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Long Tomorrow Poems

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I sit there on that wooden bench, simply sitting. I am not waiting for someone, not for anything. Sunlight peeks through the leaves of the two oak trees whose branches are mingling above my head. It is pleasant to feel its warmth. There is no reason for me to be outside other than the cigarette resting between my middle and index fingers. I walked down three flights of stairs to simply sit and smoke and be judged by the occasional passersby. I lift the cigarette to my lips and place it there gently. It sort of dangles there as I light the lighter in one hand and cup the other around the flame to protect it from a nonexistent breeze in the dry Southern heat. I suck in, trying to puff, which is hard to do without a hand to steady the cigarette, but it is lit and that is what matters. I take a deep drag, deep into my lungs, deep into my soul, and I can feel the calm wash over me. The nicotine is my oxygen; I can’t breathe without it sometimes. I blow the smoke out, admiring its delicious taste and scent. I like to hold the slowly smoldering cigarette in my right hand and then smoke out of the left side of my mouth. The way I hold it makes me look like a nineteen-forties gangster. I like that. Sitting there, on my wooden bench, I react. I don’t moan in ecstasy and I don’t close my eyes in pleasure. I don’t take it for granted and I don’t have a habit. I just enjoy my cigarette, no more and no less than it ever should have been. As it slowly converts itself into smoke and ashes I think to myself that most people probably wonder why an eighteen year old in this day and age would choose to take up smoking. At least I assume that is what the occasional passerby must be thinking when they see me sitting here on this wooden bench, for no other reason than to smoke the cigarette in my hand right now. I wonder what I would say if any one of them ever bothered to ask me. Because I want to, I would reply before standing, putting out my cigarette, and walking away. I look down and see that if I took another drag I would be smoking the filter. So I stand, put out my cigarette, and walk away. I walk away from the sunlight, from the two oak trees, and that wooden bench. I walk away with my fingers smelling like nicotine and that makes me smile because I know that I will sit at that wooden bench tomorrow to do the same exact thing. I know because that is what I did yesterday.

dedicationintrospectionlifememe

Form: Prose Poetry

You Look Sideways and I Set Sail

You look sideways at me
I look straight on at you
You glance towards me
I stare at you
memorize the stiches of your coat
they are uneven
 it must have been handmade
You look up at the sky
I look at your shoes
They are slim and obviously Italian
You've been traveling in Europe 

I look at your cheekbones
You stare off at a tree
 It is a beautiful tree
 though  I cant see why it has captured you

I' look at your hands 
they're nice hands
 expressive hands 
strong enough 
big enough but not too big
 kind hands
You turn to the left to look out over the gray blank sea

I know we're not going to see each other again

Even the stark greyness of the Cape in late November is more compelling to you in this moment than I am

I am dancing colors
 I am a fragrance 
of clean smells
 I am sauce and sassiness and ideas and concepts 
and wants

God how I want you

But you would rather look at greyness

I will never see you again

Thank you for the kiss on the dock
Thank you for the dinner and the dance
Thank you for the moment in the library when you looked into my eyes for one very long minute and I felt alive

Just before you asked me to the dinner dance
But you seem to have lost your moorings
You are like a boat 
A buoy 
or a wooden raft
floating
you don't know North from South
East from West

Now your sails are not catching the wind
You are sort of flapping
 carelessly 
aimlessly 
I watch you like watching a crab scuttle up the beach
Fascinated 

I will never lose my way
( That's a lie)

Tonight
You were simply a dock
 that I pulled up to ...tied off

Tomorrow the sun will rise 
and I will feel full and excited 
 I'll move on fast

throw off your bow

You were like the wild north wind for me tonight
 for about 5 minutes

The wind is fickle
When the wind changes I tact

While you were in my sails I did love you

Like any sailor is impassioned by the beautiful wind
 that suddenly drives him forward
the exquisite unbelievable .... unspeakable 
tarp full sail pulling hard

I will miss you 
But only like I always miss the wind when it dies
No more and no less

my sails will be full and my beautiful ship will be headed out to God knows where
But you my questioning friend will not know enough  to follow 
You will be still looking left and seeing only the gray of Cape Cod in Winter and

love

Form: Free verse

A Drop of Rain Water

Since the begining of days when my heart became an advocate of concrete paths, I have
come to understand the joys that are unprecipitated fears and the fears that are purpose.
For so long I have adapted to the muddy waters that breed beautiful roses with thorns of
such pure poison. Taking into my lungs the fresh air, this same air that is only fresh with the
will of foul principle, yet some how law. Speaking the language that has no sound and
somehow it is always too loud for its own good. Induction in the chase for things that keep
my temperature down in the summer while making the atmosphere a little warmer. Like
something chilly for my wrist ,neck, ears and hands. In the most artic of winters things that
keep me warm like having a personal zoo, mink, chinchilla, fox, rabbit, beaver, and ostich
and yet winters are still so cold. Realizing that somehow winters burn the soul, as summers
tend to freeze the heart. Love is the sound of nature and its remeberance of present. Eagles
scream through the air, colts break the pavement with 38 and 45 calibers of pressure. The
floating of land crafts with special made wheels, stars, spokes, claws, blades, all in chrome
reflecting the spite of happiness in this life. Delicate feminims that perform the sweetest of
actions with the audacity to control the wheather of man. Sunny days, cloudy months, and
years of storm. Pleasure is found everywhere and yet it is never found, so pain is the
blessing of that same pleasure seeked. With each passing day I appear cleaner, except for
my work related smudges(from the parkway to the kitchen, from the kitchen to the
community). All the things I want I have and still I have nothing. Today has been here a
thousand times and only once,tomorrow will pass as yesterday returns. This is where the
truest kisses come from angels, yet the only blessings are from the breath of the demon.
This is home, the city of hustle in the divided states of atrocity. So much passionate turmoil,
so much un-affordable affection that is afforded by price and un-conditional purpose. As the
tears of an infant blend with the crying of the clouds this waters brings hope of a changed
existence. One that is the best life, not heaven or hell, not paradise, but life as it could be,
life in a drop...a single drop... Of Rain Water! Live, Suffer, Celebrate!

dedicationsoundsound

Form:

Banks

Chorus
Banks! Banks! Let us all do away with banks
And their dirty tricks and their silly pranks
Banks! Banks! They mean very little to me
If I was the king all banks will be history
If I was the king all banks will be history
If I was the king all banks will be history

Verse One
Banks are stingy
Banks are greedy
They steal from the needy
Banks never give but they love to take
If your friend is a bank
He will rob you before you wake
Only fools bail out the banks
Because I will rather take my money
They sold me worthless shares when my day was sunny
With the hope that one day I will lick from the bank’s honey
Now my day is rainy and I don’t think it is funny
I would never buy those shares I rather buy an Easter bunny
Only foolish kings bail out the banks
I rather bail out a pauper
The economy is going bad
While my people are left to suffer
Beware of the banks and the evil that they do
Today it is me but tomorrow it may be you


Chorus
Banks! Banks! Let us all do away with banks
And their dirty tricks and their silly pranks
Banks! Banks! They mean very little to me
If I was the king all banks will be history
If I was the king all banks will be history
If I was the king all banks will be history

Verse Two
Bank! Banks! They can never be your friend
Today they are collecting your money
But you are broke
They say see you later Sunny
Beware! Beware! Beware!
When a bank tells you sign here
They will take everything you have
Including your underwear
Is it your bit of filthy magic?
To trade with a bank may be tragic
Shrewd little goldsmith demanding for gold
And any item of value
Or anything he could see or hold
Bald headed money lenders demanding for a pound of flesh
You can take the meat from his cheek 
But remember that no blood must spill
Banks don’t care they will rather kill
Take off his damn head off with a sharp edged steel
Deducting money from my account bill bill bill
Banks are the biggest thieves because the love to steal
Banks destroy the economy and they never heal
Banks will charge you money for a rotten potato peel
Banks! I hate banks!
They say can I borrow you some money
I say no thanks
Banks! Banks! Let us all do away with banks
And their dirty tricks and their silly pranks
Banks! Banks! They mean very little to me
If I was the king all banks will be history
If I was the king all banks will be history
If I was the king all banks will be in misery

politicalsatire

Form: Lyric

Looking Back

Dedicated to my children who have kept my dreams alive.

LOOKING BACK

We can’t go back
To the days of yesteryear
To capture those lost feelings
With those whom we loved so dear

I am just looking back to see
Where all of my dreams first start
You know those deep seeded dreams
Buried way down deep in your heart

I’m not trying to revive a lost love
That I once had forty years ago
Or even trying to replace the twenty years
Of not seeing my grandchildren grow

There were times of much struggle
Filled with pain, fear and torture
It was the love I had for my children
That developed my strength to endure

My children only remember the 2nd set
Of twenty years that have come and gone
When they were all moving out on their own
And when all of the grandchildren came along

It’s like I was locked in a rock
Throughout those 20 to 40 years
Not able to see my grandchildren
Filled my heart with so many tears

The bitterness you feel towards me
Is understandable and really okay
My children, you all have the right
To your feelings and to feel that way

I have finally made the escape
Since that rock has split wide open
I want you all to know who I really am
I haven’t changed at all, only my situation

The gift of feelings we have in our heart
Whether right or wrong, just happen
It matters not what others may think
We should let out our own self expression

No feelings are really ever wrong
In another’s view or even our own
Our thoughts trigger our feelings inside
The feelings we have are ours alone

Looking back strengthens my heart
Reminding me I want to pass along
To all of you, just who I really am
Before my time on earth is gone

One day I hope you will realize 
With you I have always been
Filling you up with that extra love
You may have noticed you’ve been given

You have all filled up
 Such a big part
Of all the dreams
Living in my heart

My best friend Grace, reminded me
That our feelings are meant to be and to last
God wouldn’t put the dreams in our heart
If He didn’t plan to bring the dreams to pass

My dreams haven’t changed
I am not letting them go
They are for new adventures
With new beginnings of tomorrow

Now that I’m looking back
I’m so glad to have survived
I know now, my love for all of you
Has always kept my dreams alive


Florence McMillian (Flo)

daughterdedicationdevotionfaithfamily

Form: Narrative

Life Without Horizons

Wife's job vanished
Bank account diminishing
Future uncertain
Wolves are nosing at the door again.

My children smile at me,
Dance for joy when I come home;
Suddenly, no more fear, no worries for awhile

Funny how it takes all my concentration,
Such an effort of will,
To acheive, now and again,
The state of mind they take for granted.

The background noise of the big world is so high
One can barely think.

     So I strive to rise above it,
     To lift up and out of my little self
     Climbing higher and higher
     'Til the horizon's edges

                                                                Fall Away

     And everything is Present:

     No Future     No Past
     No Necessities
     Only the one Conscious Moment
     Shining here unbounded.

I see once more that I shall suffer for awhile,
But can this really touch my joys, my freedom?

     - Only by my own permission.

No Joy without Pain
No Light without Dark
No Life without Death

Where are the sufferings of yesterday, of the years before?
Memories now, fading into the distance.

Troubles roll in, break over our lives
Then go, then come again
Sliding forwards and back on the tides of tomorrows.

I feel my pain, and close behind it
The world's far greater pain screaming
From its thousand daily wounds

Yet every day we go on, regardless

Fight the strain and it strengthens,
Let it break, then it recedes.

     Do something, or nothing
     The Wheel turns just the same.

Easily said, yet hard to do;
Nothing's more difficult
Than doing nothing.

My love runs deep, my senses alive and vibrant with her,
Countless small delights lay near to hand.

I've two children more beautiful than the stars
To gaze on as they sleep; drunken with love of them

- What matters some struggle, next to this?

Yesterday is lost to time, and tomorrow yet to be;
All I can hold is this One Moment - I must not let it fall!

     I look within the Moment

     Horizons Fall Away.

Reach for It - It slides away
Listen for It - no sound will come

     - But glance away, be still awhile and wait
     - It steals up in the wind and blows right though you, Singing.

          It is like deep water.
         On the surface everything changes, flows
         But down below abides a Great Stillness.

               Horizons Fall Away.

childrenfamilyhopejoylife

Form: Free verse

The Morning Soars With Skylarks Singing Repost

The morning soars with skylarks singing
o'er the greening meadow and the pliant pasture,
the ocean sighing, gulls aloft on wings of prayer.
A sudden shower would see me running
fancy free between the rain drops,
I cried 'Excelsior!' and set the hills alive;
I skittered, happy, crisp and clear, 
like God's first measure of a holy hymn.

The air alive with songs of praise, 
the gentle winds a sacred message,
His grand prescription like a dream
that streamed out from the pillows of the heavens.
I liked to wander by the sea shore
skipping stones, disobeying laws of gravity,
as a lamb on shaky legs and tumbled freely without care,
'til gasping, I would stop to catch my breath.

The halcyon days of youth came true,
when I would race forever 'neath the tawny sun,
bedaubed in Autumn's blood, the flame
a blend of hues the likes of which 
would make a young boy doubly blind,
and lead him into kingdoms where the battlefields
would blister scarlet, happy times
that made me see my childhood clearly.

The weather turned again, and shanties
high atop the hillside loomed like castles drifting
in the sea-blown mist, the noise of boats,
their nets pulled, nudging at the jetty.
From the sand the village was a hazy spectre,
the chapel steeple peeking like Rapunzel's lair,
her hair a daydream falling soft,
O fanciful imagination!

I thought to when my mother took my hand. 
We skipped the cobblestones and shopped for wishes,
toys which we could ill-afford;
a Batman cape, a red fire engine.
The lanes were thick with merchants and the joy of life,
haggling, chattering like crazy seabirds,
loud, and mouthing their wants and wares,
and then we wandered home exhausted.

I never lost my youthfulness, 
my joy at seeing herons gloating, eagles floating
high on zephyr'd breezes free as spring;
hallowed times, in Jesus' presence.
I measure now my moments as the hours shift by,
thirty years and blissful, regrets are slight and few,
I count my blessings, feel content
that tribulation never came to bother me.

A birthday cake is waiting for me,
candles flicker, frosting beckons, hope eternal;
my wish the same, for peace on earth
to all men, greetings and goodwill!
I lie down in the close and holy quiet 
while the village sleeps, and slips toward a new adventure,
safe in His keeping, perfect day
with promise of a bright tomorrow.

writing

Form: Verse

Surveillance Camera

i need to stop frowning and epitomizing
and sell this Caddy to the Cardinal
trying to let it miss your attention won't fly
since writing is speech even if somewhat removed
or fit only for bouncy news anchor banter
pancake makeup a bit too aflame
like they do in shadow theater
where the container is the contained
because we can still index the cornucopia
eff you said the furry little May Pole Bunny
you can be sure he was in on it too 
along with the Hen in the Willow
the Great Flaming Spiral in the Sky 
and the nuns of St. Manacle
doing their Plantation Rebel Dance
with cascade of equally herkimer antecedents
perpetually enthused with the mystery of tomorrow
just don't try to tell me how to move my eyelids
smoke signals will always take care of that
cascading across the clacking copper contacts
in a total lack of continuity all at once
it is a pigeon tongue spoken in barter
barely able to walk after the derision of linguists
lobbed horseshoes across the barricades
against surgeons wielding kitchen knives
on a search and destroy mission
for chopped liver epicures from the Bank of Winter
living dead men's dreams was no picnic
memes eating my soul like red worms
only my degree from the School for the Sickly
standing between me and the Necromancers 
who were emphatically not house trained
my collective unconscious operation manual
tossed on the burn pile half a life ago
now dumbed down to syntactically correct 
in infinitesimal quantities with a Nefertiti smile
my mind a bordello of interpretation
God is not dead he is passe etc.
a raised by wolves feral non-conformist
everything orbits everything else
and that's space for you
which will bend yer crank kid
unless you can get your mood to swing
out from the nether realms of mourning
and the agony of oblique signals
written with the ***** of Satan
shaking money from your pockets again
a Conniving Backstabbing Bastard production
he hated coercion like he hated licorice
he was revolution incarnate all fresh and rosy
it was a kosher Pentecost event
tried quoting Lenin but it was too easy
the proletariat is people in a pickle
the dueling cucumbers of class warfare
now I'm on a dozen watch lists
followed by Diana's paparazzi
to this claustrophobic cinemaplex
and its temporal artery of light
at 3 in the afternoon
a good cheap remedy
following a bad diagnosis

how i feel

Form: Free verse

The Morn's Alive With Skylarks Singing

The morn's alive with skylarks singing
o'er the greening meadow and the pliant pasture,
the ocean sighing, gulls aloft on wings of prayer.
A sudden shower would see me running
fancy free between the rain drops,
I cried 'Excelsior!' and set the hills alive;
I skittered, happy, crisp and clear, 
like God's first measure of a holy hymn.

The air alive with songs of praise, 
the gentle winds a sacred message,
His grand prescription like a dream
that streamed out from the pillows of the heavens.
I liked to wander by the sea shore
skipping stones, disobeying laws of gravity,
as a lamb on shaky legs and tumbled freely without care,
'til gasping, I would stop to catch my breath.

The halcyon days of youth came true,
when I would race forever 'neath the tawny sun,
bedaubed in Autumn's blood, the flame
a blend of hues the likes of which 
would make a young boy doubly blind,
and lead him into kingdoms where the battlefields
would blister scarlet, happy times
that made me see my childhood clearly.

The weather turned again, and shanties
high atop the hillside loomed like castles drifting
in the sea-blown mist, the noise of boats,
their nets pulled, nudging at the jetty.
From the sand the village was a hazy spectre,
the chapel steeple peeking like Rapunzel's lair,
her hair a daydream falling soft,
O fanciful imagination!

I thought to when my mother took my hand. 
We skipped the cobblestones and shopped for wishes,
toys which we could ill-afford;
a Batman cape, a red fire engine.
The lanes were thick with merchants and the joy of life,
haggling, chattering like crazy seabirds loud, 
and mouthing their wants and wares,
and then we wandered home exhausted.

I never lost my youthfulness, 
my joy at seeing herons gloating, eagles floating
high on zephyr'd breezes free as spring;
hallowed times, in Jesus' presence.
I measure now my moments as the hours shift by,
thirty years and blissful, regrets are slight and few,
I count my blessings, feel content
that tribulation never came to bother me.

A birthday cake is waiting for me,
candles flicker, frosting beckons, hope eternal;
my wish the same, for peace on earth
to all men, greetings and goodwill!
I lie down in the close and holy quiet 
while the village sleeps, and slips toward a new adventure,
safe in His keeping, perfect day
with promise of a bright tomorrow!

adventurewrite

Form: Verse

Long Tomorrow Poems

Kneeling In Regret

A Sit and a Smoke

You Look Sideways and I Set Sail

A Drop of Rain Water

Banks

Looking Back

Life Without Horizons

The Morning Soars With Skylarks Singing Repost

Surveillance Camera

The Morn's Alive With Skylarks Singing

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