Sycamore tree, swing thee far?
On a crescent line?
Yes, sir. As I strive for par:
I think of the vine.
Due, friend, to its supple reach?
Twist and turn a-right.
Spark within me, I beseech.
Flicker, fly, and fight.
Well, young man, mythology.
Legends of the old?
Ancient is the redwood? Sea.
Lava makes the gold.
Sword, point heavenward and stand.
Enforce hell's command.
Fear severe, have you been planned?
Fire, forms frequent fanned?
Doubt, without? Tough taut to tout?
Down the waterspout.
Lily pad, repair or rout?
Flagrantly to flout.
Yet organized the strong ones step.
Each in rhythmic racks.
Soldier, load thy gun with pep.
Notes hang up with tacks.
City bells, alarums.
What message will you ring?
Plume volcanic, ply thy plums.
Blister as ye bring.
Crumbs. Chaos, thy star dances.
Dissonant its flow.
Fate and Fortune, white chances.
Black the broken bow.
May eyes and ears be open to the truth
As fragile as the fevered fledgling flies
Rejoice that better days may still be proof
That wisdom’s wily will shall curtail lies
In days of old their prejudice was clear
Now sleeps its dormant heart but still its near
Look not to history to celebrate
Under the rocks of equal lives lie cracks
The power play performed did demonstrate
How those who pull the strings avoid the racks
Earth never will be peaceful sad to say
Real battles lie in plain sight everyday
Know this, for every step that we have walked
I pledge that every promise that was talked
None shall stop and cheer our equal rights
Go farther, for our future we must fight
Standdown Day
USS Coral Sea—Spring 1979
standdown day
no flights
alone I stand upon flight deck
three football fields long
thousands of tons of solid steel
an insignificant gray speck
upon the bounding main
below decks five thousand sailors
and marines on a mission
some scramble, others grind on
some sleep
fourteen-hour days
seven days straight
now standdown day
dusk
gulf water mirror still
a vivid rainbow spans in
a high, full, majestic arc
horizon to horizon
night
below decks I pass berthing
areas crowded with
bed racks stacked three high
eerily quiet for a crammed
metal city
I must work through the
Night and into the morning
Looking forward always to
The next port
by Robert Gorelick
November 11, 2025
December’s so right, has many delights
With lovely blue skies and clear starry nights
My Summer’s begun, with warmth from the sun
And daily long walks it’s time to have fun.
The end of the year, brings many good cheer
Especially for kids, when Christmas is here.
There’s so much for me, out there just to see
It really depends on where I will be
Take a trip to some place, that I’ve never been
Keep a diary each day on what I have seen.
Or a beach holiday, not too far away
In my nice caravan, that’s where I shall stay.
Read books and relax, while munching on snacks
Go shopping for clothes, sort through all the racks
Could go for a swim, or workout in a gym
At times make no plans, just go on a whim.
With voices so fine, we’ll sing Auld Lang Syne
On each New Years Eve, at midnight clocks chime.
The month of December, has much to remember
And so, to you all, that’s me from ‘Down Under’
Dark circles 'neith bloodshot eyes,
problems increasing in size.
Oh, how I can empathize.
Constantly, she racks her brain.
Her grip, she fights to retain.
She drops off, won't go insane...
Just then, her alarm clock cries.
To see the earthly resentment
Of Ireland
In her American
Per chase of the heart
Down to lent
Repent in sayings before
Ashed inscription
Told
Without reply she walks in a sun
Fide et Amore, Italia
Aetheistic concealed brevity
Reluctant canvas of poetry
Projection of a middle path
Project re deck
Stacks end racks
Build out change
Sisters of in mate position
Split same lunch run ons
A truckful of drunks
half-skunked boozers
gun racks in the back
unlucky losers
pulled up to the pumps
for a gallon or two
only high octane
tanked would do
then one had a bad itch
he started to scratch
wanted a smoke
and when he lit a match
the explosion was heard
three miles away
to arrive alive
do what they say
'Don't drink and drive'
and yes it's true
it could ruin your day
smoking is bad for you
As I rise,
The moon falls
The wind settles
The lake follows
The sand shimmers
The earth softens
The stars dampen and
The buildings brighten,
A tree houses
A bird swooshes
A flower opens
A fish swims
A weed dances
A squirrel eats and
A duck dips,
A man hurries to work
A woman runs on the boardwalk
A grandfather grabs the paper
A boy hides from me
A girl giggles on the swings
A bell ushers kids away and\
A bike lane grows heavy,
This place,
So full with life
Racks the minutes, hours, days, years,
Peacefully, quietly, beautifully--
Existing with incredible happenings;
Splendors and revelations,
Dark funerals and ‘happy birthdays’,
Joyous jubilations and lonely mornings,
Yellow hellos and red goodbyes,
Tired people and busy minds.
Perpetual, like that grandfather clock in the apartment with the too-thin walls;
As unchanging as the oak tree outside of the tiny bungalow on the corner street by the beach.
And as I set and rise everyday to do the same 24-hour shift,
I do not complain about the similar views, or the boring minutes,
I do not crave the hours in darkness,
I accept the unthanked labor—
I watch.
I listen.
I exist.
Each night after the evening meal
there was never a discussion
as to who would wash the dishes
and who would do the drying up.
My mother was the washer,
my sister and I did the drying up.
Hot steam would rise from the sink
before plates were plunged
deep in foam and scrubbed
with a brush - we would wait,
tea towel in hand to pounce
on the first plates to come out,
rinsed and white -
dishes were easier to dry
than heavy pots
and fiddly knives and forks.
It was a time for talk, for laughs
and sometimes snuffled back tears -
everyday life lived within the space
of our touching elbows.
I can still feel the tea towel
in my hand wet and warm
with those blessed memories.
Seventy years on, I bend down
and load the racks of a dishwasher
with soiled tableware from
the evening meal. Its quiet whirr
will fill the winter silence
and play a soulless ditty when
the washing and drying up
is done.
Was the article illusive
In transparent approach
The suitor in study
As students with rome?
Cause and able, yet
There she isn't
Ive died in your dear wifes eyes
tell me i never loved her
hurt after the dancings done
ive died in your dear wifes eyes
and theyve been taken away
tell me i never loved an angel
hurt after the dancings done
thugger enter the idiom
corner unpainted, love irish
b, low, c nuttin
craned, exam, deliver the news
leave all these younga brohtas bent
kneckin on a fence
weezers
the boy's in t.o. puttin on advisors
saw you a step out
ob gy n you thoughts
why you catchin trash
yo mama radio no latch
free rides for too strong
mama and daddy silly idols
al dented the news racks
elbows up
The Home Goods store is packed with stuff
That no one really needs.
It’s kind of like a garden filled
With bright and cheerful weeds.
You stroll the aisles and start to pluck
Some items from a shelf,
Each one designed to make you buy
A present for yourself.
A fish-shaped plate, a speckled bowl,
Some baskets of bamboo,
Plus pillows, frames and placemats -
All just waiting there for you.
A separate section carries food,
Like chocolates and snacks,
While cards and wrapping paper fill,
With toys, adjoining racks.
Some furniture is worth a look -
A cabinet or chair,
But better snatch it up because
Next week it won’t be there.
It’s fun to spend an hour
In this store, without a doubt,
Though guaranteed you’ll leave with things
You sure could do without.
'And I saw the dead, small and great, stand before God; and the books were opened: and another book was opened, which is the book of life: and the dead were judged out of those things which were written in the books, according to their works." ~Revelation 20:12 KJV And then [Jesus said] will I profess unto them, I never knew you: depart from me, ye that work iniquity. ~Matthew 7:23 KJV
The sound of solitude
Means I am now alone,
Yet reminds me of my finitude
And for sins I must atone.
Guilt racks me like a cyclone,
For the lies I have construed
Lay around me like a clingstone
And the shadows of hellbrewed.
A creed of cruelty I tattooed
Upon the armored heart I honed
With every virtue I eschewed,
Now I stand before my God, unknown.
The summer was lush with death,
it turned the hare into a twirling dervish,
the raccoon to a pantomime villain,
forced mice
to sing in the jaws of predators.
The woods are bare now,
trees rattle,
birds clatter twiggy wings,
briar tangles
in the bare throats of scarecrows.
October gourds glow, there serrated grins
reflected within the eyes
of late stalking cats.
Nocturnal winds sweep in,
bone corseted myths
ride upon the cracked racks
of desiccated lambs.
Petticoats hang from gristly limbs
much tattered by thorns.
By December, the skeletal woods
crunch inwards like roofless catacombs.
Reckless children are lost
in a leafless maze of fairytales.
Mothers tag the young
like puppy dogs, vaccinate them
against dismay.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
reent edit
stacking stones on top of bones
until i hear them crack
i never thought success would weigh
so heavy on my back
now these words i wished retract
still move towards the attack
I never thought each passing day
I’d waste away at that,
nights spent scheming
and days spent dreaming
with these words ill be repeating
i must pull up the slack
its a fact, im stacking racks
tracking pacts, ive filled my sack,
but this doorway is intact,
i cant get out or rather shout,
“brace for some impact to clout,”
im devote,
defeated, decidedly im beaten
but theres one thing i wont say,
one flag i’ll never raise,
rather fly half-staff today,
then be taken up in chains,
i think this is my siren song,
my solemn silique,
i wish i had a better way
to warn not to be me
Loud and Rough Voices
Effects normal peoples’ loud and
rough voices have on me are:
my eyeballs turn round and
round, my nose stretches, farts, my lips turn into
batteries.Too my chin sticks out
far far far, (bugs use it as a
slippering dip).My kneecaps, well,
slur. My chest hairs, well,
alight, and
my coat racks
ignore me.
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