The sky’s acid blue, and I have an idea
To be approved by you
Let’s catch a cab to Westminster Pier
We'll be standing awhile in a queue
Let’s torment ourselves with a boat ride
Like in the good old days
Watching marinas on riverside
Passing through open gates
Of many locks on the way to Richmond
And as soon as we moor
Let’s visit the Kew and the Hampton Court
That’s what we’re here for
Let’s lunch in the Privy Kitchen café
Then I’ll get lost in the maze
Smiling the silliest smile I’ll pace there
Trying all possible ways
We’ll go for a ride on a horse-drawn carriage
I’ll chat with the coachman of topics
Not so important like Royals marriage
While you’ll be taking some pics
I’ll buy a walnut brandy before we set sail
Back to the Westminster pier
It’ll be quite an outing to repeat that trail
What do you think, my dear?
I take your silence as a sign of consent
I knew you’d accept my plan
There’s just one nuance, that wasn’t meant
Hope you will understand.
.
He flops at rest stops
hid by other sleeping truckers.
He likes the loneliness
as the cab windows gradually mist over
with smokey stars.
Rolling on,
cities of light flare upwards
and beneath them
are the unseen, the dead eyed
that hide under a metro-glare.
Amarillo, Detroit, Tacoma, Richmond,
places packed and stacked
with broken dreams and loose ends.
Just driving; hauling and honking.
No one looking.
Launderettes and liquor stores,
five finger fandangos in the back,
chicken wings and Jack D.
Atlantic City, Apalachicola,
soaking in the slipstream
while America looks somewhere else.
What are you watching America?
Sometimes he thinks
only the coyotes are paying attention.
Roads thread through his fingers.
The Great Lakes shimmer,
Rockies rear-up and ripple,
all those dust painted
played-out rural towns,
the roads are his tunnel
through both beauty and depredation.
Old men on roadside benches
stare unphased by his air horn blare'
as if he himself were an 18-wheeled
rolling exhibit of America itself,
yet no one looks long enough
to care.
It’s been a few months now
Since you don’t greet me at the door
Sleep on the couch next to me
Still find your hairs in the couch
Your crate is still in the laundry room
Empty
It’s quiet now
We all said goodbye
I drove to Richmond to bring one of your boys home
We dug a hole in the backyard
Said a prayer together
I asked, “When you make the world right will you give me back my dog?”
Then we put you in a box
In your new bed
favorite toy
And favorite blanket
Sherri wrote you a sealed letter
“From Mommy”
We all feel your unwritten absence
Buddy was the youngest and bravest of soldiers,
he left Richmond Hill and his adolescent dreams;
on European battlefields he fought and earned
valor in Argonne and dominated the combat with gallantry:
he was the boldest one, pushing forward and gaining ground,
never bared defeat in front of an assailant enemy!
Buddy was the most brazen of all and tried to hide his tears,
he saw too many bodies fall in the clashing, blasting harbor
and on barren hills: he was undefeatable with a tactic so clever;
he instilled battle trance in each fearful and unwilling soldier:
did those shouts of encouragement earn him ample honor?
He buried many of his comrades without white tombstones!
The Buddy statue stands out for its elegant style
and insightful awareness, and while kids play
around it, they look up in awe and admire
this young hero who wasn't an ordinary doughboy;
I have seen hoards of people stand before it and honor
him for his valiance as he feels sorrow for his comrade...
gazing down at the small cross that he put on his grave:
Buddy died for an ideal so precious, but fate wasn't fair!
.
Machiavellian schemes besmirch a murky mangrove calm
A propeller breaks the tranquil glass over an underwater farm
Neath the broken still, a peaceful giant stirs with alarm
and no consolation is found as noise churns it's quiet charm
The serene spots need to be augmented for they are our balm
Ecosystems need protection from greedy developers’ harm
Empyrean Earth for all, is in our active palms, giving alms…
(5/12/21: Custom ketch; KKMI Richmond)
I’m passing through a bad part of Richmond,
a long trip almost over. Night rain drizzles
wipers creak monotonously,
the blacktop no longer flying
but crawling over my eyes.
On the edge of the city
there’s a liquor store, maybe the last
before the dark interior of Ohio.
I park under its low neon shadows.
Two belligerent drunks
are fighting, both missing each other
in slow motion.
Inside the store
more unsteady men argue,
there arms gesticulating
like broken windmills,
plus one sleazy feme yelling silently
but I can lipread most swear words.
The nightshift counter-clerk is a kid
and he looks like he’s ready to bolt.
Maybe I could slip in there unnoticed
past all the sweaty mayhem.
Maybe make do with a cold beer,
throw some dollars down
make off into the night unscathed
by lashing tongues or flailing fists
More imagined nocturnal scenarios
scatter in my head like dandelion seeds
dispersing on a dry wind.
I still need a drink.
Rev up your engines
O, youth of today
The challenge before you
Is to find a smooth way
To ease out the old
and bring in the new
Without transforming the world
to a dark witch's brew
You've seen what can happen
when we cave in to emotion
The protests of Summer 2020
dissolving into unbridled explosions
Where he who shouts loudest
or longest claims victory
Wherein Seattle, Portland, Austin
and Richmond are awfully sorry
Please equip yourselves well
Mark the landscape of the age
Your hand steady on the wheel
of Improvement - not rage
I flop at truck stops
hid by other sleeping truckers.
I like the loneliness.
Amarillo, Detroit, Tacoma, Richmond,
places packed and stacked
with the bad and the good.
I scoot by paying no heed,
to features, just forms,
how bodies once glimpsed
sometimes return inside of me.
Cities of light, death-heads hidden
no one is looking.
I’m not looking either — just driving through,
hauling and honking.
No one looking.
Launderettes and liquor stores;
five finger fandangos in the back,
chicken wings and Jack D.
Atlantic City, Apalachicola,
soaking in the slipstream
while America looks somewhere else.
What are you watching America?
Sometimes I think
only the coyotes are paying attention.
Roads thread through my fingers.
The Great Lakes shimmer,
Rockies rear-up and ripple.
Moving along not looking,
just driving.
Old men on benches stare
as I hammer on by, and blare,
as if I were an 18-wheeled rolling exhibit
of America itself.
One of life's challenges
is to find your own speed
Where travel is constant,
destination in sight
Too fast,
and yesterday abandons your future
Too slow,
and memory stretches beyond your grasp
(Airplane to Richmond 10/14/2016)
Your audience may not be able to listen,
in the fashion that you speak
Your readers may not be able to discern,
those meanings that you preach
Your lovers may not be able to hold
your feelings in their hands
Your future may not be able to serve
—what the present can’t withstand
(James River Writers Conference: Richmond: October, 2016)
Power…
the father of choice
Emotion…
the mother of love
Freedom…
lost child of betrothal
Returning
—on wings from above
(Richmond Virginia: April, 2019)
Never shout into the void
—when you can whisper to the heart
(Richmond Virginia: April, 2019)
These are the male names I rhymed.
It has taken some thyme.
Tome-Jerome, Guillaume
Richard- Redford,Clifford,Conuford
Willard-Gerard,Barnard,Cunard
Wilton, Parton, Clayton, Keaton
Wayne- Dwane,Germine,Jermaine
Rolland-Gilbert,Eabert, Delbert, Norbert
Ronnie- Johnny, Lonnie
Jerry- Barry, Gary, Harry, Larry,Geoffery
Derek- Garrick, Eric, Herrick, Fredrick
Raymond- Grimond, Richmond, Osmind
Carry me to my home Virginia
Headed south through Arlington
We can stop off in Manassas
On our way to Lovingston
Take me back to the Peaks of Otter
Let's return to Mabry Mill
We can drive the Blue Ridge Parkway
From the Meadows of Dan to Charlottesville
We'll stop in Schuyler on the way to Richmond
Watch the trees on the mountain sway
Ride the backroads of Campbell County
And see the small towns along the way
We'll raise some cane out in Bedford
In a field over near the county line
Ride the rails to Appomattox
And stop by Mama's at suppertime
We'll go cruise down the Eastern Shoreline
We'll lay a blanket out on the sand
Watch the ships sail out of Norfolk
And stroll down the beach hand in hand
Let's return back to our hometown
We'll float down the mighty river James
There we remember our favorite memories
And visit with old friends at a cafe on Main
Carry me back to little old Lynchburg
No matter how far I may roam
It's where I made my fondest memories
I'm proud to call Virginia my home
The Day After Christmas
1811
Richmond Theater...Fire!
Last act pantomime
©deborah burch
12.26.16
___________________________
Senyru
My inspiration:
Google: "Richmond Theater Fire Richmond Virginia 1811"
Many references online: even Wikipedia!!
On 12.26.1811, the Richmond Theater Fire, became known as the "worst disaster in American history" (at that time); "598 people":
'518 adults/80 children'...72 lost and several heroes emerged. The stage curtain hid more than props from the audience that night...
If you like history... check it out on google.
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