
and showed me the best way to go
about laying your carcass low.”
“See into each bullet I carved a cross,
and in holy water I dipped the tips
Then old Priest Frazier blessed each one
Blessed my gun, and then gave lip
to the Big Guy to watch over my trip.”
The devil shrank back, eyes afire,
struggling to say on his feet.
Abner he fired five more times,
what the devil sowed he then reaped,
and fell to the ground in defeat.
His body dissolved into the snow,
His soul went screaming back to Hell.
Abner breathed a sigh, holstered the gun,
and stood their quiet for a spell.
They he walked out, heading down the hill.
Now some folks say the crash of ninety-three
was what drove folks from Aspen’s mines,
And ushered in the beginning
of the town’s long and sleepy times.
But the real story you will find
Is that the dark one roamed and destroyed
until an old cowboy took him apart,
And for decades to come he raged in Hell
about Abner Gidden, that damned upstart
who dared shoot the devil in the heart!
Gilbert smiled in bits of black
through specs of broken teeth.
His smile reflecting a fractured heart
the horse had kicked beneath.
A horses hoof to shatter them
that Gilbert looked the worse.
Where people often kept their distance
should they be next to curse.
His shining eyes left brightening.
Their smile escaping out.
His kindred spirit heartening
where beauty left no doubt.
His bold black glasses framing grace.
A statement of his work.
A sider he had worked the trades
both lively and with perk.
He often traveled south a bit
to rest throughout the year.
A little trailer he called home
was more or less his cheer.
A place he liked to work alot
and tinker in the shed.
A home he called French River
where his spirit lived it's said.
He often talked of history.
and books he'd have to read.
The many missing palm trees that
the climate lost to need.
And once he took up baking
with molasses more his thing.
While trying to keep sugar out
where health concerned was king.
He even did some leather work
and sold a purse or two.
complaints from all the neighbors
saying it's too loud to do.
A harder worker there was not.
He never skipped a beat.
When times he rested for a bit
were never much a treat.
for Gilbert worked to feed his mind
where play was thought a waste.
And always kept the standard high
for life and all it's taste.
He finally died a humble man.
In spite of his obsession.
Where work became a lighter love
than God and his possession.
Once a carpenter could sing
Lullaby rings
Putting nails into the wood
Passing time the best he could
Building a strong base
To live in grace
Having this space
He designed not in haste
Bringing peace to his case
There was a lovely wife
In his life
Giving birth to a son
Miraculously done
A gift from God
It was her job
To raise him through being a youth
Under the carpenter’s roof
Speaking only the truth
Years past and the youngster grew
Talked to many and a few
Teaching lessons
About sacrifice and confession
Charisma the carpenter’s offspring had
Never did anything bad
But it was those jealous and in power
Living in their hypocritical tower
Attitude really sour
One wanted children’s head
Wanting the carpenter’s child to be dead
Not until a magical dinner
Was the mission assigned, “do away with the sinners”
Deciding to accept not self-destruct
Two boards were attached simply construct
Hanging on the cross
Forgiveness reigned humankind was the boss
Once a carpenter could sing
He knew something
His son was anointed a self-proclaimed King
Guardian angels serving on his wings
Showing freedom from the devilish controlling thing
I haven’t met this friend of my childhood
For a long time for he lived in another city,
So I called him some time back, if he would
Visit me once, if he didn’t it would be a pity.
He said he would plan the trip, come soon
Would talk of nostalgic times in my place,
How we drenched in the first rains at noon
How hard we struggled to win the rat race.
Some months later on a dark night in spring
When the thunder rattled the window panes,
Nobody would go out, I heard the doorbell ring
I saw a man standing by the window in rains.
In the flashes of sudden lightning I could see
The fluid face of my friend, flooded and smiling
Drenched, he looked happy, as we used to be,
On the waves of wind he seemed to be sailing.
He came hurriedly inside, wiped his face dry
I saw a deep scar running across his forehead,
I wanted to find out the reason but didn’t try,
We talked our past until the night was dead.
He had to catch a flight, left before the sunrise
Truly I didn’t believe him but had to let him go,
I called his wife then, expressed my surprise
She said in a car crash he died two months ago.
October 24, 2017.
The sun peeks his face out from the passing wind
still chilly and cold, and in this air the tree branches
stretch their arms to hold the sun as if sails on the deep and gray sky
The sun that is out of reach of a hand
may be a hope; no, it ought to be a hope
One night I saw a wayfarer, becoming a moonbeam,
going toward April stepping on the footmarks March
has left behind
Although he has gone through so many hills and high waters
with a knapsack on his back that was full with the countless
sentiments he put in it for pity’s sake, the sack was emptied;
for the lapse of time makes things wear and tear
his garment was worn to rags, and when the wind
passes through it penetrates the garment to chill the bone
The deep anxiety he is unable to shake off, and therefore,
reflected on the running water murmuring through the field
as ripples of moonbeam, which is not from the fleeting of time
or his sufferings while he was walking among the foes, but because
he is sorry for and worries about friends he has to leave behind
The friends, not many in number shared his happiness
at the time of banqueting, surrounding the table though
plain and simple, abundance in God;
at the time counting the falling stars lying on a stone pillow
by the gap between rocks. The friends, not in damnation but
in endurance and warmhearted understanding, talked about better day to come while burning the passions in the bone fire on a day when they were wet and shivering in early spring drizzle
For the days he was with his friends were too short,
it caused him an embarrassment in counting the days,
yet they were unforgettable moments of joyous and happy experiences
As he walked through the field with friends he talked about tomorrow
standing on the hill top side by side, he asked them to pray for him,
sitting on the sands by the water he sighed for he has to leave
the friends, the sweet and bitter memories behind
Nonetheless, he cannot just stand by a roadside as an emotionless stone,
he crosses the hill under the shade of a waning moon, and when
the humble hearted teary-eyed wanderer blooms as a lily on the other side of
the hill in dawning, the sunray fall on the lily on the dew
as hope to those who remember him, as happiness to the friends
he left behind, as the covenant of the Lord to all who trust in him
Today I am feeling so sad and blue
You were fighting for your life, I didn’t know
We just talked about the old days, time flew
You were my best friend and I loved you so
I got the dreadful call this early morn
The grim reaper came and took you last night
When I got the news my heart was so torn
Now you are heaven bound, enjoy your flight
You were so brave and you suffer no more
Why didn’t you tell me, my amazing friend?
Watching you was bravery to the core
You didn’t want to burden me in the end
Til’ we met again on those peaceful shores
I’ll recall our camp days and many s’mores
Alexis Y.
08/10/2022
Once, a little Spanish girl
was given a "regalo" -
a dainty little potted plant,
a purple-petalled mallow.
She set it in a sunny spot,
beneath a southern window,
re-housed it in an iron pot
and named it, "Don Galindo".
She gave it water every day,
and gave its loam a hoeing.
She talked to it and petted it,
and marvelled at its growing.
Her plant rose tall and strong and fine,
rewarding all her labors:
"¡Te quiero!" sighed the little girl:
"¡Que raro!" cried the neighbors.
Joy never lasts, grief always comes,
said someone (maybe Byron?)
Galindo's roaming, ravenous roots
were hemmed-in by the iron.
The fine plant sickened and declined,
all hopes of salvage scuppered:
its lower parts, by steel confined,
could not sustain the upper.
And so, the moral of our tale -
resisting is not giving.
Do not preclude, prevent, prevail -
rigidity's all very well,
but soon turns heaven into hell!
Give in to me -
set us both free -
don't cramp or crowd -
things disallowed
can hardly go on living.
There I was at work surrounded by a thousand stories of drama, love and surprise
when one of the greatest love stories I could imagine unfolded before my eyes:
They came into the bookstore…a couple old and grand
wearing smiles across their faces…walking hand in hand.
I noticed as they walked the store…their gait was deliberate and slow
and they continued holding each other’s hands…never letting go.
They came in to browse, get out of the heat…look for a story or two
Before they left they stopped to talk to me…as customers often do.
It was at this moment when we spoke that I quickly came to know
why he held her hand so tight…why he would not let her go.
As he and I talked about the store…(he mentioned it’s a beautiful place)
she held his hand, stared at me…and the smile never left her face.
When she did enter our conversation…gesturing with her other hand
she laughed and giggled and mumbled…but she was hard to understand.
I imagine it was Alzheimers…that was interfering with her style
but it hadn’t yet stolen her desire…or her ability to smile.
I conversed with her as best I could…not understanding most of what she said
which meant a lot of looking into her eyes, smiling and nodding my head.
Before they left…her husband shook my hand and thanked me joyously
“For giving her the same attention,” he said, “that you have given me.”
She waved as they were leaving…her other hand he never dropped
and as they left the store I heard him say…”We’re heading to the ice cream shop.”
She seemed to quiver with excitement…the excitement of a child
then gave one last glance in my direction, waved again…and smiled.
I wonder how much longer they have together…
before Alzheimers makes it’s final stand…
But I like to think whatever happens…
they’ll be forever holding hands…