Long Upstate Poems
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Up in long bands of gray and white
angry clouds are whirling,
fingers stretch downwards to the ground,
faint traces of swirling.
the farmer sees it and suspects
what nature is unfurling.
Glad at least it came in the day,
not stole in come evening,
he locks the barn and heads downstairs,
in basement remaining.
The air moans loudly when it starts,
vortex boldly roaring,
snaps tree-trunks off like they’re matchsticks,
Sends the branches soaring.
Birds fly off in a panicked flock,
much too scared for crowing,
the wheat flexes, and flattens low,
disturbed from its growing.
A mad chaos, its motion blurred
by the rush of spinning,
if any storm-chasers lived here,
you know they’d be grinning.
But alas, this is not the plains,
with their F-5s looming,
oh no, this is upstate New York,
and those hills aren’t moving.
The block the flow, they interrupt,
winds are quickly fading,
it barely lasted three minutes,
the dark whorl abating.
Driving on my way Upstate,
Eyes pierced on what was all around,
Endless fields, little creeks, water rushing past their peaks.
Suddenly, I got a glimpse of a long blonde tail,
Pulling over to the side, my heart began to wail,
Past the branches, I walked straight through,
looking forward at something new,
An old railroad track to cross over,
led me to my own personal patch of clovers,
Perpetual land, not my own,
Marveling at what was being shown,
Freedom riding all around,
I could barely keep my mouth off the ground,
Every shade of Brown and white,
Riding towards the evening light,
Dancing through the fields,
Not for a second did they yield,
I felt compelled to go a little deeper,
As if I were there silent keeper,
I did not want to make them scared,
I knew they were not prepared,
I found a branch that I could hide behind,
For a moment, I felt like I was committing a crime,
Observing, while they gently ran,
They seemed to be in full control of their land.
In between two of them, by a body of water,
It looked as though they had a small daughter,
Little, golden, mixed with tan
She used her parents to help her stand,
Her mane exceptionally thick,
Her mother’s little side kick,
After taking in this marvelous gift,
I climbed out of the branches and made a shift,
Back into my running car,
I continued on and drove real far.
BY: Sabina Nicole
In upstate N.Y., off lake Ontario.
Haunting my dreams, this memory.
Here's the scenario
A cold mild breeze blows
on this Saturday in mid October.
Nine friends decide on the town carnival
Drunk, high, far from sober.
Every town had a carnival
in the October month.
We'd try for every one of them,
young men out on the hunt.
Moderate sized carnivals
containing the different towns,
all types of people came.
You had your jocks, thugs, and me..
The class clown...
All nine friends stylishly dressed
for the upcoming fun.
We pile into a Monte' Carlo,
passing the bottle of Bacardi rum.
We drive down Cetenary road
on the southeast side of town.
Our driver gains reckless speeds,
not thinking of our safety.
He comes to a screeching halt
at the intersection of Cetenary and Lake
He seemed to be excited
about the right turn he was about to make
Hard he presses the gas pedal,
the tires begin to spin
The rear starts radically fishtailing
the nightmare now begins.
First storming to the right
a voice screams out
"OH S#%T"
He jerks the wheel, now left.
We're now heading for a ditch.
At that moment all went black,
screams turned into whispers.
When my consciousness regained
what I saw sent spinal shivers.
Broken, blood stained glass,
seven bodies laying limp.
Skull fragments on the steering wheel,
I couldn't come to grip.
Nine friends set out intoxicated
This late October day
Taken by ambulance for treatment
And an overnight, extended stay
Jared Pickett........:JP]
It was a ways back in the late nineties,
I was ski racing in New York, upstate,
atop a long and winding Super G,
the fastest discipline in which I partake.
I’d made state championships three times,
but had never gotten much higher,
it didn’t help having an older brother
who to Olympic dreams aspired.
My coaches all said the problem was
that I was not aggressive enough.
Perfect technique and masterful control
just did not bring me much luck.
So on that day I said,”Screw it!
Just bomb the whole course down.”
The start ref said “racer ready,” I went
in a tuck, staying low to the ground.
Pressing forwards ‘till my shins bruised,
I was rocketing along in fine style,
pulling down the kinds of split times
that I had not seen in a while.
I must’ve broken sixty that run,
the gates came unusually quick,
nut it was all or nothing, I told myself
and through the icy ruts I ripped.
Then, before it could even register,
blue fabric flashed by the wrong eye.
it had come so fast I couldn’t move,
the gate quickly passing by.
The run of my life, already half done,
Now rendered totally meaningless.
I skied down the side, stuck in a daze,
my mind refusing to register it.
Later in the lodge, making things worse,
I learned from some buds on the team,
that the same older brother who lived to win
had walked away with the race easily.
Impossible moments, they still haunt me,
twenty years on and I’m still cursing fate
for bringing me to the cusp of glory…
and then I miss the blasted gate!
Ahhhhhhh!
God damnit! I need a beer. Somebody get me a beer.
You never believe me when I tell you the truth
And you always believe that I’m uncouth
You think you’d be glad I came home and shed a sad tear
Remember how I was abducted by aliens last year
That woman I was with should not cause you to fear
I was testing her lipstick to see if it would smear
Last week when I didn’t come home that night
I met a vampire and damn, she could bite
Then I wanted to make sure I was okay
So I waited for the sun to come up the next day
Now I won’t be home at all next week
So please don’t pop your cork
I have training scheduled for the CIA
On a secret base in upstate New York
You never believe me, not a single word that I say
You know that my missions often take me away
No, I can’t call and I won’t be hanging in bars
My next assignment is to investigate Mars
Yes, that was me you saw with that blonde
I was just covering her for James Bond.
You never believe me when I’m telling you so
I have people to do and places to go
You never believe me, you know I won’t lie
My eyes are bloodshot, when I’m homesick I cry
Please believe me, I’m not out there having fun
Don’t look at me like that and put down the gun.
It can be kind of depressing,
living in upstate New York,
because of that damn city,
that grand ol’ attention whore,
I cannot go anywhere
without having to explain
that I don’t live in a borough,
I live three hours away!
Can’t go to vote in November,
without a voice in my mind
reminding me they cancel us,
that it’s all a waste of time.
Can’t expect rights protected,
not in the countryside,
not when Urban know-it-alls
think history has a ‘tide.’
And to top it off the upstate
lands are quite something to see,
overflowing with wilderness,
and quiet, pastoral beauty.
We got thunderous Niagara,
and Letchworth’s massive gorge,
Finger Lakes and wine country,
Ontario’s freshwater shores.
The rolling, lore-steeped Catskills,
shot through with mighty cloves,
the rocky Adirondacks,
break sky with ancient stone,
the grandeur of the Hudson
carves it was through the scene,
flanked by bucolic county,
and deep wilderness serene.
The north has the St. Lawrence,
of Thousand Islands fame,
the central lands have waterfalls,
and are shot through with caves.
The sheer walls of Shawangunk,
the rugged beauty of Lake George,
Champlain with its famous monster,
Lake Placid’s Olympic sports.
Yes, there’s quite a lot up here,
so much for folks to see,
all of it in the shadow,
of that oversized city.
Though now that I think of it,
if the city wasn’t there,
all those ten million people,
would have to move somewhere…
Oh, good lord, no!
Come visit the Big Apple,
it’s a magic place to go,
the finest experience
most folks will ever know!
With skyscrapers, museums,
great food on every plate,
come visit New York City,
I swear to God, it’s ‘great.’
Step Outline- Hiking Trail (A Horror)
Prologue
Ext. Woodland Park, Upstate California- Sunset
It’s mid-autumn, hot. A week before school starts, there’s a family gathering. A young woman is arguing with her father. She’s holding onto her food. Then, she grabs her purse and storms off. Her father calls after her, but she’s heading into the mouth of the woods.
ACT I
Ext. The mouth of the woods- Dusk
She walks along the hiking trail, grumbling about her father. She takes a bite of her hotlink and complains about leaving her beer behind. She isn’t alone.
Int. Feelings
She wants to have one family outing where she doesn’t fight with her dad. It’s the same repeating argument, just a different scene. He always eats away at her good time. Why can’t Dad let me be?
Ext. Right at the throat of the woods- Dusk
She shouts to the listening woods she doesn’t want to return to her father. And the beast that’s stalking her listens.
ACT II
Ext. Swallowed by the woods- Dusk
The beast watches the woman slide down the woodland path. She’s speaking to herself aloud.
Int. Thoughts
Are her troubles so loud that they have to escape her body? If the beast sinks its teeth into her throat, will her words of anguish spill out with her blood? And then she shouts she doesn’t want to return to her father. If she doesn’t have any plans to leave the woods, he should have his fill.
ACT III
Int. Inside the belly- Dark
There are blistering bubbles below her. She lost a shoe and three toes. The walls flex and relax against her crawling hands. She didn’t know someone was tailing her and listening. She was so consumed with her fight with her father that she got devoured by another man.
He was born in Yonkers, just north of New York City.
This man grew up to be funny and witty.
While working in a luncheonette owned by his family,
with the art of patois, Sid displayed proficiency.
As a funny comedian, he made his presence felt.
Sid got his start in upstate New York in the Borscht Belt.
As a saxophonist, his first job was at the Vacationland.
He became an influential member of the hotel’s band.
With the late Imogene Coca, he was a television pioneer.
On Broadway and in movies, Sid would also appear.
However, alcohol and barbiturates nearly destroyed his career.
A recovery brought him back into entertainment’s sphere.
Over the years, many awards and recognitions came his way.
At the age of ninety-one, Sid Caesar passed away.
RIP Sid Caesar
(1922-2014)
I thank both wikipedia.org online encyclopedia and variety.com for information
I obtained to write this poem.
Divine Intervention
His name was Lynn.
We had nothing in common.
I – a city punk, twenty something,
High School grad, Ironworker.
He – an upstate NY, college educated,
beret-wearing, ”Spiritual Giant”.
Recurring questions dogged
this relationship….
….”Who am I?”
….”Who is he?”
…”Why have our paths intertwined?”
I don’t believe
he ever told me anything,
just left trails of spiritual
bread crumbs for me
to follow.
He always seemed to teach me
lessons I didn’t know
were being taught.
Guided me with firm
yet gentle words
allowing me to unveil
my spirit in the safety
of his presence.
I reflect often
on this Avatar,
this incarnate teacher,
stopping on his journey
to assist another
in their quest.
His name was Lynn.
We had nothing in common.
©11/16/2017
submitted to – AVATAR – Poetry Contest
definition – an incarnate divine teacher
Hudson Valley, New York
Oh, Hudson Valley, place that I call home,
you hug the river from which came your name.
On fertile banks, the settlers came to roam
and stayed to prosper and your land proclaim.
Your winding Hudson River grew their dreams
with farmlands, orchards and new industries,
and lovely homes that languish in your scenes
atop green rolling hills with graceful trees.
And from my window, you present to me
the vision of your peaceful valleys and
the sparkling river waters that flow free
from north to south thru Hudson Valley land.
When weary from the stresses of each day...
I relish in the peace your views portray.
Sandra M. Haight
~2nd Place~
Contest: Sonnet About Where You Live
Sponsor: Silent One
Judged: 01/07/2017
Note: The Hudson River begins at Lake Tear of the Clouds in the Adirondack Mountains of upstate New York. It flows to the tip of Manhattan in the southern part of the state.
My home is in Newburgh, a town along the Mid-Hudson Valley, sixty miles north of New York City.