A lonely leaf fell from the tree.
I saw the leaf, but it did not see me.
It lay awhile all curled and brown
like a feather on the velvet ground-
till all at once a breeze blew by
and caused that lonely leaf to fly.
It spun like a ballerina there
all poised and free without a care
and drifted off into a sea
of other leaves that did not see me.
I sometimes wish that I could fly
like a lonely leaf upon the sky
and never stop until I find
another heart that feels like mine.
I once knew a man-
a beautiful man-
who lived by the ocean
in a castle of sand.
He was the keeper
of the sun and the sea.
He was a lover of life
and of me.
I went there one day-
one beautiful day,
and out on the sand
we embraced as we lay-
And we were the makers
of music and wine.
We were the masters
of ages and time.
That man that I knew-
that beautiful man-
Who lived by the ocean
in a castle of sand-
Gave me rings made of shells
and jewelry of stones-
Which I kept and I treasured
when I was alone.
One day I went
to his home by the sea-
and nothing was left
of the man who loved me.
The castle was nowhere
amid all the sand.
Nothing was there
but a great stretch of land.
And there was nothing left-
no dreams which to trust.
My shells turned to starlight-
My stones turned to dust.
Yellow leaves fall
like puddles of wet feathers
and the air smells
of tired rain.
Clouds dance
over the fields
and corn stalks bow
in withered surrender.
A black crow caws
across the sunless sky
and the pond swells.
I sit at my window
and watch
the scenery being set
for a new season.
Autumn-
I applaud you.
It's been a wonderful show...
I set out before you my new poem-
freshly made-
carefully prepared-
a little proud that all the words
fit together so well.
Like a meal, I've presented it to you
and watch as you peck away slowly.
I watch your expression.
Wait for your approval.
Anxious as you digest the poem
right before my eyes.
"Too depressing."
"Wrong subject matter."
"Awkward structure."
I'm not surprised that
you found no flavor in it.
You have no taste.
I have nothing to say.
There is nothing new.
Nothing to write
and nothing to do.
No joy to release
or pain to suppress-
to plans to hide
or dreams to confess.
There is nothing,
there is nothing,
there is nothing today.
I have nothing to say.
When there seems to be no strength to hold me standing-
Words are friends that never seem to fail-
I know I can grasp words from my heart,
though it beats erratic, is weakened and pale.
And I toss them like friends about me-
like jewels that glisten bright in compare
that warm me up and give me hope
when I drown in loneliness and despair.
Words support me like bridges of steel
and wrap round me like a kindness, so rare-
Words are proof that I am still alive
and not oblivious to care.
Words are my lifesaver when the waves clash
and the lightning strikes close to home.
Nothing can take them away from me-
With words, I am never alone.
I drown without them.
Yet, with words, I swim no better.
I just die on the ocean slowly.
Of all the things that turn my head
On highways long and pathways worn-
it's not the rusty fields of corn
Not even starlit skies of blue-
It's someone's shoe.
How did someone lose a shoe?
Just a single one- and not two?
Do they not see one foot is bare?
And why did they leave it sitting there?
Sometimes it looks perfectly new-
So why didn't they keep that shoe?
Did it fly out without them knowing
that suddenly their toes were showing?
I've seen a shoe all wrinkled and worn-
with laces gone and leather torn-
Not worth keeping- But even then-
You think you'd see it's ugly twin.
I've seen all kinds- and still I whisper-
"Who's limping around without that slipper?"
"Who's sprinting with one Nike Air?
"Does the cowboy know his boot is there?
How sad to see a lonely shoe...
Does any of them belong to you?
There were days when she felt like dancing-
like pulling up her long cotton skirt
and floating to the music of the old Victrola-
The same days when she felt
as though the circles beneath her eyes
and the arthritis in her fingertips
was a thing of the past.
There were days when her age
or her health-
didn't matter.
She felt nineteen again.
There were those few, rare days.
There were days when she shed
the thick woolen socks
and tight leather ankle shoes
and wandered outside barefoot-
where the warm sun made
the stone walk hot
and where the summer shade made
the green grass cool.
And she would walk to
the edge of the meadow
and imagine an end
to the sea of cornfields.
There were days when she would
let down her hair
and brush it the length of her back
and count the strokes
until she reached one hundred.
Then she would sit
in front of the old black fan
and pretend she was walking
in a rain storm
on an exotic street in Paris.
There were days when she felt like dancing-
like there were no boundaries
to what she could do
and who she could be.
Like life was just beginning
and
it
was
hers.
There were those few, rare days...
Flowers are a gift of love
and if your heart is true-
Gather not roses, ruby red
tied in ribbons of blue.
But to prove your faithfulness
and love forever more-
Bring me lilacs- bouquets of lilacs-
gather lilacs at my door.
For dearer than candy or jewelry or wine-
In life, my treasure is this:
Bring me lilacs- bouquets of lilacs-
Just lilacs and a kiss.
And should I someday pass from earth-
Upon my grave, I request no stone-
Just a lilac- a beautiful lilac
that will be mine alone.
Just a lilac-a beautiful lilac
before I travel home.
I turn on the car radio when I'm alone-
Take a new route home.
Listen to a song from the past.
Full blast.
Soon I'm blond and thin and tan.
It smells of coconut and sand.
My hair blows freely in the sun.
My red lips glisten as I run.
I'm soft and happy and so carefree.
I'm a woman alive!
I'm finally "me"!
But...
Then I'm home and the song is done.
I'm fat and grumpy and never fun.
I'm old and blue and grouchy and gray.
And it's time to put my dreams away.
This is another poem of mine I found while cleaning closets this week.
Must have been a really bad day! :)
November 16, 1990 6:32 am Friday
This is the storm that I saw coming
In the distance of the sky-
I hold my own- Am I alone?
(I'm so grateful that I can cry)...
At first it was just raindrops-
We've stayed fairly dry.
But then thunder crashes and lightning flashes-
(and I'm so grateful that I can cry).
You soared so gracefully for so long-
Soared successfully and high.
But we can't pretend that we can mend
Broken wings that cannot fly.
The rain is torrents now, I see-
The lightning hurts my eyes-
My heart is still- I cannot feel-
(But I'm so grateful that I can cry).
Perhaps there is shelter somewhere
To comfort you and I.
But after this weather- will we be together?
Or soar a different sky?
Someday
there will be nothing left of me
except a stack of photographs
lying somewhere
in a musty drawer-
with old buttons
and pennies
and pens with no ink.
Note:This little sing-song poem
was written in 2002 about a camping trip
experience. My sister Linda named
this so-called mud hole-
(strategically placed in
the middle of the campsite)-
which all of us seemed to
avoid except my husband.
You had to be there, I guess.
I found this while I was
cleaning yesterday and thought
it might bring Linda a smile...
Down in the holler
There's a story they tell
And I'll share it now
if you'll sit for a spell.
There's a place by the river-
By evil possessed-
It's a hole in the ground
that lies waiting in rest.
Slick as snot
and thick with mud
It'll bring you down
with a thunderous thud!
It will shame your pride
and steal your soul-
So friend, just beware
of the Ass-Whippin' Hole!
If you've had a few beers-
it just seems to know-
It opens right up
and grabs your big toe!
When others see it-
the laughter will roll
At the sight of your ass
gettin' whipped by the hole!
To will the seasons?
It cannot be done-
No matter how you wish it true-
Spring cannot ever come
until natures bids it do.
Cry for Spring?
It is all in vain-
Tears will not bring forth
flowers in the lane
or a sky of blue.
To will the seasons-
to hurry Spring
with daffodils
and birds that sing-
and whippoorwill?
It cannot be-
though your poor heart pleads-
It comes with time
and fills the trees...
at nature's will.
Like salt and pepper shakers-
We're a pair
Put together in a corner
that we share.
I'm salt. You're pepper-
flowing free...
Needless to say, you're a bit
spicier than me!
We hang around together-
perfect as our name
But no matter how we try,
we'll never be the same.
Yet, I love you always-
to differences, I pay no mind.
We'll always be individuals,
yet, better when combined.
Like salt and pepper shakers,
we're a pair-
Even though we don't agree
on everything we share.
But I am confident we'll survive
any kind of weather-
Because we're the best that we can be
when we're shakin' it together!
Autumn is swallowed up by rain.
...stuffed into a globe of swirling
yellow leaves that soon rest
like wet, lemon feathers
on my doorstep.
I breathe the cool air,
wrap my sweater tighter-
look beyond the withered corn fields
and search for Summer.
It was just here.
In my arms.
I was just holding onto
its sunshine and greenness
and the perfume of life.
Now, Autumn steps in.
Smelling of wet earth
and burning wood
and dry hay.
Cradling me with
shaky arms and
a chilly smile.
The screen door slams
with a gust of wind
and leaves continue
to dance from the trees
and die on the ground.
I go inside.
Ashamed that Autumn
would greet me so rudely.
Afraid that Summer
will never be found again.
I know where tears come from.
From rainy days like this.
The rain just drip, drip. drips
into pools of despair
that pour down
into the creases of your heart-
that twists through your veins-
that invade your thoughts...
And the rain stays there-
all swollen up inside of you
till finally
someone
or something
touches your heart-
breaks that fragile vessel-
and tears burst forth
and flow out
like painful rivers
into
a salty sea.
I wish that I could somehow catch
A piece of October sky-
That I could hide, until one day
the snowflakes start to fly.
I wish I could slice off some sunshine
to treasure and to hold-
To make me smile and keep me warm
when the winter makes me cold.
I wish I could save the autumn colors
in a special, secret jar-
stuffed full with violet sunsets
and silver, falling stars.
I'd place within each flaming leaf-
each golden day- each sweet perfume.
And in the midst of winter, release it all
around me in my room.
I wish I could have it all to keep-
These sweet autumn days...because,
deep in winter, I seem to forget
how really beautiful it was...
Written April 22, 1979
I'll never be a Disco Queen-
A ballerina in a distant dream-
A cheerleader on an All-Star team.
But-
I'm gonna be a Mom!
I'll never be a famous star-
A jet-set lady in a fancy car-
Or travel long and wide and far-
But-
I'm gonna be a Mom!
I'll never be the sophisticated kind-
wrapped in mink and gold and wine-
Ordering "escargot" when I dine-
But-
I'm gonna be a Mom!
And it doesn't matter if I get
past the old front door-
Or spend my leisure hours
vacuuming the floor-
Because what I'll be is better
than I've ever been before-
I'm gonna be a Mom!
And if the only stars I ever see
Are those up in the sky-
I'm gonna take these
brand new wings and fly-
I'm gonna give this special
dream a try.
I'm gonna be a Mom!
And nothing is important
in this whole wide world but you-
I'll spend my entire lifetime
helping take you through-
There's nothing else I'd rather be
Or anything else I'd rather do-
I'm gonna be a Mom!
He died today. He died today.
I tried to hold him. He slipped away.
Now the chill sets in. I'm cold.
No longer is he here to hold.
We had such good times- he and I
beneath the summer's fading sky-
The days were full of smiles and plans-
But he slipped away- right through my hands.
We saw the season change together-
Held on through rough and rainy weather-
Watched the leaves turn the color of fire-
As the yellow moon grew higher...higher...
Bathed in sassafras perfume-
we lived. We laughed. We danced a tune.
But the music has just stopped today-
The cold has come- I fear- to stay.
Rest in peace, my dearest friend-
These memories will never end...
Mr. September- I still can see your face
as Mr. October comes
to take your place...
Sometimes in the evenings I see you watching shadows
And staring into hollows of the sky.
And sometimes you tilt your head way back
and watch the magic stars go drifting by.
And your mind belongs to visions not known to me-
Your dreams seem to cling to things that were-
And when you look at me, you're not seeing me at all-
You're seeing her.
Sometimes in the evening you lay quietly beside me
And stare at corners bare of light-
And sometimes I feel that if I touch you,
you'll float off far away just like a kite.
And your mind belongs to visions not known to me-
Your dreams seem to cling to things that were-
And when you touch me, you're not touching me at all-
You're touching her.
We have no control of the days-
but they have us.
Wrapped tightly into a place,
where simply- we rust.
Where our hair turns gray
and our hearts turn cold-
where we have no control
of growing old.
We have no control of the days-
We think they're far ahead.
Then suddenly, they're behind us
And we are dead.
My friends all wore new-bought fancy shoes
with buckles that would glitter and shine-
But Daddy couldn't afford such things,
so my shoes weren't quite so fine.
First they were Barb's, then they were Jewel's,
Then they were Linda's- THEN they were mine.
My friends all wore beautiful clothes-
The lacy dress-up kind-
But since our family was so large-
we wore what we could find.
First they were Barb's, then they were Jewel's,
Then they were Linda's- THEN they were mine.
But at least I grew up humble-
In awe of the sublime.
And I never regretted having been
The last hand-me-down in line.
But I'm always thankful for something new
Because once there was a time-
First they were Barb's, then they were Jewel's,
Then they were Linda's- THEN they were mine.
On days like this
I want to crawl into bed-
cover my head
and cry.
I want to bury my head
and pretend I am dead
and shout to the sky-
"It's okay if I cry!"
Why should I hide
what's boiling inside?
Why should I lie
when I just want to cry?
But, I'll stay in bed for awhile-
Then I'll get up and smile.
Because nobody likes
when I cry...
Written May, 1975
Last night I met a gentle man
who opened doors in my life
I never thought existed,
Shut up the wounds of my heart
with the gift of his words-
And he made me smile real smiles
for the first time in a long time.
And I was happier
than happy...
I don't know where I'm going , God.
I'm so confused and hurt inside.
Don't look down on me,
but don't look away.
Give me answers before
I make mistakes.
Last night I met a gentle man.
Why am I so guilty about happiness?
Why am I so afraid of love?
***
(That was 34 years ago.
I married that gentle man.)
Floating in the sunlight
like a fish in some blue sea-
Thinking about our yesterdays-
wondering what's to be-
Hoping that you'll always
continue loving me...
Leaning to the breezes
Like a soaring bird up high-
Making dreams up in my head-
Stars falling from the sky-
Wish I could catch
one silver tip
as it came by...
Relaxing in the moonlight
Like a butterfly set free-
Your gentle, smiling face
is all that I can see.
Just hoping that you'll always
continue loving me...
Wish I had a strong, wise heart
Like hearts I've often seen-
Then I could reach out and grasp
that distant calling dream.
But if I ever caught that dream
and it's beauty all unfurled-
I would not keep it for myself-
I'd share it with the world.
Wish I knew the kind of music
that the night skies bring-
Wish my tiny, timid heart
was brave enough to sing.
Then I could partake
in the endless cricket tune
And I could dance the night away,
waltzing with the moon.
Here comes Autumn.
He is standing just over the hillside,
waiting for me.
His hair is a nest of leaves-
the color of lemons
and pumpkins
and pomegranates...
He wears a flannel shirt-
a straw hat.
And his cheeks are stained
a sweet Jonathan apple red...
His eyes are the color of midnight
and turquoise
and robin egg blue.
His perfume is sassafras
and cinnamon
and cider...
He brings gifts of wine,
woolens
and wonder.
He smiles at me
and hurries across the hillside.
We'll play and sing and dream-
Until Winter-
-(like a bully)-
comes and chases him away...
She lives in a dream house,
She drives a Corvette.
She never gains weight
and she never sweats.
She has a pool and a boat-
A dog and a gym-
Her man's always loved her
and she's always loved him.
She has minks and furs-
bikinis and gowns-
Her makeup is perfect
and she never frowns.
Her shape is perfect
and she's a natural blond.
Sexy and beautiful-
the list goes on.
I'm really not envious,
but I'd give my all-
to have the life
of a Barbie Doll!
I visited the graveyard the other day-
Just to see what Death would say.
And the stories the bodies told
was "Life is more precious than gold."
I chuckled a little, and then they said,
"Oh, child, if you waste your life- you just as well be dead."
CANVAS OF LIFE
I take my finger and hold it up
And trace the outline of the sky-
Sketch in the wispy pine trees
and the inky clouds up high.
I pretend I am the artist
that created such a sight.
I step back to study the vivid lines
that I adore with such delight.
My humble palette holds no color
as violet as that sky.
What artist paints with such precision?
I admit- it is not I.
No color holds as red a tone
as the autumn maples there.
How exact each fiber of the earth
He has painted with such care!
Every sight that I behold-
He has colored with His hand.
And I could never imitate
the brilliance of this land.
But, when I paint, I like to feel
that the Master guides my eye
And smiles at all that I create
from His workshop in the sky...
You can wait for the train
Though it may be late-
Though it may take its time,
you know that the wait
will not be too long
Because you hear it afar-
A rattle- a clicking-
of each metal car.
You can wait for the rain
as it grows in the sky.
But you know it will come
by the clouds drifting by.
And maybe a raindrop
or two may be all-
But you know it will rain-
It's spring, after all.
You can wait for the day
Once night time is here.
Though midnight seems long-
daylight is near.
And you know it will come
though no one has said.
The sun will arise
and come to your bed.
You can wait for love
for days and years-
through smiles and laughter,
pain and tears.
But even when you wait
and waiting is done.
Love isn't here
and may never come.
For love you may wait-
if you can survive
waiting for something
that may never arrive.
The autumn trees
and gentle breeze
softly spoke my name today.
I ignored the call,
because, after all-
I have no time to play.
Then the bright, warm sun
shouted, "Let's have fun!"
and I ached to join the crew.
But I turned my head
and cried instead,
"I have my work to do!"
Then I heard
A tiny bird
sing, "Come outside with me!"
I said,"I cannot
Because I've got
all this work, you see!"
So they played and played
and I stayed and stayed
quietly at my task.
They begged some more,
so I shut the door
and said, "Don't even ask!"
Night has come
and all the fun
is gone for another day.
I wish I had gone out to play.
The days have all been good to me-
Alas- but not always I to them.
For I change face at every whim
and covet what I cannot see.
One eve I'll curse the length of day-
One morn, I'll cry "How brief!"
and find myself in silent grief
that I have let time just slip away.
I have promises I cannot keep
to the days that have been kind.
Here hails the passing ghost of time
and I, in wasteful shadows, weep.
We went to the bar on Saturday night-
It was loud and crowded and smokey.
The beer was cold- the food was good-
But I was there for the Karaoke!
I know there are those of you who think
that this singing is a little bit hokey-
That you'd never get up on a lighted stage
and belt out some Karaoke.
Cuz...
I didn't think I'd ever be one
to get up and sing Karaoke-
But when they came along with the mic
I jumped up and said-
"Okie-dokie!"
I really can't sing or carry a tune
And most people just wanna choke me-
But I'm not here for the food or the beer-
I'm here
for the Karaoke!
You sit along the roadside
in your yellow petaled dress-
The summer sun beating down on you-
(I'm curious, I confess)-
How such a lovely one as you
could have suffered such demise.
Where did you get the black eyes, Susan?
Last night I dreamt I had a balloon
for every person in the world.
At noon, I passed them out
and they gracefully swirled
.... up beyond heaven.
Everyone smiled.
It was a beautiful sight.
Then they went back into their houses
and locked their doors tight.
I promised I'd stop crying-
I promised never to be blue.
But I never keep promises to myself-
I never do.
I promised that I'd smile again-
Laugh and play again, too.
But I never keep promises to myself-
I never do.
I promised if the sun came up
I'd take control and live.
I'd stop trying to find myself
and just sit back and give.
I'd forget about time
and tomorrow
and all that is new.
But I never keep promises to myself-
I never do.
"My name is Anna," she said to him.
"I'm Antony," said he.
And she secretly eyed the gentleman
as he slowly sipped his tea.
Briefly then, he touched her hand,
As now his empty cup she took-
She laid the tray on the bedside stand
and handed him a nearby book.
"Rest now, Captain Antony.
I'll be back very soon."
And he rose his head to bid farewell
As Anna left the room.
And through the day- in every place-
he saw her eyes, her smile, her face.
The next day Anna bid him stay
till he was no longer ill.
The Baron had long ago passed away
and she was now mistress of the hill.
So every day their eyes would meet
as she nursed him back to new.
Slowly friendship bloomed so sweet-
And then the passion grew.
Till even in his deepest sleep
Anna was at his side-
Each passing moment he sought to keep
love that could not be denied.
And the more and more he thought of this-
he imagined the lips of Anna, kissed.
So Anna and the captain there
Spent all the spring together-
Weaving such an intense care
that no wickedness could sever.
And pleasantly they lived upon the hill
Where they spent a happy life.
So certain that their love was real,
they took vows as man and wife.
And when the nights became windy and black
and the waves began to toss-
They would sit by the fire and remember back
To the nights their paths did cross.
Now there upon the Baron's hill
The two are resting- silent and still.
And sometimes you can hear Anna announcing "tea"
as Antony comes running up from the sea.
At midnight violent waves did crest
Upon the ragged rocks they tore-
Till a tattered vessel came to rest-
crashing, crippled, on the shore.
The Baron's daughter, from her bed
heard crying from below
And prayed that none the men be dead
amid the fog- now thick and low.
When dawn came then, she hurried so
and found a sailor on the sand
Where torrent winds came up to blow
the lantern from her trembling hand.
And there fell she- a tearful sight-
fearing then the captain's plight.
The young captain's head then up arose
and the Baron's daughter cried-
"Can we save not one of those?"
Said he- "They all have died."
Looking out to sea, she wept
For the bodies washed from shore-
Their eyes folded as if at sleep-
To live- to laugh no more.
She led the captain up the lane
to her father's house upon the hill-
the captain's leg in frenzied pain-
the wind now ebbing close to still.
And by the fires warmth and light
the captain slept throughout the night.
"Twas springlike air that entered in
the open window when morning came
And there was no sign the storm had been-
except the captain, tired and lame.
The Barons daughter then tapped upon
the wooden door- said she,
"Captain, sir, it's way past dawn-
I've brought you food and tea."
The handsome man sat up in bed-
He smiled and bid her stay
as the Baron's daughter's hair of red
Glittered in the light of day.
And the captain's heart was quickly won
As she stood, enchanting, in the sun.
(To Be Continued...)
