Long Walk it Poems
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My elementary school was a box full of broken crayons.
You know, the kind that no one likes to use because they fit inside your hands like a hug that lasts three seconds too long.
Me and my classmates wore
hand-me-down smiles.
They were too big for our faces. We figured that eventually we would somehow grow into the sound of our own laughter, put on our happiness like gloves and wear our skin as if our bodies were made by Louie Vuitton, just hoping to be more than tattered pages ripped from the torso of coloring books.
More than the aftermath of two runaway trains headed to the same direction. Our parents drove their affection without insurance, and we are just head on collisions with no coverage. We got shattered windshields for eyes, and tongues made out of safely glass held together by super glue. It’s no wonder we spoke broken English.
With an entire orchestra drowning inside our throats, veins like guitar strings, our voices cracked like the self esteem of single mothers who carried us in their wombs like Molotov cocktails, and prayed that we would somehow find a way to mature into land mines
exploding underneath the feet that have trampled them for too long. These women, they dream in a language only fully understood by the tiles of an abortion clinic on a busy afternoon.
They raised us on top of broken promises made by men with grape jelly in their spines who were too busy jamming to their own
two-cent mix tape that they chose over their priceless women.
We didn’t come with a screwdriver. There is no picture on our box to show you what we should look like when this all is over.
We were just put into this world with a note that read
“Some assembly required.”
We were built inside of a neighborhood that looked as though it was slowly loosing a fist fight to cancer and kemotherapy claimed all of it’s dreams.
You see at a young age I was told that no matter how much furniture you move with a Honda Civic, it’ll never be a pick up truck
but have you ever wanted to be more than what you were made for?
Was there ever moment in your life when all you wanted was to be more than the wounded options that circumstance has nailed to your shoulders?
People question why we even have the audacity to breathe. That’s why when we walk it looks as though we are apologizing for our lungs.
But we ate not sorry for living this loudly.
It’s the only way we know how.
Sometimes, what you find in a study can only be expressed in the way that you walk it out. Occasionally, one can attempt to explain in words what his recent studies have revealed.
Many things that we have already learned are no longer fresh, and yield much-to-be-desired for a fulfilling life.
I must say that when I chose Him to be the one in whom
I would chose to put my faith, I did not discover him through
study or research. Nor yet was it a religion that I submitted to, but rather a relationship to which I was drawn. It was face-value acceptance and His words that both arrested and captured me.
This then is my feeble attempt at communicating the present freshness that I am finding in Jesus Christ.
**************************************************
He's busy, but never harassed or hurried.
He is more gracious than I ever realized;
More forgiving than I ever understood;
More merciful than anyone can imagine.
He doesn’t mind washing the feet of his followers.
He delights in serving, not taking from, his disciples; He's so practical that he likes fixing their breakfast.
Sometimes, he answers before we even ask the question.
He's more patient with me than I am with myself. He
gives me more of everything when I have nothing left.
He weeps with the weepers and reveals himself to the seekers.
He gets amazed with our faith, and races to our rescue.
He marvels at our doubts, and loves us no less.
He sleeps in storms and awakes when we call him.
He loves to bring peace and security to me.
He commands everything to be still in me.
He offers love to me and takes away the fear.
He gives me calm and poise, wiping away every tear. He causes me to clearly see, and quiets the storms at sea.
He calls men and women to forsake all and follow him.
He demands first place in our hearts. Who does this!!!?
07102009; 080221PSCtest, Your Personal Favorite Poetry Contest. Sponsored by: L MILTON HANKINS
VIC’S PLACE
by
JOHN M. ARRIBAS
When I come to I’ll start a new path
The one I’m on solicits her wrath
When the alarm went off I moved not an inch
If I opened my eyes a brawl was a cinch
I felt her rise and move to the edge of the bed
I kept my eyes shut as if I were dead
She dressed quite noisily but before slamming the door
Yelled out no drinking today I can’t take it anymore
She went to the kitchen and started to brew
The aroma of coffee nearly caused me to spew
She came back to the bedroom and said with a smirk
I know you heard what I said got to, I’m late for work
I knew not to move too quickly
My head was pounding my stomach sickly
When you’re hung over everything aches
I got up and stumbled uncontrollable shakes
My head was throbbing with alcohol woes
With great difficulty I put on my clothes
I went to the basin to wash and to brush
The face in the mirror a blurry eyed lush
I went to the kitchen and poured me a cup
One sip, I gagged and nearly threw up
Got to get to Vic’s its not very far
I’ll have to walk it a DUI cost me my car
I looked at the clock it was only ten
Two hours til Vic’s is open again
I went to the park and bided my time
Til the light burns bright on the open sign
I was so edgy I paced back and forth
Shaking and nervous no time for remorse
I’ll wait no matter how long it takes
I’ve got to dampen these terrible shakes
I feel like I’ve been waiting for an eon
Here we go, they turned on the neon
Vic’s place(2)
I raced across the street and mounted a stool
To wait this long is brutal and cruel
Pour me a shot and leave me the bottle
These storming DTs, I’ve got to throttle
After the first drink I felt like king
After the fourth one I started to sing
Soon I was joined by the usual crowd
We sang, yelled and really got loud
Some drank too much and wanted to fight
I don’t remember much more but later that night
I awoke it was quiet and dark
I was lying in the wet grass alone the park
It must have rained I was soaked to the skin
My shirt was torn had a cut on my chin
As I staggered home missing one shoe
I knew exactly what I will have to do
She’ll put me on the wagon I know what’s in store
I can handle it easily I’ve done it many times before
I’m from small town homes and rose bushes overgrown, with
Close-but-not-too-close-close-knit-crazies.
Where my best friend lives down the block and I make late night trips to her house past the town curfew, because I am from just inside the city limits.
Where I can’t drive underage in a non-road-legal vehicle on the road but I do it anyways.
From hydrangeas to big dead oaks with darkened limbs and forgotten branches. Unattended to hidden ponds with sand dunes keeping close company. Winding trails through the woven pines and golf cart rides through the night.
From two tracking at 2am, to popped tires riding on rims all the way home.
Bruised up and down and scratches I don’t know how I got.
I’m from sunday night football with crockpot cheesy potatoes
to rolling blackouts and chasing charter vans down flat onto our bottoms.
Muddy heels to get to the dance and paying seven dollars to watch my hometown football team lose.
I’m from where smoking our meat and video games in the garage is a party but we are the only company we need.
From corny jokes inside and out and witty humor, none taken. From where insulting one another is nothing but love and curfews are often a thing of the past.
Descending from lovejoys I am often filled with both love and joy,
I’m from oddballs and country folk yet we have evolved.
I’m from soccer games even when it’s raining. From no quitting all the way to you tried your best.
From high- highs and even lower lows.
I’m from the land of schnitzel, pickled beer, and pizza. From ‘go play outside’ and ‘walk it off.’ Nuts and bolts for christmas snacks to ‘honor thy mother and father.’ Sunday school lullabies and don’t use his name in vain, following all the common Godly precautions.
I’m from waking up early just to see the sunrise even though the trees are a war barricade from the burning fire you long to see. I’m from the fog that made my acres of yard an abyss that I can’t see through, even though I know what’s there.
I’m from family trips and a loving home, missing it when I’m gone and hating it when I’m there. I’m from supportive love and ‘can’t isn’t a word’. I’m from you can do anything if you work hard enough, and whether you think you can, or think you can’t, you’re right.
Wandering Ways
I walked many places and what I only saw was paths not chosen
These paths are what to take when there are many things in life
For most of the time I walk it just to walk it, to recognize things
The path that I have chosen sometimes reckless but caring
Wandering ways from what I usually do and I just walk my path
Quietly notice that silence is the key to just the peace that is
I gather my strength by self and only I can do it or no one else
The path might be full of thorns and thick shrubs that bites
The feeling of slashing, pulling, tugging, and most of all be held
The thicker it gets the harder the path, yet when I am through
I feel that I am relieved that that I took the path just because,
The aches and pains seldom occur, but most of all I have believed
I am one to hold out my hands through each path, this is me
I don’t know how I do it my hand just passes through and reaches
One by one I help the ones that need the direction that I went
So full of heart I seldom think they should do it themselves
I grew to know that It was O.K., but only help when paths are thick
Thick of moments that are tempting, saddening, and hopelessness
Wandering ways can be so much grief, and feeling of no relief
This is why one must go through it, and push down the brushes
And pull and tug on them to make it clear for others
I did not say I just walked through the brush to be held back
I did not say that I would stop because it was thick and it hurt
I did not say my mental stress was to a point of breaking
All I just said was I picked a path full of brushes
That pulled and tugged, bit me through and through
So that the experience would actually be my teaching tool
I did it just to do it, No! I did it so I can show
My resistant to all the harshness of life can bring
But all of that is a Wandering way of one vivid imagination
That pulls others back to reality that the path is not for them
But if they like they can take my hand and experience it
Much more gentle and more elegant than the harshness
That I experienced, because I went through it and I believed
My wandering ways is just the way I am and it is a relief
In the end
like cataracts
on a grey old dog
a light fog lay over the low, amber moon
a stiff breeze blowing
but next to the ground only
so the layer of fog stayed put above
eerily ... hauntingly
I had walked the dirt road for miles
flat farmland stretching into the night
only one other barn had I seen in the last hours
crumbling into the October grasses
like salt into the sea
my car had broken down
but the weather being decent and only a few miles from destination
I had decided to walk it, but was getting weary
it came from behind, the voice
at first I thought I'd dreamed it, but ...
"I'm hungry" it whispered
clear as a fog horn despite the wind
I spun quickly, in reflex
for there had been nothing but corn stalks for miles
I looked - nothing there ... just corn
and the road fading into the darkness
I turned back around and continued my walk
"I'm hungry", again
whispered, yet unmistakable
I spun back, studying - just dead corn forever and ...
a scarecrow, between me and the moon, oddly
it wasn't there before, I thought, but I must have just missed it
in my own world walking ... thinking of home
it was an odd scarecrow, arms dangling in inhuman ways
pointed hat like a witch
face shielded in darkness
legs hanging backward and ...
did it MOVE??
that surely was my tired eyes, longing for sleep
better get going, thought I, so I started walking again
"I'm hungry!", again the ethereal but deadly clear voice
as though right beside me
I spun to it again, and nothing ...
then back to the moon and the scarecrow, only ...
the scarecrow ... was GONE ... just the four-by-four stake
where it used to hang, limbs akimbo
I picked up my pace, and after a while started to forget it
tired and weary, I just needed sleep, and passed it off as fatigue
thinking then of the warm hearth and bed awaiting me
how long it had been since I'd been home
how achy I was, how weary and hungry and ...
"I'm hungry!!"
that time it was in my ear and a growl ...
an evil, gut-tearing, hideous growl ...
I spun again ... just in time
to see the black, empty face
and the white, pointed, gnashing ...
teeth.
Try to imagine how it feels for your life to change in the blink of an eye,
Sat at your desk, suddenly paralysis in your hand and you’ve no idea why.
You try to make sense and understand, why your arm and leg feel heavy,
When you get up to try and walk, it feels like you’ve been on the sherry.
Try to imagine going to A&E, hoping you’re not wasting their time,
You sit and wait, your name is called, you gone to the front of the line.
The nurse asks lots of questions, you have to relay details about it all,
You’re moved to another room to find doctors are coming out of the walls.
Try to imagine after lots of tests, needles, prodding and poking,
You’re told you’ve had a stroke and you think they must be joking.
You find over the next few days when you walk, that you have no balance,
Even trying to hold and drink a cup of coffee is a difficult challenge.
Try to imagine on the doctor’s round, you’re shown the x-ray of the clot on your brain,
You can no longer hide from it and you feel the colour from your face start to drain.
Eventually you’re discharged from hospital, told you must get plenty of rest,
You find the simplest of chores takes three times the effort; your patience is sorely test.
Try to imagine talking to someone, and mid sentence you totally forget what you want to say,
Everyday sounds like having the TV on, drive you mad, you want to hide out of the way.
You find yourself sleeping a lot, hoping that when you wake you’ll be feeling refreshed,
Stroke fatigue is one of the hardest things of all; it takes a long time for it to regress.
Try to imagine the weeks turning into months, you pine for the life you once knew,
You’re constantly being told be patient, going back to work is not yet right for you.
The outside world, you once took in your stride, now feels like an obstacle course,
You become disorientated, feel weak and dizzy, you think it was never like this before.
Try to imagine, according to the Stroke Association statistics, 1 in 4 affected is of working age,
It could happen to anyone at any time, even you, whilst you are reading this page.
thought to be
deadened
after the attack
from another
where one let one
in &
it didn’t turn out as
beautiful
as was thought to be
had, because the
storybooks lie &
the movies lie better,
but horny is as horny
does & along comes
another drama to add
to the
suitcase,
which we each drag
throughout our lives until
we finally get to drop it.
though the heart is black &
the mind is exhausted &
the hands are told to
castrate oneself to keep
anything from ever happening
again,
the path leads on & you walk it
because
what the **** else are you gonna
do?
no direction comes &
no one knows more than you,
no text written before you tells any
truth, which hasn’t been worked out
to oblivion now &
the sounds that you love to listen to
will do &
the feelings that you love to indulge in
will do &
because the choice to dive in again
is but yours to
foster.
throwing logs on the fire
even though the friends say to stop,
throwing logs on the fire,
even though the passion seems too much,
throwing logs on the fire
even though their eyes may be drifting,
throwing logs on the fire,
when the jealousy doesn’t stop the wanting,
throwing logs on the fire,
when the fighting leads to better sex,
throwing logs on the fire,
when the sex leads to better fighting,
throwing logs on the fire,
when the lack of fascination in the other
leads each to another,
throwing logs on the fire,
when the straying leads to passion in both
contexts,
throwing logs on the fire,
when the demands (physically/mentally/emotionally)
begin to outweigh the process,
throwing logs on the fire,
when the parties involved want you all to
themselves,
throwing logs on the fire,
when you haven’t enough energy to spread it thin
anymore,
throwing logs on the fire,
and choosing one over the other,
throwing logs on the fire,
like picking the wrong teller at the bank &
watching the lines on both sides of you
move faster & more precisely,
throwing logs on the fire,
back to the beginning,
with no logs left to throw,
back to the beginning with
embers
still
flickering.
Covid rules explained
About the covid 19, in case things don’t seem clear
This is what we need to do, so we don’t live in fear
We can mix with different households, as long as we’re not seven
Unless of course we’ve gone to work and bubbled with eleven
So if you have five children, then I’m sorry but you’re stuffed
No one can come in your house, and you can’t go out, it’s tough
If you are all together you can’t go for a meal
So just forget that eat out scheme, you’re too many for that deal
You could maybe have two tables, but you’re not allowed to stray
If you stay where they have seated you the virus goes away
You can’t mix with the people who’s household you are in
But the waiter can bring you a drink, he’s lifted by the rim
Then there’s local lockdowns, don’t even meet in groups of six
If you’re from different households you simply cannot mix
Not even in a garden, the virus will get you there
But if you go out for a walk it simply doesn’t care
If you’re in the pub after ten the virus will descend
But all hop on the underground and it will not offend
Before ten you will be ok, but please don’t sing or dance
Coz if you have too much fun, you just don’t stand a chance
A hairdresser can cut your hair and even trim your beard
But if you want to see a doctor, face to face is feared
You must explain on the phone what symptoms you can see
You may as well just google, ask Alexa or Siri
If you want a big Christmas feast, you have to kill the cat
Coz theres thirty at a funeral and it will stay away from that
You can’t go to a theatre, but you can sit on a plane
As long as when you come back you don’t go out again
You could take a different route, the virus then out smarted
No need for isolation, as you detoured it departed
And when you get your hair done don’t ask for a tea
As the virus lives in their mugs, but the coffee shops are Covid free
If you are in any doubt what rules apply to you
Just follow all the MP’s, they’ll show you what to do.
Tracie Heard
03/10/20
Up north there are four seasons in a year…a fact that cannot be debated.
In Florida, however, those four season are more subtle and understated.
In fact, the seasons come to Florida in a kind of disarray…
It is possible for us to experience all four season in one day
We have no snow…our leaves don’t change color…most of them stay green
but take a walk with nature in March and you’ll see exactly what I mean.
Morning are still cool and breezy…a beautiful way for the day to begin…
but that same afternoon can be hot and humid…a sign that summer’s creeping in.
As you watch Spring and Summer duke it out…you realize…that’s not all
because every breeze in March encourages the oak tree’s leaves to fall.
You hear the wind from the safety of your house…upon your roof you hear a rain-like sound
because as the oak trees shed their leaves they are also raining pollen on the ground.
When rain mixes with the pollen on our houses, our cars and patios… it tends to make a mess
and though we love our oak trees…we curse their deciduousness.
At the same time of year the Oak Leaf Rollers show up…no that’s not a band
It’s the larvae of a brown moth…hanging from the oaks by a single silky strand.
It does’ t matter how carefully you walk…it really does’t matter what you do
when you get home…there’s a good chance you’ve brought a few green worms with you.
And just as there will be a few days in March when the heat and humidity makes you sweat
we’ll also have a few cold days…it’s winter reminding us she’s not done with Florida yet.
So on a morning walk in March…it might be cold or breezy or there might be humidity in the air
you might be wearing shorts or coats and you’ll have worms crawling in your hair…
All signs of how the season are more subtle here….how in Florida we find a way
to experience Spring, Summer, Fall and Winter…all in the course of a day.