2 poems (kind of)

For those of you that did not make it to our last poetry night, this is actually a 2 part poem. (Special thanks to Diane for inspiring me to write it.)

Part 1: Overloaded

Blank
Clear
Cramped
Tired
Yawn
What?
Oh
Right
Poetry
Night
Silver
Bells
Christmas
Smells
Good
Cheer
New
Year
Finals
Done
Lots of
Fun
No more
School
Holidays
Rule!

Part 2: Still

I
feel
my
sanity
trickling
down
drop
by
drop
drip
drip
drip
d
r
i
p
p
i
n
g
down
to
the
land
of
forgotten
facts
years
of
cramming
crunched
and
crammed
right
out
of
my
mind

Perspective

Gloomy, burdened, dark with pain
It’s cause I could not find
It slowed my step and thoughts of me
Were flooding up my mind.

Then suddenly, through some small sort
Of miracle I guess,
The cold wind stilled and sunshine brightly
Lit upon my face.

I felt such joy and gratitude
And that I will get by.
I am convinced it was a gift,
That comfort from the sky.

Epitaph Upon A Dream (For Tender Hearts)

When everything's all wrong
And, in that life that you imagined,
Someone else now plays your part,
Sings the same unsuspecting song
Now lingering in your memory,
A dirge for all that will not be –

When the sight of the unobtained
Brings longing's cold and bitter fire,
The black despair of condemned desire
By God and man alike disdained,
Back to your heart, and secret tears
Burst forth when no one else can hear –

And when the pledge of love was glibly made
And at last you thought your heart would rest,
The words now echo in your ears
And, evidence of trust betrayed,
Stand an epitaph upon the dream
Now buried here by hope's deceit –

Weep – and know I weep with you.

Invitation

Paper snowflakes drift across the window,
and icicle lights drip from the roof,
splashing white on the gravel yard,
covering it with snow.

Stockings are anxiously whispering of Santa,
but you can hardly hear it
through the patient glow of the luminarias.

Tonight, they flicker
to welcome the Christ-child to their home.


Well, it's December, so I thought I'd start in on the holidays. In case you aren't from the southwest, luminarias are a Christmas tradition. They are brown paper bags with candles inside. You set them up to line the path to your door so that the holy family will find their way to your house, since there was no room in the inn and you want to offer them a place to stay.

In Dreams

This poem was written by my grandpa, for my grandma, while he was fighting in World War II:

I have no need for celluloid
To keep your face in view
For since our parting, night and day
In dreams I've walked with you

On memory's screen, I clearly see
The beauty of your face
While in my heart your memory
Will always have a place

When my impatient writing done
And at last am free
I'll see you then, the way I've dreamed
But in reality

Still, in the long night that stands between
In some far, lonely place
My darkest hour will be made bright
By the memory of your face

--Carroll H Wilson

reconnaissANTce

note: I'm removing this because I plan to submit it for publication at some point, but if you want a copy then let me know.

At the Speakeasy

A cunning glance across the board;
The dance of light
of heart and sequined soul;
The white dress and
the card that flutters;
The soar of
vocal chords;
And yet I hug the ground,
Yet somehow in mercy
I hear another sound
See another light,
Another crowd.

The D string snaps,
and the bass bass -- mellow --
rumbles
and there's eardrums buzzin'
in the ears of the swankers,
the flappers, the soldiers and singers,
the card sharks and bouncers and
poets and dreamers,
Here where the tomato juice flows
And the laughter is easy.

And the piano rises,
And the lights are dimmed
And lonely souls
sip drinks in dark corners.
Candles and souls alike
Are sputtering out.

I tip the last dregs
And a nostalgic refrain
Wakes me
As if from a slumber as long
As tabs and faces.

And I awake
To you,
And the sight
Is warm like the hot sauce from the drink
Still burning in my mouth.

No, not like that,
More like
Frosted sunsets
And pine wood crackling away
And being close to someone you love.

Now the lights are down
Roullette wheel stops
And that same nostalgic song
Drifts through my mind
Like the smoke of the last candle.