poetry

Untraveled

Gazing down upon Souderman Square as the firehouse band and contestants prepare for the courtyard dance at the end of the fair, all of those thoughts are rekindled.

Of the times we’d climb to this spot on the hill just to sit and watch and listen until all of the sounds and the motions grew still and the glow of the bonfire dwindled.

We used to wonder and dream like a child of going to places exciting and wild; of becoming like those who are elegant and styled. And yet, we remain untraveled.

We always had vision, a gleam in our eyes, of entering the contest and winning the grand prize; a free trip for two to some exotic paradise, but still we remain untraveled.

Now I bide my time alone. My love is gone. Our child has grown. This spot on the hill is my sacred home. I cannot say goodbye. Our dreams have been like idle wings upon a heavy stone. We always thought someday we’d fly but never were we thrown.

I sit and gaze upon them down my lofty corridor, the way the fields are studied by the eagles as they soar; the playground filled with children and the dancers on the floor anxiously waiting their big chance.

They set ablaze the bonfire as the sun begins to fade. The torches ‘round the square are lit as the willows lose their shade. The band will probably play the same old songs they’ve always played. But I love to watch the people as they dance.

Hand in hand and side by side the graceful couples slowly glide in hopes that every measured stride will find the judges favor. Beheld within the hearts of all the dancers, be they big or small, enlies the basic drive for all that life has sight to savor.

Perhaps the greatest void to fill of all my many years is still the disappointment that I feel; we never dared to try. So now I bide my time alone. My dreams are gone. I’m on my own. This spot on the hill is my sacred home. I cannot say goodbye.

The monuments we failed to build are tributes to the unfulfilled occasions that by now have sealed the fate that we have sewn. Our dreams now seem like idle wings upon a heavy stone. We always thought someday we’d fly. But never were we thrown.

(see Books)

Without Mariah

Dante heard the rumors. His body got a chill. He ran to join Pandora and the others on the hill. Everyone but Thomas said they doubted such a thing, but even old man Pavlov came when he heard the church bells ring.

Elvira had her Bible. She read a verse aloud. The words she spoke were calming words. They seemed to nurse the crowd. But the huddled mass grew anxious, those quiet simple folk, to find out if it was the truth or just an awful joke.

The doctor opened his office door and walked out to the street. They surrounded him with baited breath and frost-bit hands and feet. “We demand to know what’s going on and if she’ll be OK.” The doctor said, “I’ve done my best. All we can do is pray.” (About Mariah)

For Mariah had a presence that was unknown ‘cross the land with strange mysterious powers that they did not understand. From the depths of the Maru Caverns, to the peaks of the Everest Chalice, with the enchantment and the beauty of Aurora-Borealis.

Like the romance of a sunset and the miracle of the dawn, without Mariah and her splendor, these things would be gone; nature would surrender and time could not go on. (Without Mariah)

The people stood in silence. Some had teardrops in their eyes.

They slowly turned and walked away as the full moon lit the skies. But as Reverend Lynch approached his church, he suddenly got a shock; for when he glanced at his pocket watch, it was nearly eight o’clock.

Since the beginning of time, when morning came, the sun had never missed it. But on that day when it should have been light, the darkness had persisted.

Feeling alarmed and even scared he hurried back to town where Dante and the Doc were trying to calm the people down. They called for a town meeting immediately in the square. Everyone was present. Of course Mariah wasn’t there.

Dante and the doctor stood before the panicked lot as they told of the bizarre accounts that frightful day had brought. (Without Mariah)

The songbirds wouldn’t sing their songs. The flowers didn’t bloom. The streams and rivers wouldn’t flow. A skunk smelled of perfume. The windmills became paralyzed, no morning breeze to turn them. The dewdrops on the leaves were safe, no morning sun to burn them.

The everyday things in their everyday lives were no longer as they were used to. They were suddenly part of that terrible world that people get introduced to. (Without Mariah)

Many darkened days went by. They did their best to cope. But with Mariah’s baffling fate unchanged, it was hard to keep up hope. Then without warning the moon was eclipsed by a bright ball of light in the sky. It sparkled and twirled as it came shooting down and the people felt sure they would die.

The women ran screaming, the men couldn’t move and Reverend Lynch started praying. The blinding white light was closing in fast, heading straight for where Mariah was laying.

In the split of a second it came to a stop and hovered over Doc Hopkins house. It took a brief pause and softly touched down; no chance to get Mariah out.

From inside the house came a loud piercing noise. The spectators covered their ears. The very next moment the nightmare was gone. The lights and the noise disappeared.

They lowered their hands and opened their eyes and fearfully looked into space. But the terrible ordeal had come to its end and vanished without a trace.

The doctor rushed into his office to check on Mariah’s condition. She looked as though nothing had happened; still lying in the exact same position. Outside, the gallery waited. They grew more impatient each minute to be in the room with Mariah but the Doc wouldn’t let them all in it.

They forced their way in and filled up the room like an hourglass with too much sand. As the Doc tried to make them all settle, he saw she was moving her hand. He scurried to her bedside. “I think she’s coming around.” Everyone in the tiny room froze and nobody dared make a sound.

The Doc began checking her vital signs and writing them down in her file when Mariah slowly opened her eyes and unlocked her beautiful smile.

An ear shattering roar of excitement rang out as they danced all over the room. Laughing and singing and jumping about; even old man Pavlov started waltzing with a broom.

And amidst the celebration no one seemed to notice that at all the open windows the curtains were gently blowing. But it didn’t take long to get their attention when they heard the roosters crowing.

Everyone poured out into the street and witnessed one of life’s greatest thrills. The new morning sun was beginning to rise beyond the far distant hills. The quiet little town was regaining its norm with its beauty and tranquility restored. But the things that took place shall not be forgot and the lessons shall never be ignored. (About Mariah)

For Mariah has a presence, magnificent and grand, with supernatural powers that they still don’t understand. From the depths of the Maru Caverns to the peaks of the Everest Chalice; with the enchantment and the beauty of Aurora-Borealis.

Like the romance of a sunset and the miracle of the dawn, without Mariah and her splendor, all happiness is gone; life’s a weak contender and the darkness lingers on. (Without Mariah)

(see Books)

Out Camp Lake

Pancakes and sausages, you never saw such a spectacle over of eating. Plate after plate with no time to wait for his chewing to reach its completing.

Hand over fist, not a crumb missed as he shoveled and carvelled and scooped. The grossity sent some to their tent as his big belly belt over drooped.

Expected by none, he got up and run down the boardwalk and jumped off the dock. Failing his flip, he cannonball skipped and submarine sank like a rock.

Out of his mind he was, going so soon, because half an hour wait was the rule. Could have been one of the Simpleton’s sons the way he was acting a fool.

No muscles twitched. No clove was half hitched as the lookoners watched him go under. No bravened in diver to save a survivor the fate of an ignorant blunder.

What savage complacency. Look at their face and see carenotness written in stone. Occurring be notting of even the thoughting that someone make dial of a phone.

Even his relatives heldwith a yell at his hellishly misbadbehaving. Let it be known of the chance that was blown for a front pagely rescue and saving.

Based not on whose wetter, but who is more deader, the spectacle or the spectators? Has the remnant of love sent from above been surpassed by those circumspect haters?

Is mankind so sinking, its fragrance so stinking, the end could be drawing its nearing? Is the ebb of this tide now a nebulous ride to the Out Camp at Lake Disappearing?

This could be in doubt if we all came about and let Son lighting darkness His piercing. Shambles to glory would transform this story if our heart songs His love we could hear sing.

(see Books)

Special of the Day

There’s a little country café out on Highway 92 where the locals like to go and watch the strangers passing through.

They all know not to eat there since the owner passed away because the only thing they offer is the “Special of the Day”.

It’s written on a wooden sign on permanent display. It’s hanging in the corner where the jukebox used to play.

It’s an ancient family recipe that’s finally reached its prime. The cook says his Grandmother used to make it all the time.

When out-of-towners wander in looking for a bite, the waitress asks them what they’ll have. She does it just for spite.

They ask to see a menu to help them to decide. You can have anything you want as long as it’s on that sign.

Once or twice a week this same old trucker will stop in. How about that weather? Where ya headed? How ya been?

He’s the only guy they’ve ever seen who stops in there to eat. Says you just can’t get good possum at the diner up the street.

He sits down at the counter with his belly on his knees. He points into the corner, says, “The usual if you please.”

He wants the special of the day because it’s all that you can eat. It includes your choice of beverage and dessert that can’t be beat.

There’s cream of possum casserole, the beans are green and red. A big ol’ bowl of gator gravy and half a loaf of bread.

Coffee, tea or lightnin if you’re over twenty-five, then there’s mountain oyster layer cake or jack-o-lantern pie.

(See Books)

Sic Semper Tyrannis

Virginia is for lovers of the fathers, sons and brothers with the faith to fight so others might remain where free men trod.

A beacon, Old Dominion's known, of strength and courage that has shown a people how to build their own free nation under God.

I, Virginia, honor bound, express my deep and most profound endearment for the Righteous Crown Who's grace shall never perish.

Choose, I would, to suffer death and draw upon my final breath than rend away my will of whether I and mine are free.

"Death to Tyrants" I defy and offer as a battle cry for all who gather far and wide to stand for liberty.

(see Art Gallery)

Folly Monitor

Vast the expansion, malevolent mansions of deviance, malice and brilliance. Their demons were blessed by their opulent festivals honoring growth and resilience.

Of the few relics found, a solo account inscribed by a smith of the quill. A frail, tattered harbinger sent forth to monitor folly by men of free will.

Dark was the haze that shrouded the place where common sense bowed down to nonsense. It's said it was horrid, the last days before it surrendered its soul and its conscience.

(see Art Gallery)

Giving is Living

Break with the needy sweet charity's bread,

for giving is living, the Angel hath said.

"Shall I keep giving more and more still".

My peevishly petty propensities shrill.

"Oh no", said the Angel, piercing me through,

"Just give to the measure God gives unto you."

(see Art Gallery)

Heir O'Parents Crowned

Falling leaves may be the reason why the wind blows through the trees,

but there's Mozart when the breeze conducts the chimes.

And not the softness of the airwaves nor the strength of Hercules

can match the spectrum that their reasons give our rhymes.

It is to Heaven we are grateful for such guiding lights as these,

born the heir o'parents crowned by cherished times.

(see Art Gallery)

Such is Life

Cast down through the ages of wind and rain and Son has determined all, that is all together, to be one. Assimilate creation, mine and that of yours, 'till Lasting Skies are golden and you've passed unto the fores.

Scratch away the surface., expose it to the core, to find in the Beginning what the ending has in store. Take to task the searcher who opens every door but never finds the answer 'till he's passed unto the fore.

Praises for the Chosen One and trumpets for the King call on us to follow on to places yet unseen. Prior to arrival you have no need for walls to have you from challenges to will or place or draw.

Passed down through the ages, the teachings you behold of those who've gone before you, whose legends now are told. Beneath exaggeration, the simple truth endures. The Pathway to a peaceful coexistence is assured.

To wander somewhat certain, although hesitant in stride, provides a level balance over arrogance and pride. Encoded in the System generations long before is the Grace that must be present 'till you've passed unto the fores.

Such a short duration and then it is no more, to have and to be given, once you've passed unto the fores.

(see Art Gallery)

So Few Souls

Founded in America is freedom of religion.

Yehoshua is freedom from the Spirit of Religion.

In such a state of liberty do so few souls abide.

To reject their own captivity do so few souls decide.

Granted to the people is the choice to be a slave.

So few souls experience the One who's sent to save.

(see Art Gallery)

Glock Therapy

It gets so bad I'm losing sleep, but I don't lose control.

I don't waste time counting sheep jumping in a row.

I put my shoes back on my feet and go out in the cold.

Beside the shed I take a seat and slowly count the holes.

I go to work when the whistle blows.

What's in my lunch box, no one knows.

Come home tired in my dirty clothes;

the house a mess and dinner's froze.

I think they're trying to make me lose my mind;

to make me mean and old and grey way before my time.

But I don't lose my temper and I don't lose my head.

I just simply go outside and calmly shoot the shed.

(see Art Gallery)

Just a Whistle

By the time the time comes when we're all out of time, the time for dreams and wishes will have gone. And the dreams we dreamed and our wishes will have seemed to have faded like the stars we wished upon.

There must be life within a life, 'cause we only have one life. So feel the sun and the wind in your face. Try to understand you've been dealt a winning hand by the dealer of the leather and the lace.

Enlighten your heart when adversities start; when frustration and strife's thunder calls. Turn the lows into highs because happiness lies at the summit of life's wonderfuls.

The meat of life's meat can be very good the eat if we choose the meat that's sweet and not the gristle. So when the answers that we question have not been asked or even mentioned, and the world seems like a jail with no dismissal; here's a reminder to remember, don't forget, life's what we make it. It is a smile or a hug or just a whistle.

(see Art Gallery)

Subtle Neverendings

Asti-spumante and crystal goblets frost shimmer in the candlelight of dancing shadows tossed.

Solitary rose bud rising from a slender vase; steaming tail of lobster in a creamy butter sauce.

Soft and gentle melodies serenade aloft and capture neverendings into rapture never lost.

Subtle neverendings, like Trojan Legionnaire, channel new beginnings, catching lovers unaware.

Striking with a feathered que, divisibles depart, uniting us together, fusing soul and bonding heart.

Memories and monuments, common dreams and trends, illuminate the brilliance of a love that never ends.

(see Art Gallery)

Distant Thoughts

Another evening on the phone, another week away from home., seems I've been out on the road since the day that I was born.

Never time to hang around. Another day, another town. Wheels keep spinning me around. Somehow I've got to slow it down.

Now it's clear to me that my family needs to have their man around. Now I'm in a hurry to slow it down.

(see Art Gallery)

Gates of Angels

The night is for young lovers to smile upon each other and travel to a greater place and time.

The night is for young lovers to sail with one another beyond the gates of angels to the mansions in the midnight sky.

(see Art Gallery)

Neverending's Message

Castle walls and sandal prints, sand marks on the beach,

rootbeer headed tides combine the entities of each.

Amber skies of early day awaken in the east

to share a glimpse of silhouettes sailing out of reach.

Soaring birds site passage from a secret lover's speech.

Neverending's message knows what no one else can teach.

Memories and monuments, common dreams and trends,

illuminate the brilliance of a love that never ends.

(see Art Gallery)

The "I Feel" Tower

The notwithstanding "I Feel" tower has its roots in baseless power.

Stability, strength and balance depart and remain repelled by a feckless heart.

(see Art Gallery)

A Festive Spirit

The holidays find special ways of shining their heavenly light. From the stars, so bright, on that first Holy night, to the faces of loved ones in sight.

From the bounty of turkeys, of berries and bread, to the joy that awaits in the new year ahead.

From the laughter of children on each festive morn, to the choirs who herald "the Savior is born".

(see Art Gallery)

-poetry-