.........................................
I don't come here much anymore.
Too many memories.
They say every house has a tale to tell,
Every rusted door jam a mystery.
That window over there, looking pale
And yellowed with age
And dust and yesterdays wonder, I broke
Way, way back before Grandpa had his stroke
And Grandma left her rocker for the last time.
I'd thrown a baseball right through it.
Pa was drinking then, the hard liquor,
And he whipped me raw out back behind the shed
With the full buckle. He reminded me
Windows cost money we don't have.
And Eleanor...
She was six or seven then.
She was just learning how to ride a bike,
And she was proud as can be.
She would hang out by the hollyhocks,
Pretending they were scarecrows,
Naming each one,
And telling me she'd found a pirates treasure
Buried out there near the windmill that still needed
A coat or two of fresh paint.
She was that shine in Momma's eyes,
The one person in all the world Grandma would tell
Her stories to -
Stories that would bring Eleanor
Into worlds of imagination and wonder
She'd never known before.
And Eleanor would drink it in,
All the color and fire,
That lingered in every word.
And when she wandered that late October night
Into the fields,
We searched up and down with lanterns lit and flashlights, And the neighbors helped,
And we found her come morning in the silo.
I guess she'd climbed in to explore.
You can't breathe when it hits you. It's like it
Sucks the air right out of the little space you find ,
And the weight of the grain slowly drowns out your Thoughts and your struggles, your prayers
And your cries. And nothing's left to do
But feel that terror
Of nothingness pull you away.
So many memories...
And I was angry then. Angry at Pa,
At Gren,
At God.
I blamed them for everything and then some.
I learned to smoke , and I did it well.
I learned to swear, and I was good at it.
I didn't stay home much after that.
I left, hitched a ride to New Castle Valley,
And then to Porterville.
I didn't care for schooling,
So I found a job feeding pigs.
That lead to butchering. And I was good at it.
I could lose myself in it. In the thunder of the sin,
Found some satisfaction in how they bled.
I didn't go back til after Dad died.
He'd lost everything, did a bit of drinking,
Spent his time in the county jail,
Did more drinking
When he got out.
I'd learned Grandpa died of the pneumonia,
And Grandma had a few strokes.
Nobody ever told me what happened to Momma.
She just disappeared.
...and over time I grew less angry.
And I'd talk to God at night,
Sometimes I'd talk to Eleanor, cuz I knew
She was up there with God doing angel things,
Probably riding a bicycle real good by now.
Time marched on and I made due.
But I don't come here much anymore.
This place haunts me.
The silo that claimed Eleanor now a rusted heap
Of wood and metal that watches every step I take
...and I hate it,
I'd burn it to ashes if I could.
The porch where Grandma's rocker sat
Is weather beaten and tired.
And the stump where Grandpa would sit
Trimming his fingernails with that pocket knife
Lays on its side, victim to the winds of time
And those echoes that whisper things I thought
I'd forgotten.
And I lose it for a moment
And have to mop away a few tears.
Me, a fifty-six year old blubbering fool,
Still picking at the scars.
I can hear her voice,
Her laughter,
As she circled the gravel road on her bike,
Kicking at the small stones to get the bicycle moving
Just a little faster.
And I can almost see her sweet face
And her eyes so wide
They captured the Autumn sun like a rising star.
And there's Momma, hollering "Supper's ready."
And Pa, slamming down the hood on
The truck and wiping the hot sweat from his brow
As Grandma's little rocking chair squeaked its protests
Into the wind.
And there was Grandpa,
Grinning and pocketing that knife
And kicking mud off his
Work boots and heading on in.
No, I don't come here much anymore.
This place holds far too many ghosts for my tastes.
Copyright © 2012 Richard D. Remler
.........................................................
"You fall out of your mother's womb,
you crawl across open country under fire,
and drop into your grave."
-Quentin Crisp
........................................................
....................................................
The Willow blocks the passage
To the mountain side,
Where Burton Halton and
Eleven other children died.
It was late September 1884,
When a sudden, violent snow
In from the northern mountains
And the Nalin Pass did blow.
The wind was a lonesome howl
That swept the craggy stone,
And left a kiss of somber cold
That scarred the brittle bone.
The school had let the children
Out at a quarter past -
They had a little touch of sun,
But the sunshine did not last.
They did not know the gale was coming,
They could not see beyond their own,
That sometimes it takes but a moment
To change the life of heart and home.
The storm staggered o're hill and valley
Blocking out the suns warm rays.
The sky a shadowed, bitter dark
With intermittent shades of grays.
They had never seen such angry cold
Reach in so quickly and take hold,
With brutal force and cruel breath
Bury Autumn in sixteen feet of death.
The snow fell wet and heavy,
The wind a piercing squall,
So bent and fiercely hostile,
Til they could barely see at all.
Perhaps the hail, perhaps the thunder
Frightened them and forced their hand,
To escape the cold and bitter vile
Haunt that blanketed their land.
Still, why they scattered as they did,
Why they ran and why they hid,
Remains a mystery to this day,
And shall ever more remain that way.
Copyright © 2009 Richard D. Remler
i am wearing a kimono,
this sheer, garish, floral shred of fabric that wafts about my frame.
the cafe people snip at it with their eyes full of sharp edges.
ive been here all day
the view is terrible,
the music
is like the sound of a snail in seasalt.
little
crackles
of wet flesh hot and retreating, no, burning.
but i am so tired I cant move.
maybe it isn't so bad,
maybe I am just being difficult...
everything,
even the kiss colored leaves that
toss themselves down the boulevard,
seem shrill to me.
all i can
think about
is what you said to me last night
"a pretty face is a loaded gun"
tearing holes into me with your angry eyes.
you know
the line itself is crap,
a splinter in this thigh,
it is snapping, that line, under all the meaning
i gave it in my drunken storm.
i walk along that line,
as though it is stretched between sky scrapers,
high above like a tightrope.
today all the great buildings that surround, give me perspective on my size,
and they hiss
as great, hollow objects seem to do sometimes.
now that iam awake
i see that it doesn't make sense
when you said it
you were swimming in a gin bath and
playing the poet with a shredded heart
but iam trying to give you credit
and find something other then an image
-image of my body
with a heavy, black barrel protruding from my throat
and a tantalizing trigger, curling like a tongue taunting you
to pull it
and blow your fucking skull apart-
you were just trying to offend me thats what i see.
dont blame this face, you are just angry.
goddamm the music here sounds like nails!
that man over there with the sloppylips looks like he might disintegrate
in worse shape then me I think,
I hope.
anyways i was saying dont blame this face
thats right i say iam beautiful,
you said it first though.
though you only said it, in search of the trigger.
christ,
we all need to get up and go,
this place is like a horse's mouth
lets all get up and walk out together in a thread of gorgeous bodies who just
wont take it anymore. lets go.
forget it. wait
what was i saying?
I still remember each time you told me you loved me,
just as I recall every touch.
I remember your eyes;
Happy,
Sad,
Angry,
Confused.
I remember what we had,
And everything we lost.
I knew you were damaged and broken
But I never knew how much
You hid it so well at times
This thing with us was new
I couldn't tell at first how hurt you were
There came a day
When we went on this special date
You surprised me
By taking me out to the country
Setting up a beautiful scene
In front of a mountain view
Under the stars
For a while, all was fine and normal
Then, tears started out of your eyes
You became so angry
Before I knew it, I was on the ground
Shellshock and dumbfound
Part of me wanted to get up and fight
The other part knew you never meant to
My face already feeling the ramifications of the attack
When you saw what you had done
I had never seen such horror before
Your eyes so wide
Kneeling down and tenderly grabbing my face
Kissing me
Punctuating each with I'm sorry
Trying to console and reassure you
It was alright
But we both knew it wasn't alight or okay
You needed healing
When I got home
Making you sure you were gone
Before I went in alone
Trying to hide the injury under my hat
Run to my room as fast as I could
Without looking stupid
He was coming down the hall
Asking how things went
I replied then went on
But he could tell; he could see things weren't okay with me
He blocked my way
Then gently lifted my hat
Much similar to your reaction, he responded with horror
Wide eyes, confusion and then realization
Anger came right after that
I knew he was going kill you
Putting my hands on his chest
Blocking his forward passage
Stopping him
Telling him the situation
Almost yelling at him
There were things he didn't know
That I did and understood
Then the door bell rang
Suddenly, desperation was replaced with horror
I knew exactly who it was
……And so did he
i am on the beach /
waiting for my resurrection
with the sand in my bad eye and
the smell of goose shit pungent and intrusive, uninvited.
2:30 pm , friday of may 24 weekend;
the beach is flat and empty of girls
(for whom i am waiting)
(will they know
how to save me ??) .
so far i have avoided sitting on a 3.5" nail, rusted, protruding from the duneside,
and several shards of a broken bottle beer,
keen to shred my winter-softened feet with their angry brown fangs.
i will pick up as much of the glass as i can find and go home, calling myself
a good samaritan.
"you're a shit." some seagulls say from the lake.
i pick up a rock and let fly. they are just out of range.
"you're a shit." they repeat as i walk back towards the footpath.
they are probably right.
Looking up at a fresh blue sky with patches of angry grey here and there
I looked back down again as he said
"Besides, look at all the flowers your father has given me."
I remember this movie when I was young
That moved me beyond tears
Ain't it funny how I still remember that
After all these many years
It had no stars that were famous
That it could brag upon
There were actually only four players
But very skillfully focused on only one
I remember the film was in black and white
Color would just get in the way
Of the true meaning of this mans story
And what it was they had to say
It was about a Confederate solider
A loser in his war
About to be hung from off a bridge
The film never did say what for
In fact I don't remember any words
Ever being said
That hits me now as being strange
More than it ever has
His hands were tied behind his back
With the noose around his neck
As they pushed him over the bridges side
To what I felt was certain death
The rope ran towards its deadly course
But snapped in half under the strain
Next shot was of the solider swimming away
As the bullets around him rained
He walked for days through angry woods
Till he came to a dirt road
Ahead of him a Southern Mansion
As the story it unfolds
On the front porch waiting for her love
The sweetest of Southern Belles
The love you saw between them both
No spoken words could ever tell
As he approached the steps with just two left
His love held out her hands
That's when his head snapped back as the rope around his neck
Reached its final end
by Jonathan D Maraccini
When I was young I had a dream
It was the day I turned 14
I was a king who married a queen underneath a beautiful cedar tree
In this dream we had a beautiful baby then we lived happily ever after
What a perfect ending, everything was perfect it seemed
Then tragedy struck without warning
In this dream
I lost my home, my wife, my child
In this dream
I lost my wonderful family
With tears of sorrow I screamed underneath the cedar tree
Then I fell to the ground and said some horrible things in the darkness
But it was all just a dream I remind you
At least that is what I was told that night
The day I turned 14
They say
Dreams are not real in the world we live in
They say
Angels are fiction outside of religion
They say
A sinner is condemned unless forgiven
I say
Dream of angels who forgive our sins
I am not a little boy any longer
I grew up and became a man
Then I met a beautiful women
How she made me happy then
So we married and had a daughter
The happiest day of my life
Was the day I became a father
A bond had formed as I watched her eyes
I held her close to keep her warm
I knew I would never leave her
Life was a perfect delight
Or so I thought, or so I thought
In the end
We leave our mark
In the end someones the victim
A fool from the very start
Like lambs for the slaughter
As the truth is hidden
They say
Dreams are not real in the world we live in
They say
Angels are fiction outside of religion
They say
A sinner is condemned unless forgiven
I say
Dream of angels who forgive our sins
Sitting on a bench in a redwood forest
I heard a bird sing a glorious song
This was not my imagination
So I began to sing along
Next to me a girl with black hair
We laughed together
We walked together
Love of the forest we both shared
Her eyes were black, her hair was long
Such a spectacle
Nothing on earth could ever go wrong
Or so I hoped, or so I hoped
Knock on wood
For I was blind
Evil was there the entire time
Sitting underneath a cedar tree
Whistling a haunting song
They say
Dreams are not real in the world we live in
They say
Angels are fiction outside of religion
They say
A sinner is condemned unless forgiven
I say
Dream of angels who forgive our sins
Eventually she left me
She left me on Christmas Eve
She took my daughter
She took the angel from me
She ran away
She spread her wings of deceit
She lied to everybody
But first she lied to me
Maybe she was the one whistling
Underneath the cedar tree
Underneath the cedar tree
Where evil withered the leaves
So now I hate her
The destroyer of beautiful dreams
The filthy liar
The wrecker of families
As I wither away behind her
I’m left with only my words
With the cedar tree on fire
I quench my angry thirst
And my pain becomes a curse
I do not care who see's these words
My anger festers for all
Two faced liars in a family herd
So stand in line as I fall
It is what it is
When it is understood
It is all it has been
For the bad and the good
As I hang on this cross
As I hang underneath the cedar tree
Crucified to this wood
© JDMaraccini
VAPORSiX CREATiONS
I , the only one who sees
An eye's angry eyebrow,
That cyclops needs to chill out
How not shocked, how?
I can see it floating around
In its frenzy triangle
Find the sound of BANG!
An accident, it waits for
Like a grumpy man
Staring down, on his high horse,
A metal pillar.
Not evil, but well-cheesed-off !
Christopher Munro 2013 www.sundaywrap.blogspot.co.uk
