Sunday, November 23, 2008

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

Thursday, November 20, 2008


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.

Saturday, November 8, 2008

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 --
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.