There are deep creases in palm of the harried hag’s hand
Her wizen face is wrinkled, freckled, there is a brown spot on her cheek.
She has a surreal expression; her voice is gravelly and ethereal.
her tent seems mystical, with embroidered crushed velvet table cloth
taro cards are next to her left hand, she lifts a palm over her hard runes
there is a beautiful purple crystal ball in the center of her work table
I feel her mystical powers, and my hands begin shaking like autumn leaves
An energy I do not recognize begins zapping lightning bolts around the room
The hag smiles, there is no fear in her, I can see this is her normal.
A clutter of wood and dust in cobweb corners,
and dappled sun shining through dirty windows;
on his work table a drawing; a project in progress,
and tin cans and jars of nails and screws on shelves.
Tools on hooks waiting for hands that will never come,
I touch the old tools like they were the finest of lace;
and I cannot help thinking, who will want all this,
he was a simple man, my father, and I loved him so.
His death was fast, no one expected him to leave,
in a blink he was gone, and all I have are memories;
I linger there with the dust that floats in the sun,
and I weep and weep for what I have lost this day.
Then, I pick up his pencil and on his paper I write,
I write this poem of pain and it is the beginning;
the beginning of my writing with a true poet's soul,
I leave the child within me, and become a poet,
today.
Cough David Cough
Giorgio smiled as he imagined it
Hanging a bright orange plastic glove next to David’s face
Serves him right for being a god, he thought.
The teacher was peeking over his shoulder.
Asked him about it.
Just something I thought up, he said.
Smirking a bit to himself, understanding the joke.
Quietly worked, chanting “cough David cough”
under his breath, in a low tone.
Smiling at his little joke.
He is fourteen, it’s the way his mind is going.
Another boy gives him a high five under the work table.
Fully understanding.
“Add balls,” the kid coaxes him.
Giorgio adds one, not daring to add two.
“I would make that blue,” the teacher advises.
He meets the other boy’s eye and they burst out in laughter.
A blue ball, how hilarious!
He makes it green, so it is not obvious.
A clutter of wood and dust in cobwebby corners,
and dappled sun shining through dirty windows;
on his work table a drawing; a project in progress,
and tin cans and jars of nails and screws on shelves.
Tools on hooks waiting for hands that will never come,
I touch the old tools like they were the finest of lace;
and I cannot help thinking, who will want all this,
he was a simple man, my father, and I loved him so.
His death was fast, no one expected him to leave,
in a blink he was gone, and all I have are memories;
I linger there with the dust that floats in the sun,
and I weep and weep for what I have lost this day.
Then, I pick up his pencil and on his paper I write,
I write this poem of pain and it is the beginning;
the beginning of my writing with a true poet's soul,
I leave the child within me, and become a poet,
today.
_________________________________
For Father's Day
Poetry/Verse/Dad's Workshop
Copyright Protected, ID
All Rights Reserved, 2020, Constance La France
dad's work shed to this day,
the scent of wood and dust in the air;
the cobwebs in corners and crooks,
sun flooding in through windows . . .
His scarred and scored wooden work table,
and the countless tin cans of nails and screws.
And dad working on a new plan,
his coffee cup forgotten and ignored;
and I would bring him flowers . . .
Precious dandelions, buttercups and daisies,
which he would place in a container of some sort.
Smiling, he would lift me up to sit beside him,
and we would ponder his scribbled sketches;
oh the grand ideas he had . . .
I still have those doodles and outlines,
I look at them sometimes and recall.
How the lazy afternoon would pass,
for me and dad;
and later we would sit on the rusty porch swing,
side by side, just swinging.
__________________________
April 4, 2013 - edit
Poetry/Verse/I Remember
Copyright Protected, ID 13-1122-224-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Submitted to the contest, Wk2, March 2019
sponsor, Brian Strand
First Place
Dad's work shed to this day
The scent of wood and dust in the air
The cobwebs in corners and crooks
Sun flooding in through windows . . .
His scarred and scored wooden work table
And the countless tin cans of nails and screws
And Dad working on a new plan
His coffee cup forgotten and ignored
And I would bring him flowers . . .
Precious dandelions, buttercups and daisies
Which he would place in a dirty container of some sort
Smiling, he would lift me up to sit beside him
We would ponder his scribbled sketches
O, the grand ideas he had . . .
I still have those doodles and outlines
I look at them sometimes and recall
And the lazy afternoon would pass
For me and Dad
And later we would sit on the rusty porch swing
Side by side, just swinging . . .
And I would hold his hand so tight
Like I never wanted to let it go
But, God had a plan
Written in the book of destiny
And who am I- to question what is written
Oh yes
I recall the shed to this day
the scent of old wood
and dust floating in the air
cobwebs in corners
sun flooding in through a window
a scarred wooden work table
and tin cans lined up with nails and screws
a coffee cup forgotten . . .
I would bring precious dandelions and buttercups
to be placed in some old can or jar
and would sit watching for hours pondering
the sketches and grand ideas . . .
later we would sit on the porch swing
talking the afternoon away
and I held his hand so tight
never wanting to let go . . .
sadly life had a plan written
and who am I to question destiny
so, I had to let go
after the funeral I stood in the shed
thinking, who will want the rusty tools
of an old man
then I closed that creaky door
forever . . .
_______________________________
May 3, 2017
(Edit from April 14, 2013)
Brian Strand
25 lines
First Place
AM on line
all the time
so i cumpute
and toot
like parg shut
i get work done
while am able
at
my work table
AM on line
all the time
so i cumpute
and toot
like parg shut
i get work done
while am able
at
my work table