Paula Swanson
Dancing outside the saloon,
they toss pennies at his feet.
On his harmonica he plays,
a tune, off key, up beat.
On his head of sparse grey hair,
he sports an old top hat.
His tattered coat of tailored tails,
frames a frayed and worn cravat.
On a thin frame the tux does hang,
his pants, held up with twine.
You can't help, but to think,
he is from another time.
Come rain or shine, he is there.
Tip of his hat to all the girls.
He gives a nod of thanks at each sound,
as round his feet, the pennies swirl.
Silent tears, relieved in ink,
on paper smooth and cool.
Heart and hand now work in synch,
as strong emotions duel.
There on the parchment you lie,
naked, for all to see.
You heave a deep cleansing sigh.
At last, you can believe.
Word by word you come alive,
a healing balm takes form.
Before long, you realize,
a stronger you is born.
As a flag, left to the ravages of wind and sun,
so too my soul, stands tattered and ravaged.
My visage now a faded memory
of once courageous colors.
My voice no longer crisp, nor upbeat.
But weak and undefined.
No longer do I instill nor evoke,
a sense of power or purpose.
I am easily dismissed as useless, unnecessary.
Yes, once I was the strong flag,
that laughed in the wind with a quick
snap and whip crack determination.
That was years and many storms ago.
Now, I give into the wind,
with a defeated wave
and the sound of a sigh.
It was a lifetime ago...just yesterday,
when rain fell softly upon my face.
That spoke to me of younger years,
with all my innocence thus encased.
I could feel the rainbow...just out of reach,
all the colors of moments passed.
Where truths were lies and lies believed,
countless, as grains in an hourglass.
I can bear forth the torch...yet not burn the eyes,
to scald away truth's stench and decay.
Why can't we hold to the dreams of youth,
that was a lifetime ago...just yesterday?
Eyes the color of twilight hours,
looks down from a canvas throne.
Captured for an eternity,
her languid form, in repose.
Queen of all she surveys,
within these crumbling walls.
Moth eaten Brocade, silk spider's web.
Marble stairs and dank halls.
Once the matriarch of a dynasty,
that lived beneath this roof.
She still exerts her own will,
as watches, uncaring, aloof.
She is within the very mortar,
that binds these ancient stones.
Her blood is on the very air,
that chills you to the bone.
The floors and she are now as one.
Listen! You can hear her footsteps.
There within the mournful wind,
hear her laughter where she once slept.
The ballroom still hosts soiree's.
Muted music of bygone years play.
While in the South Rose parlor,
you can feel her pull take sway.
She will conjole and pout,
until you agree to stay.
Then she'll lead you to the cellar,
where all her guests must pay.
These windows, on a stormy night,
show shadows walking by.
Tattered curtains fall into place,
while evil hides from prying eyes.
But do not feed the impulse,
to enter and investigate.
For within these walls, her spirit dwells
and for fresh blood, she lies in wait.
Within the quiet of the night,
amid the shadows of my pain,
the strength I held so fast to,
ebbs, as another tear does gain.
With out the giving of consent,
it brings forth a fellow traveler.
To follow a chaotic coarse,
across my cheeks, twilight pallor.
Bare of conscience thought, I brush aside,
the meaning each holds alone.
I hide behind my false bravado,
as my tears dry on their own.
Behind the rough and gruff facade,
amongst the sternness and the pride.
Along with calloused hands and the scars
A little boy still resides.
in spite of responsibilities,
the hard days, daily grind.
There within a man full grown,
that little boy still hides.
In the crooked grin, stuck out chin,
mischievous twinkle of the eyes.
Crazy antics, chances taken,
a little boy joy rides.
Eat one more cookie before dinner,
spend all weekend, playing outside.
Put off mowing the lawn one more day,
that little boy decides.
Work extra hours to pay the bills,
don't let that "Honey do" list slide.
Do anything to see me smile,
His little boy is justified.
I am a poets journal,
in trust of verse that has been tilled.
Plying emotions that play eternal,
on pages not yet filled.
Joy will sometimes overflow,
on pages not yet filled.
Perhaps to reap what it is I sow,
of thoughts not yet spilled.
As myself, I struggle to rebuild,
some eyes still see my weakness.
On pages not yet filled,
you can almost feel my bleakness.
There is no stopping memories,
even if my heart should still.
Look beyond that which binds me,
on pages not yet filled.
How do you feel anger,
when you won't allow it to feed?
You don't attempt to digest it,
give yourself the release you need.
How do you feel joy,
when only hollowness prevails?
Existing is what you do,
when life for you has failed.
How do you socialize,
when alone is all you need?
when behind the doors is safe,
no interaction is now your creed.
How do you feel anything,
when its all been stripped away?
Placed somewhere deep inside,
away from the light of day.
How do you explain all this,
to those that walk not your path?
When to them it is so easy,
to feel, live and laugh.
This, I do so, willingly.
Without reservations of the heart.
I offer my shoulder to thy wheel,
my strength, to thus impart.
My voice, I lend to your cause.
Champion, to which you undertake.
My arms, I spread to encompass,
kith and kin, you now care take.
A heart, that beats strong and true.
That has known joy and felt deep weeping.
One, so full of love for you,
I give, unto your keeping.
If there were the need so great,
as to sacrifice completely.
My life, I 'd give, for yours to spare.
This I do, so willingly.
There's a party going on upstairs,
your invited, to come and have a scare.
H.G. Wells, will meet you at the gate,
costumes required, hurry don't be late.
Vincent Price will be tonights D.J.
Halloween is his favorite Holiday.
He's spinning "Thriller", while dressed up as "Kiss".
Watching Claude Rains do the "Transylvania Twist".
Steve McQueen came dressed up as the "Blob",
he's serving up the zombie shish-ka-bobs.
Elsa Lanchester placed real bats within her hair.
While Marty Feldman keeps yelling "Frau Blucher".
At the stroke of the witching hour,
St. Peter amps up all the power.
A disco ball drops down from a cloud.
Out on the dance floor, forms a massive crowd.
Michael Jackson then leads them all in dance,
while Lon Chaney and Karloff take their chance,
to join the angels in harmony,
While "Monster Mash" is sang by Lugosi.
Even the Devil made it through the door.
He's the one sporting an Elvis pompadour.
So much fun is had by one and all,
at Heavens Annual Halloween Ball
Sweet death, have me tarry not,
greet me, for comes the morn.
Cheat the sun, that I may sleep,
complete as if ne'er born.
Entreat, do I, your embrace.
Defeat my heartbeat this night.
Meet me mid a last dreaming,
secrete this soul from sight
Amid the blending shadows of night,
we liberate reality's sight.
We seep into a realm of no boundaries,
where we feel fear, lust and misery.
We are now entrenched deep within,
a dimension of our mind called REM.
Where meanings to the visions snake,
into past and present, til we wake.
We stand aside as scenes play out,
while sanity, our id's, now doubt.
Where colors leech, yet blood runs red
and all inhibitions now are shed.
Rewinding moments and memories past,
watching how it was, our lots were cast.
We see those that are long since dead,
we stand before doors, options of dread.
That twist of imaginational delusion,
that gives rise to philosophical conclusions.
We were in a place, that never was.
But to our horror, exist, it does.
And in the dawn that follows dreams,
is revealed the truth of what we've seen.
In that lightening moment of lucidity,
we see within, our own frailties.
Scraps of lumber, a touch of paint,
with love, became a home.
To the smallest of the birds,
that to our yard would roam.
In his basement workshop,
Grandpa would spend hours.
With his hand saw, brace and bit,
no use of electric power.
At each rip of the saw,
I'd hear that familiar sound.
I'd watch as sawdust drifted,
like pixie dust, to the ground.
With blackened nails and hammer,
he'd assemble the bird houses.
Then he'd paint them brightly,
adding curliques and flounces.
A bit of wire in a hook,
then hung in the Pear tree.
Filled our mornings with the song,
from the Finches and Chick-a-dees.
Like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle,
closed up tight within a box.
My memories lay scattered.
Some are even lost.
Mixed in with those memories,
are events that shaped my world.
Tangled, twisted, interwoven.
Like so many cheap strands of pearls.
Reach right in and pull out "Roller Skates",
one that might have a smooth edge.
But stuck to it might be "courage",
as I faced report card day with dread.
Grab up the piece that shows "kiss".
The first one with my boyfriend.
Underneath is disappointment,
as he chose another girl, by days end.
Dig around an you'll find "Trust".
lying beneath "Corporate Bile".
It seems to be stuck into,
the notch of "Legal Files".
There, in the bottom layer,
sits "goals", though now quite ragged.
From having been bumped, rubbed raw,
it's borders are now jagged.
Somehow "Life's Lessons", though quite large,
Tends to, at times, elude my grip.
It shuffles down between the layers,
affording me a glimpse of its tip.
Each mismatched piece represents,
a moment, I've put away.
There within the puzzle box,
to be recalled another day
Sprinkled 'round is the shade
beneath the dieing tree.
Leaning to the left a bit,
almost upon it's knees.
As if begging for the water,
that from its crown it can see.
The home now vacant, foreclosed,
the landscape left thirsty.
it's not just families that suffer,
in this upside down economy.
Not a cloud in the sky,
Sunday chicken set to fry.
That is how I recall those Summer days.
Playing ball just for fun,
ice cream when the day is done..
Watching my freckles pop out from the suns rays
Colorful kites in the air,
Daisy chain in my hair.
Over and over in my memory it plays.
It was more than a childhood,
that Mom, Grandma, Grandpa gave to me.
It was more than a childhood.
It was a gift of, precious memories
Playing Barbie's on the porch,
Grandpa in his Bermuda shorts.
Big Band music on the stereo.
Playing tag with my brother Steve,
Ed Sullivan on T.V.
Listening while sister practiced her piano.
Swimming in our little plastic pool,
watching Grandpa work with tools.
Seems we were always having fights with pillows.
It was more than a childhood,
That Mom, Grandma, Grandpa gave to me.
It was more than a childhood.
It was a gift, of precious memories.
Slip and slides in the grass,
cold iced tea in a tall glass.
Runnin' barefoot through the neighborhood.
Gram making strawberry jam,
Hear Grandpa cheer a grand slam.
On our swing set we'd go as high as we could.
Walks down to the Rexall drug Store,
we were never, ever bored.
I know now, what back then, I never understood.
It was more than just a childhood,
that Mom, Grandma, Grandpa gave to me.
It was more than a short childhood.
It was a lifetime gift of precious memories.
She played one more time for Papa,
as to make the Angels weep.
His frail, arthritic hand,
upon the bed rail, tapped a beat.
His rhuemy eyes in sunken cheeks,
never waivers from her face.
His blue lips in silent tribute,
sang the words to Amazing Grace.
Her eyes closed to the rapture,
her Violin did sing.
She did not see, yet she felt,
when Papa stopped breathing.
Amid the grace of quiet stones,
a stroll down pebbled path.
There within a forgotten time,
behind an iron latch.
Stands now in aged seclusion,
of monuments to grief.
A countenance in marble cast,
beautiful Angel in soft relief.
Heavenly comfort emanates,
a coronal healing swath.
Winged guardian to souls now passed,
sempiternal keepers of the watch.
Beyond yon roof, of sod and thatch
Beyond yon door, of wood and latch
Beyond the reach of man's morals
Beyond yon hedge of thicket Laurels
Dwells a creature in forest veil
Dwells one, that lives, beyond the pale
Dwells, who takes victims with care
Dwells, who with, blank eye does stare
Watch, it does, from beneath the moon
Watch, it does, from shadows bestrewn
Watch, it has intent to bespell
Watch and feel its brace impel
Whilst, I hold, dreams sempiternal
Whilst, I invite, days be final
Whilst, I take last, sweet breath
Whilst, I embrace my lover....Death
