Memories

Claudia's Tree

A summer storm blew down an oak in Claudia’s yard yesterday

It’s odd but the mere thought of that has caused me some dismay.

 

Joyce Kilmer understood the tree. He wrote about it in a verse.

And If I may, my own two cents I’d like now to disperse.

 

I loved to climb trees when I was young and the trees didn’t care at all.

In fact, somewhere in my heart I knew the trees wouldn’t let me fall.

 

High through the skeleton I’d climb until I swayed upon the breeze

I was a pirate in the crows nest in a ship upon the seas.

 

When I played hide and seek or war my stately tree didn’t mind

If I used him as a decoy or a place to hide behind.

 

Even in my love life trees played an important part

They allowed me to carve in my initials...and those of my sweetheart. 

 

When the climbing stopped and the games abated with the passing of the seasons

I continued to enjoy the trees albeit for different reasons

 

Trees weather almost any storm and still stand strong and tall

And is there anything more beautiful than a tree dressed up for Fall?

 

They go to sleep in winter when the wind through them does sing

But they comeback with a passion to bloom again in Spring?

 

They furnish us with lumber to construct our simple nests

And provide us with a shady spot to stop and take a rest. 

 

In many ways wouldn’t it’d be grand if everyone could be

More welcoming, and giving...just like our friend the tree.

 

Perhaps it is the fact they give without making any demands

That makes me sad for Claudia now that her oak no longer stands.

 

Poems are made by fools, he said, but only God can make a tree.

And after reading this I’m sure with Mr. Kilmer you’d agree...

 

 

 

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Old School

I grew up in Twinsburg, Ohio I was born in ’52

And like the Old School I attended I’ve gotten older too

 

You might say our structure’s dilapidated and perhaps with age we’ve slowed

Some people might even make the assessment that we’re not up to code.

 

We might not have the same energy as we did when we were kids

And you can bet our plumbing doesn’t work as good as it once did.

 

Just look in any mirror and you’re stuck with the sensation

That our structure has some wrinkles and our roof needs renovation.

 

Although our exteriors may not have stayed pristine, and fresh and polished

There is not a one of us, just ask, who’s ready to be demolished!

 

The Old School I attended in my wonderful little town

Is a lot like me, but the city now, wants to tear her down.

 

The city’s planning director thinks the Old School has past it’s prime

To preserve this 92 year old building is too costly a paradigm.

 

It’s funny but many people travel to Europe just to see

The old and ancient buildings and be part of history.

 

But here in our own country, in our cities, burgs and towns

Since it costs too much to preserve them we’d rather tear them down.

 

My vote if for the Old School to undergo a preservation

So she will stand as a monument to future generations.

 

To relish those memories we had when we were girls and boys

And preserve them for our children and their children to enjoy.

 

For there’s more to this old building than all it’s defects to be mended

You see the history of the Old School lies in the people who attended.

 

We may not all be famous alumni...but do not, my friends, be fooled

We are who we are today because of our Old Schools!

 

So be mindful all you cities when these vestiges of our past you take

 

It’s not just the building you’ve destroyed, it’s your own history you forsake.

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Asphyxiate

 

2 knives, in each side..
2 eyes burning through my heart..
empty fragments, words drifting in & out of the past
memories turn to ash as we sift them around the palms of our hands..
crippled & gone.. time to move on.
to solidify my dreams..
hate myself.. waste of space, waste of air..
I dove into hell.
God please pull me back together, stitch up these ripped seams..

 

you're like the blade dragged across my stomach
or the scorching flame against my bare skin...
I want you out of my life
I want you up from under this skin
demons, demons, I can't let you win..
for I am not your kin...

 

everthing I want, I cannot have.
all that I reach for, I cannot grab..
the rainest of days bring me back to visions i've attempted to smudge out with you..
I guess it was easier on the other end.
but who's to say where & when...

 

covered in blood, pushed into the mud, I will stand up again.
open scars, out of breath, I must remain relentless.
shadows chasing me, run run, but they consumed all the light..
crouched in fright, nails dug into my back
they're trying to pin down these wings...
hoping i'll never take flight.
using all my energy to break away, fight them off with all my might, all my will...
but they keep whispering "kill... kill.."

 

legion, you've defiled me,
for you are the fallen, in unity.
this cross lays heavy on my back..
I think i'm starting to crack.
my barriers are thin & I wish I could let God in
but there's just one set of footprints in the sand
no savior to hold my hand
freezing cold.
the ocean looks like a black hole..
if I were to set sail, how could I ever return?
i'd be spun around in circles, triangles, squares
what would I learn?

 

even though the sun still shines
even though some of the grass is still green
even though there are plenty of trees
I cant stop looking down.. down on me.
the hail is sharp from this dark cloud.
storm hovers above.
I try to clear it out, but I can't with no love

 

depleted but not empty
awakened in the midst of deep sleep
dead in this life
strife impailed
left hung, waiting to burn..
I never dug my own grave
I only ever cried to be saved.

An unfinished work of art

Yesterday an old friend of mine posted wedding pictures on Facebook

A young couple and their wedding party...so I thought I’d take a look.

 

Turns out I was in their wedding and though I don’t remember the exact date

They’ve been married 40 years...so congratulations Greg and Kate.

 

40 years together you two deserve to celebrate

And knowing Greg like I do, my hat is off to Kate.

 

The years have been a little tough on Greg, but Kate this you should know

You’re as beautiful today as you were those 40 years ago!

 

Of course with Greg around I’m sure you’re aware of that

Perhaps it’s being married to him....but my guess...it was that hat!

 

When I first saw those wedding pictures I had to look again

That can’t be me I thought to myself I have hair and I’m so thin.

 

And I can’t believe I ever wore a tux that bold and loud

Why, as Beth so kindly pointed out, I’d make John Denver proud.

 

We all grew up together and though our paths split us apart

I’ve looked upon your marriage as an unfinished work of art.

 

There is beauty in the old photographs it certainly does appear

But the life you’ve painted together grows more beautiful each year.

 

You’ve taken that initial painting and brushed in family and friends

And there’s no telling where or when your masterpiece will end.

 

May you last another 40 years and here’s a thought I must impart

The beauty of your marriage is in your unfinished work of art.

 

 

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no regrets

 

............




who cares if there 

are flowers on my corpse 

if I'm dead?


if love is your intent

then bring me

some good memories

and things you learned 

to make your life easier

and more worth living.


wrap it up in a rusted coffee can

from some dark alley where babies lie in dumpsters

and place it somewhere all can see and be comforted

that someone thought about them, and cared

about why their lives ended, and tried to understand

not to punish, but to prevent it.

 

give me life in my death,

and not sorrow for

what you forgot to do

or not do, to prevent 

yourself from being hurt

on the day I leave here.


funerals are for the ones who are left here,

because the only thing I intend 

to leave you after material possessions

are divied out,

is the same thing since the day 

I first looked in your eyes,


the gratitude for having shared moments together.


we have all been dying since the day we were born,

and if we arrive at our final resting place in peace,

and not at the hands of violence,

then we have been granted more than enough

to say we have been blessed.

I spend my days now thinking what a beautiful soul you are.






 

5:35 PM 8/4/2013 ©


inspired by http://www.postpoems.org/authors/huliganfish/poem/964713

..............


...........

River Flows In You

He's playing the song again

The one narrating the sounds

Of the river water flowing

And it always flows in you

Whoever that "you" refers to

Remains still a mystery

 

The keys continue being stroked

I know this not because I can see him

But because I can hear him

And I'm certain it is him

No one else in this place would know

The precision needed to play this song

 

I stand in the middle of the room

Motionless as a statue

I'm traveling to the past

Where I see us in that same room

As he played the same song

Just for me

I remember it all

 

How special I felt at that moment

When I had him all to myself

And it was nothing but us

And the song without words

 

Perhaps he plays it for himself now

Or thinking of his beloved miles away

I can't help but wonder if he

Remembers me through it,

Even as an afterthought

 

He must know, though

That this is my song

That he's my first thought

Every time I hear it

Girl after a girl: Events unforgettable

 

 

Part I

 

1) With a ‘to’ and a ‘fro’ in her throat,

something she did note,

as on a piece of paper, she wrote

"I can't like you, for you don't know -

I got to go away - to which I can't say No."

Well, every girl is so so pretty.

 

2) With her legs beside me, so stiff

and -to save me- her hands with great mischief,

she conveys to the punishment chief -

"Oh Ma'am? How can he be guilty?

As this is his first moment to my proximity!"

Well, every girl is so so pretty.

 

3) With all her teeth and gums out

and her tiny eyes so stout,

she beckons me with a shout -

"Go! I won't talk anymore to you.

How much I am hurt, you never knew."

Well, every girl is so so pretty.

 

4) With real tears in her eyes

and five of her fingers glued to rice,

maybe yes, twice - she cries -

"How would you know how much I moan!

For, never you, I am disturbed alone."

Well, every girl is so so pretty.

 

5) With a big grin at my face,

but with a big cry, the very next phase,

at my back this time, she says -

"He wouldn't have really scolded me,

If, even little, he had ever read me."

Well, every girl is so so pretty.

 

6) With a rise in all her gaze over the book,

when asked for her verses, she gave me an eerie look.

Soon, she wrote for me; Almost a month it took! -

"Though difficult, try to remember me

for, perhaps many for you, though you're alone for me."

Well, every girl is so so pretty.

 

From a girl, only another girl keeps one away,

but not from past nor future, for there're many more girls, I say.

An event with a girl can give a great kick start

that can lead anyone, till many suns set.

Memories of brain written from heart -

a few of many incidents I could not forget!

 


Part II

 

7) With drops falling down as she bends

her neck, in some reunion -she attends

after a year- she tells our friends -

Long back, He stopped talking to me.

Neither a hello nor a glance – as if I’m his enemy.

Well, every girl is so so pretty.

 

8) With a smile -she leaves the lab- too fake one

and with swollen eyes -returns in- pointing none.

Then, a message leaves her, following the sun -

A friend can be anything, but not a sister!

So, please don’t ever call me so, you mister!

Well, every girl is so so pretty.

 

9) With good red expressions – contorted,

while issues were being sorted

out about my interest in her, her words parted –

Oh, now please stop it! I want no fight.

I understand it and it’s completely alright!

Well, every girl is so so pretty.

 

10) With her ideas so optimistic,

though actions far realistic,

she typed something very mystic -

Had you worked, excellence of now would have been average

Anyways, any failure to be understood needs courage.

Well, every girl is so so pretty.

 

11) With her face full of joy and hope

and beliefs no less than some pope,

she always replies, to my theory of mortality, with nope -

The word End, with someone can also be Never,

for the person may know words like Forever.

Well, every girl is so so pretty.

 

12) With a look so cheerless, that can shrink

one’s heart -though sometimes so cheerful that can kink

it’s beat- she said or typed - I think -

Really miss you as I sometimes also saw my ex in you.

You played big part in my life, though days were very few.

Well, every girl is so so pretty.

 

Lies apart, any girl can make your day,

no matter whether you are a guy, girl or a gay

This is a small tribute to a small part

of all the girls I met.

Memories of brain written from heart -

a few of the incidents I could never forget!

 

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A saga written as a ode about incidents revolving in mind, involving a few of the girls I met. Their sounds still ring in my head!

"Smoke Stacks"

The first rays of morning

awoke the churches and hills

as the smoke stacks expelled

their vapor as aviators of the skies.

 

Our footsteps along the tracks

sent echoes through the forests,

calling the oak and sycamore

to rise from their patient rest.

 

Paradigms of steel and wood,

Shake the earth beneath our feet,

calling my name as they

did so many years ago.

 

As the sun rose above forests,

Above mountains, above nations,

I turned to watch the smoke stacks

As they exhaled for a final time.

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Coffee Stained Phone Bill

I'm pining in Limbo. 

Becoming derecpit and swollen in the damning Vestibule. 

Scintillating, squirmy memories of goey boredom that laminated me with a spackle brush; and happiness that came and went so quickly,

it should have been sold to me in a bottle. 

Cigarettes and college jerseys cleave to my naps like a fitted sheet.

Sleep, big woman,

sleep away your worries for your tinkling, cocaine babies.

Sleep little man.

Rub your nose on your corduroy pants.

Do your duty, child.

Lock and load.

Do not tear your tongue away from the window of the bus. 

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