There lied something amongst the burned ashes
A heart so pure
Everyone gasped, how could the heart survive?
The witch was the one to die
Yet the heart unknowingly, unapologetically
Stayed unmoved
In the cold weather, where everyone trembled
The heart shined with the glimpse of sunshine
Through the darkened clouds
The hope resided
Tangled in knots of hatred for who she was
A witch, A bastard
And as they say, "The evil surely will burn"
The heart, the purity
Chose not to burn
(Repost of a former poem, “If I Could Change The Past,” written 2016)
September eleven, two-thousand-one-
dark age of homeland terror had begun.
If only I could change this horrid past-
alleviate deep pain from grief at last.
Three thousand souls were lost forever, then:
three hundred forty-three were brave firemen,
so many whom I'd come to know before,
when they'd stop by our fire equipment store.
Our County is just sixty miles away
from New York City, South of us, and they
would often live up North in New York State,
commute each shift- but many met their fate.
One family resided on our street.
That morning, he left home- for death to meet.
So many others we will never see
who purchased goods from us so faithfully.
For those who died, whose bodies were not found,
we gifted presentation helmets bound
to loved ones for the funerals they held.
Such awful, somber days, unparalleled.
If I could change the past and turn back time,
erase that day of tragedy and crime,
my heart, with all the others, would rejoice
that these poor souls could live a life of choice.
Contest: Five Perspectives
Sponsor: Margaritas Lillico
Poem written: 090126
Red wagons, tricyles, electric trains.
Off to school exploring my brain.
Reading, writing, arithmatic each day.
But at 5, it was much ado about play.
New school, new teachers, new classes.
Honor rolls, lots of books, good grades.
15, working hard, covering all the bases.
New friends; so many different faces.
By 30, 2 kids and married for 8 years.
A time in life when fears and tears are real;
Life of dealing with mortgages and car deals.
A youth pastor, helping kids learn how to live.
When turning 50 and leaving 49 years behind,
We slowly learn to make the new step of time.
We are concerned with 401k's and retirement.
Spoken words are fine, but we want them in print.
By 70, I had resided in four different states.
I felt great, having neither head nor heart aches.
It was in 2019 when I attended my first NFL game.
Doctors, clinics, hospitals; mostly for exams.
Y60TH I WOULDN'T BE CAUGHT DEAD ON 60TH STREET MY DAUGHTERS EX IN SON FATHER'S FAMILY'S THEY USE TO BABYSIT MY GRANDDAUGHTER YKIRBY HER MOTHER LIVED ON 60TH STREET NOT ME STOP SENDING TERRORIST THREATS ON LICENSE PLATES INTIMIDATION I NEVER LIVED ON 60TH STREET YKIRBY MOTHER PERKINS RESIDED ON 60TH I HATED THAT MY DAUGHTER TOOK MY GRANDDAUGHTER TO THAT BAD NEIGHBORHOOD WITH HER BOY FRIENDS GRANDMOTHER HER DAUGHTER WOULD BE YOUR YKIRBY ON 60TH STREET TODAY I'M GETTING INJECTIONS IN MY HEAD WHY TERRORIZE ME WITH THREATS Y60TH WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED ON 60TH STREET YOU THREATENING THE WRONG YOLANDA
On this most unusual autumn day
I must say goodbye to an old friend,
a gigantic, ancient oak tree in my front yard:
You have shaded my porch for decades
enabling me to sit in my swing
on warm days relaxing, reading, and writing poems.
You have been the home of innumerable squirrels.
Little songbirds have perched on your branches
and serenaded me with their delightful trilling.
Limb by limb, you have been dying for a long time.
Twice, you have had to part with appendages, felled
by saws—at my reluctant bidding, but of necessity.
Some limbs have fallen on their own, in my yard
and even on the road!
Horrendous weather is coming, with ice and high
winds. For others and myself, I fear the huge limbs
on your right side that have been bare for several
years. How they creak when the wind rises!
The tree cutters will be here tomorrow.
Not even a stump will remain at day's end.
From this time forward, I will visualize you
where you once resided. I won't forget you.
Your kinfolk are still here, tall and strong—
as you once were.
May they thrive long after I am gone.
Father was born in 1905,
On one Spring day in April.
One day in the month of May,
My dear father became ill,
and there was no curing pill.
I was 13 when my father died.
1963 was the year of his demise.
For 58 years he not only survived,
But was industrious and learned to thrive.
Occasionally, I'd hear daddy say,
"I'm going out west where eagles
Build their nests". In reality, daddy
Never resided west of the Mississippi.
Too young for World War One;
And too old for World War Two.
His life was not a long marathon,
But he was strong through and through.
Daddy was a farmer and auterprinur.
I heard from older souls who knew him.
I heard stories that made me proud of him.
Daddy was 58; died in 1963, 63 years ago.
So, our house is supposedly haunted?
The rest of the crew laughed their petootsies off
Didn’t everyone watch Channel 5 News?
ghosts, monsters, ghouls, goblins and one witch resided here
She was the ringleader of the burglary ring
Sent them in and out of houses pilfering and looting
If anyone gives you trouble, use my cell number, she said
Homeowners always back down when faced with a flying witch
Their clubhouse was at 2300 Pennsylvania, and it was filling up
The gremlins had not paid rent for a year; they were getting tossed out
Two sheriff’s deputies were at the door now, demanding to see them
The witch stuck her head over the banister
Give the officers candy, she told the ghost who had answered the door
She wanted them to come back next month to kick out the gargoyles.
It was inexcusable, so I
applauded
Marauder of my emotions,
pacing ... seething
Bored with action,
his disgusting attraction to
scoffing at me
repeatedly
Same old rusty pin
popped my heart balloon until
I lost count
What did he think I would
amount to?
dust
He predicted it
so I fulfilled
the prophecy perfectly
all
by
my
self
What could have been
a long, lovely bike ride
was rudely interrupted by a
loss of balance
From my deeply skinned knee
slowly emerged dark red Hues
of Blues
that had resided below the surface
for way too long
Then the numbness set in
only adding to the pain
Finally, resorting to a place of
pitying him
helped more than a million
countless therapy sessions
Past the point of being
passive. Too weak to be
aggressive,
his big mental muscles
stopped scaring and scarring me
after enough time was lost
I killed him in my dreams and
revived him
in this other reality
What is there to gain
from a man like that
A self-convert Shaiva woman, slowly guided
By cosmic power of Brahman which resided
In the fabric of every being and everything.
She awakened very young, began searching.
She eventually reached the same conclusion
As old sages did in order to undo the illusion:
Nothing is truly separate, all are connected.
She realized she's always divinely protected.
Just after the beginning of her middle age,
She met a man born a Vaishnava: a sage.
They fell in love, then he said intuitively,
"I sense you should worship Shivaji."
She is glad knowing there is no disharmony.
She told him about her long spiritual journey.
She praised and thanked Vishnu and Shiva,
"We are the greatest devotees of Harihara."
She's grown old
Having norished many a soul
Leaving her imprints on a stroll
Dispensing knowledge, never to fold
Many have been sheltered from the cold
Inside her strong walls, I was once enclosed
And encouraged to be courageous and bold
Taught to read, write, and do the math,
Preparing me for life's stormy path
Her externals are aged and unsightly
Yet she stands lovingly and waves politely
Her internals portray battles for survival,
And being held together with bolts and rods,
She's very much alive and thrives
She engenders memories of sadness and joy
Reminding me of experiences when just a boy.
With a reddish tin-top roof, she sits by the road
Where she's resided for more than a century.
There are still future stories yet to be told about
The little country church in a little southern town.
Born in a time all are at their most divided,
A young lady eventually for herself decided
To live life pursuing all religions which guided
All humans in ways in which Truth resided.
She found love first in one who is farsighted,
Yet he is shortsighted due to a strict religion.
He held a distance, so this love had ended,
He was also too lenient about his every sin.
She then went with one who is so atheistic,
Yet he often took what she did for granted.
She found his attitude became so apathetic,
So she left what once made her enchanted.
She finally found one who truly understands
What the cycles of eternity truly mean.
They see how in all lives, they held hands,
"He's just right," as he crowns her his queen.
TAKING ROOT
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A field of snow before the first footprint.
My hand hovers, a hesitant bird
above the frozen ground.
What seeds to scatter here?
What thaw to coax from the barren space?
A word takes root.
Another follows, tentative, green shoots
pushing through the icy crust.
It unfurls, tentative,
a fragile bloom pushing through concrete,
nourished by doubt and desire.
The pen, a conduit,
trembling at first, then finding its rhythm,
a dance between intention and impulse.
The page surrenders,
accepting the ink's embrace,
the birth of something new,
A poem emerges, breathing,
where only emptiness resided before.
The old streets, the old cars
The flowing river that won't stop far
The memories seeking through tears
The old paper ,all tattered and cleared
The music that fills time
The glowing star ,What a divine!
The literature, the song
The jolly old self that never returned
The world dark with humor
The very one that withered
The rose in between the pages
The radiant sun that seeks through the stages
The dancer in an empty stage
All with nothing but courage
The way they knew her
The empty shell that resided
The moon that knew its worth
The earth that breathed life
The tress that now glow with fire
All that now has retired
The pain and wounds of the war
The miseries of the poor
The hunger that dies, withing the souls and the eyes
The braver they were, the lower they dipped into
The depth of the world was hidden in a cage
All that now seemed to be filled with rage
The hatred only knew what it was
The result of the growing cause
Yet lies the little girl
All she knew were few words
Her life in question
Will she falter or answer?
Fragments of a house foundation
blacken by the fire.
Never rebuilt
empty lot nice size
Good shade tress and high grass
Potential promising
Did a child perish here?
People once resided
Old swing set rusting
Not long before it falls
the wind sways the swing seat
clanky cracky sound from old long chains
Half a peach tree left from lightning strike
years ago.
Blossoms bud on tender twigs of new growth.
sounds of yesterday emit
a mother singing
children playing
dogs barking
dad mowing lawn...
Today silence settles
Tomorrow what once was again.
I resided there once
I returned to find it derelict
Looks like a horror scene
Spiders spun webs
Doors locks blown off
Leaves placed as if arranged evilly
When I was there
I remember it serene
Well cared for secure place to live
Warm and tranquil
What have you done to the place
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