Long Weather beaten Poems
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Empty House
Weather beaten, sun-baked
Rickety, rackety siding,
Falling apart, worn of age
Tucked away midst bushes and brambles,
Rattling windows and dusty ledges
Battled the cold wintry breeze.
The sun porch protected the old frame
From harsh prairie winds and snow.
The wood box inside the porch was always full,
Now empty, overcome by cob-webs and moths,
Painted walls, seasoned with smoke
From the wood-burning stove and pipes
Rays of sunlight now light the room.
I seem to hear the sound of a kettle sputtering
On a well-stoked fire,
Mingled with the fresh aroma of coffee.
Creaky, scuffed up old carpet marks
Ah, Sunday gatherings, Christmas,
Dad read the Bible round the family circle.
Sunflower seeds fell lavishly, roasted and all!
Games –“fruit basket upset!”
They dashed for mom’s round chair,
I remember the pile of spokes!
Glued and fixed it sat once again,
Restored, by the old bouker stove -
The warmth, I feel it yet!
Glancing over the threshold where the kerosene lamp
Once sat, casting a dim ray of light.
An old bed post, a torn mattress –
Only cast a haunting shadow of yesterday.
The living room carpet, now well worn,
The old wooden rocker in the corner –
Mom’s oasis from tiring years,
Upstairs, the rooms, the noise – laughter,
Squeaky stairs – how well I remember!
All these – a barrage of memories dear,
In the empty house.
Susan Fox
My Child,
I Need You to Realize, When the Storms of Life Threaten Security
Like A Predator Stalking it's Prey
Unpredictable Devastation May Occur
But Storms are not Here to Stay
When Peace is Plundered, Security Shattered In Disarray
Scattered and Tossed In The Tornadic Stormy Rapture
To Redirect, To Renew, To Wash Away Decay
I Offer You A Parasol of Faith for the Rainy Days
It May not Hold Up Against Strong Winds
But It Will Shelter Hope, Like Elder Folks Often Say;
"The Storm May Rage for A Season, but It Isn't Here to Stay".
Storms are Necessary Obstacles Strategically Placed in Our Way
Wetting Stones Planted Props For Life's Orchestrated Ballet
Restless Child, I Know You Long to Run Wild Outside, Tumble, Scream and Play
But Rain Is Wet For Both Meek And Wise, The Weather Forbids Today!
When The Tempest Rage, Thunder Bellows the Jagged Bolts of Light Display
Selfish, Careless, Ungrateful Vices of Your Inner Judas
Ourselves We Oft Sabotage, Ourselves We Oft Betray
Storms Amidst to Keep Us Alert, Fragility of Our Frames Becomes Primal Concern
Gather Around, Clutched Hands on Bended Knees To Pray
Falsehood, Crookedness, Cultivated Resentments Designed to Separate and Lead Innocent Souls Astray
Come Oh Come Stormy Winds, Drive the Filth Away!
Shambled Communities Crippled By Storm Devastated Debris,
Weather Beaten Mothers Drenched In Sullen Dismay
Overcoming Rubbles, Barely, With Tear Streaked Faces
Vulnerability on Nude Display,
Forlorn and Haggard, Denying Defeat, Just Another Leak To Keep Her Focus and Grounded on Her Feet, To Nurture and Comfort Innocence Who Will One Day Lead the Way
Let Not your Confidence Be Swayed
The Winds Will Calm
The Rains Will Cease
The Covenant Renewed, Gifting Hope and A Stormless Day!
They say
it's never the same
you can never go home again.
They're not always right
for just a moment in time
before it's too late and I forget by reason or rhyme,
Let me remember
hold on to the memories I see
of the family that created me.
My father and my gram
holding on to the possibilities
of what was and what could yet be.
Looking back over all those years
the heartache and the tears
the laughter and the joy of baby girls and boys.
There we learned the lessons
weather-beaten emotions and morals taught
love and laughter can never be bought.
So for the moment preserved
let me go home again
grateful for the now and holding on to then.
Thanksgiving gobbledygook
The following anecdote baste
upon overactive imagination of mine
in sync with being married
and monogamously living socially chaste
life as a scrupulous anchorite,
whose weather beaten corporeal flesh
plus sabotaged, riddled,
and tuckered psyche effaced
after becoming adequately stuffed,
this turkey (in the straw)
then flapped his trussed wings
(at the speed of sound)
if listening closely echoes refrains
from Amazing Grace,
(which words reflections of John Newton,
a slave trader
who nearly died in a shipwreck,
and who eventually became a minister.
after which he penned the famous words
of "Amazing Grace" for a sermon
for his 1773 New Year's service
at the Church of St. Peter and St. Paul)
unable to escape ill fate of mine
i.e. being analogous to cooked goose
subsequently found him interlaced
with various and sundry
other dead animals
fixed to be mounted
(courtesy a taxidermist) on a wall.
The holiday dates back
to November 1621,
when the newly arrived Pilgrims
and the Wampanoag Indians
gathered at Plymouth
for an autumn harvest feast,
an event regarded
as America's “first Thanksgiving.”
Ever since then throve,
a commercialization, commodification,
commination and communication war,
where many a big box department store
large-scale buildings
of more than 50,000 square feet,
the store is usually plainly designed
and often resembles a large box
for example Walmart, Home Depot,
Tesco, and Ikea are examples
of big-box retailers,
but never forget warehouse clubs
such as Costco and BJ's
considered the original kind
of big-box retailers nevermore
to witness mom and pop businesses
(small business entities
that thrive independently and spurred
pick/pull yourself up
by bootstraps guild den age,
or family-owned) hardcore
bricks and mortar outfits
prominent during pre industrial
high societies, when love's labour's lost
venerated, serenaded, and promenaded
like The School of Scandal of trysts,
buzzfeeding the literati
with tantalizing amour.
In the shimmering heat waves under midsummer blazing sun,
for he doesn’t know the meaning of the abundance of waters
the overflowing river,
quenched his thirst with boiling sand
while looking at the sky to find a tomorrow
in somewhere on the other side of passing cloud.
He was forgotten saguaro standing one leg on the ground
with both arms spread open in the middle of wilderness
like a weather-beaten lonely scarecrow,
though there were no birds to drive away.
Under the scorching sun, with great patience,
he was standing in the stony field as a stem of cactus,
his skin was slashed and torn opened by the stinging sunrays,
and from those open wounds, the prickles gruesomely grew
to lessen the pains. However, days and nights of intolerable
tortures forced him to become a worthless piece of burned stake,
the stake that of no will, no breath, and no significance, and therefore,
no word to express the feelings of his own is in it.
He trusted the words,
“as long as stand steadfastly
and patiently wait in the field,
though there is no season of spring or autumn,
for life is tough and will is the root cause of existence,
one day, you’ll become a beautiful flower,” and waited a long.
He never bloomed though after those long waits
but collapsed in the shimmering heat waves as a piece of
half burned charcoal that will never be burned again even if
wind rises. He, now, lies there as an ugly distorted figure
on the ground without a substance, a shadow of ghostly image.
Soundlessly ricochet to and fro
hither and yon
roundly bobbing within squarely donned
talking heads of psycho killers,
one pyromaniac burning
down the crowded house
sparking magnificent conflagration
towering inferno emulating
caterwauling, kickstarting, ululating
(think) stray cats on a hot tin roof
nsync with 10,000 maniacs
intense heat and duraflame
long since eroding
weather beaten soul asylum
strip mining away
vestial trace, hence impossible mission
rectifying purposeless existence
imputed to passive self sacrifice
upon cusp of prepubescence
mystified, mummified, modified,
stilled, lulled, andhushed
obsessively grammatically fanatical
oftimes feeble efforts yielded countless
corrective editing measures
subsequently rendering lame
resultant deplorable effort
despite NON GMO gluten
and monosodiumglutimate free
diet of (hooked) worms
limply tethered symbolic constructs
analogous to dangling participles
scraping, plowing, etching...
imperfect triangulated Hollywood squares
across parched stream of consciousness
former luscious cerebral riverbeds
long since bone dry
millennium since onset climate change
courtesy global warming
blowing in the hot torpid wind
sands of time elapsed
accepted biological demise
forever linkedin with his forebears
birth/death repurposed cycle
activated, demonstrated, gifted...
integration, narration, reincarnation...
biochemical, geological, paleontological...
legacy randomly begetting me
epochal, integral, orbital saga
since time immemorial
fifty plus shades of once ashen gray
well muscled athletic human specimen
oblivious corpse good n plenti
petrified, metamorphosed, coalesced
bleached skull and crossbones
grown brittle when blazing sun's
rays generated aforementioned disparate ideas
jangled, rankled, and zapped
in tandem with bared tiger (no lion)
slapdash pell mell, helter
skelter, higglety pigglety...
germane blitzkrieg rained down above
leaving writer, tortured, mortified, and benumbed
without either sense or sensibility
nor pride and prejudice
perusing discombobulated chaotic
kamikaze lobbed muddlesome nonsense.
The last hoorah of old man winter 2022?
March twelfth Ded Moroz
struts his white stuff
first real substantial puncheon
found Jack Frost in his glory,
he haint no longer morose nor gruff,
cuz series of fortunate meteorological events
found crystalline precipitation hoary.
I revel watching
the bit torrent of snowflakes alight
upon the greensward;
a cold wind bloweth and doth bite
any exposed flesh of daredevil
(the re:noun Evel Knievel of verbiage)
weather beaten soul
trundling with delight
inured to brutal cold
all fours seasons excite
contemplative character
asked me to ghostwrite,
thus a reasonable rhyme yielded
courtesy wuthering height.
Yours truly breathes deep sigh of relief,
when surprise blizzard came our way,
no matter yours truly solitary fellow
holed up in me mancave yay,
he experiences unfettered glee
for picturesque blustery scene today
eight sleeps before Spring Equinox
glad second rate nor'easter
pummeled Southeastern
Montgomery County, Pennsylvania.
The near future forecast
bodes well nigh arrival of vernal equinox
when the sun crosses celestial equator
in northerly direction, marking
prime meridian of right ascension.
Fanfare for common man
(think das scribe spinning these lines)
grateful timely notion
kindled inside mine noggin
truth be told - before onset of storm,
I drew one blank after another
and felt at my wits end
regard apropos material to write about.
Methought to soon to post
poem about beware the ides of March,
(approximately sixty one
and a half hours hence,
similar explanation regarding
summoning creative literary endeavor
honoring Lá Fhéile Pádraig sona duit,
thus imposed upon figurative shoulders
(mine) to hash out some
marginally passable verse.
Now attention pauses to take look see
out bedroom window
watching medley of gusty air
in sync with blizzard conditions,
yet yours truly snug
as a bug in a rug
despite not turning on the heat,
and would ye believe
bard of Perkiomen Valley
only donned in ma birthday suit?
Follow the red dirt road.
Take it slow, walk it,
this is not an exploration
nor a pilgrimage,
it is a short tour around
the beginning of an idea
and its end.
Move along
past the few rural homesteads,
pass beyond the shacks
and the weather-beaten
tumbledown cabins,
the double and single wide
not so mobile homes
with their rusting trucks.
Hurry past the gypsy encampments.
with their gangs of wild dogs
until that dirt road ends
in a dry long uncultivated field.
This is where the dust
covers the old road maker
and beside his sunbaked bones
see how his maps and plans
are rolled up tight
never to be unrolled again.
Anchors Aweigh...Destination Unknown
Weather beaten cap'n,
and watertight bewitched craft
time tested since maiden voyage
(circumnavigating the globe
back in the day
of my youth),
I ranked tough as a pitbull,
when severely pitted
against raw elements
of swiftly tailored,
harried stylish nature
against leathery faced
reptilian skin, hard drinking
(actually as corked
poetic convenience - vermouth
arbitrary bottle of choice
if for no other reason,
than to rhyme
with the above line),
and tobacco spitting, while
colorfully swearing as an uncouth
Furies (of Agamemnon) fighting (tooth
and nail) Pirate,
where rickets, scurvy,
and thrice unconscious,
currently ample proof
could not forsooth
bring me to
Davy Jones's locker,
cuz I never wanna
get relegated to an underwater
whale schooled booth,
this raconteur can nonchalantly,
glibly, and blithely attest,
with braggadocio, despite
no warm welcome will
ever greet mine tinnitus
pained ears, I can plainly
imagine acrimonious retort
upon me behest
his far more'n lifetime
bobbing (like a sponge)
buoyed atop crest
longing e'en for
(carping, caviling, hen pecking,
or shrewish) wife,
and loving family
forsaken, sans living
antisocial upon briny deep divest
many opportunities to
experience wedded, webbed
and whirled bliss,
and hence for everest
as bachelor, especially
at present junction
of twilight years,
my crude manners
makes foreign (for
an) ill suited guest
boot e'en if yours truly
became inured to life on land,
(as a "FAKE" father figure
feathering his nest
my coarse behavior, as basic
electric koolaid acid test
would force even
the most tolerant proprietor,
perhaps a bank
manager at Univest
would utter VAMOOSE,
e'en if eye covered up
my heavily pierced,
and tattooed breast.
With a feathery smile on her chiseled face
she looks as angelic as the real ones in the sky
adorning my window ledge she fills up every space,
like any proper angel would normally do;
I hear her whisper at the edge of night
secrets that were meant for me alone
She quietly supports my every prayer
this little angel of God, who never goes abroad ;
She is a stationary idol of the highest order
she comforts me each night with her presence and grace
and although she cannot see my face,
she knows every hidden feeling I encase,
every hope, every desire, every fear that I misplace.
I, a weather beaten traveler of life's weary journey
gives ode to this lovely altar Angel, she is a reminder
that Angels do exist, she may be made of plastic but to me,
she is a living, breathing, object of great valor
when I pray.
Feb 27, 2023
Sponsor Jeff Kyser
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