Things have taken a turn and there is salt in my wounds
I am all teeth;
As I listen to a chorus of cicadas sing along with the wind
I am young and invincible with nothing to lose
I smell the rain coming this afternoon
A wood dock in front of the pond
I stand barefoot on
I remember this pond
When two otters got in it
And Ate all the blue gill
I have pin marks in my flesh
Teeth marks on my heart
Claw marks in the small of my back
I cannot reach them
When they ache
I wished to be a Firstborn
To live with the river
And stand barefoot
At the door of my hut
I watch the sun come up
The jungle breathing hot breath around me
I will hunt as the old ones hunted
Taking on the form of the Panther or the Spider
I learned patience
Waiting for my web to vibrate
Waiting for the rain to stop
I grew quick learning the paths through the trees
The world is a sea of sight and smell and sound
I was a great fish
Living in a rock shelf
Where small bugs would land
But I feared leaving the safety of the walls
Because I once bit a hook
I had eaten with my sons
And drank with my sons
I fell to sleep
Dreaming of youth
I watched her bathing in the river for a while
Swimming in the dark water
Suddenly I am wrestling with the tale of a great viper
Its fangs bared-hissing and scales pitch black
She sees me watching her bath from the bank
She calls me a coward
The serpent laughs
You are weak
Then the snake changed
And she stands nude before me
You will die when the river floods next
And your sons will put your body
In my belly
for my Aunt Shirley
Fervis F. Ferville
Of South Street, North West
Could count, count, count, count
With incredible zest!
He was a very good counter,
And he would not hesitate!
For he would get up real early,
And he would stay up real late
Counting everything that could
Be owned by a Mouse,
As long as it could fit
In a little Mouse House.
And with his Shadow as Witness,
He would begin every day
Counting each little grain
Of his Bucklewheat Hay.
He would sound out each number.
That’s just what he’d do!
And he would always begin
All of his counting with “Two.”
He would count every minute
On the clock on his wall.
He then counted the hours,
The Seconds, and all
Of the in-between moments
That we never admit
Have a smidgen of good
Honest counting in it.
He then climbed very carefully
On his ABC blocks,
And counted each button
Safely tucked in its box,
Which came right to twenty-one,
All quite safe and sound.
The Greatest Button Collection
That a Mouse ever found.
Then he counted his fingers,
And he counted his toes,
His counting-type eyes,
And his counting-type nose.
He counted his ears,
And he counted his knees
And he smiled with pride,
For Fervis was pleased.
He had counted two eyes,
And one counting-type nose.
He had counted two knees,
And two stringy elbows.
He had counted two ears
That hung over his head.
And he counted the stripes
On his little Mouse bed.
He had counted each whisker,
And every brow of his eye.
And then he turned his attention
To his french fry supply.
There were twenty-two long ones,
And thirty-four short ones,
Ten busted-up ones
And eighteen athwart ones.
And there were his books,
Lots of books on a shelf
That he hid,
For he wanted them
All to himself.
With his vast and unique
Set of Counting-Mouse Skills,
And the speed and agility
Of trained Whippoorwills
He counted and counted,
And counted them all,
Every book he could find,
Every book that he saw.
All the big ones
And small ones,
And the tall ones,
Every green one
And blue one
Each old and
Each new one.
He counted his Nickets,
He counted his Nukks,
He counted every one
Of his Poppletoff Pucks.
He counted his ear lobes,
Then counted his keys,
And recounted every one
Of his ones, twos and threes.
He counted with such
A fine skill and finesse
That he proudly turned his attention
To Checkers and Chess
And he counted each Rook,
Every Bishop and Queen,
Every foul little Knight
That tormented his King.
Every Pawn en Passant,
Every possible move,
Oh, he counted them all
If only to prove
That he, as a Mouse,
Could indeed hold his own
When it came to a fine
Game of Chess in his home.
The very next thing
He would count were his socks.
He took great care of them.
So he unlocked all the locks
On his Secret Sock-Drawer,
And he counted each Two.
Then he seemed rather puzzled
When he was finally through.
For yesterday’s count
Came to Thirty-Eight pair.
Which meant that one pair was missing!
Yes, Missing! But where?
Now, this called for a re-count,
Something a Counting-Type Mouse
Does all of the time
In his little Mouse House.
So, Fervis F. Ferville,
In his perfect Mouse timing,
Counted and re-counted
Without even rhyming!
The Two and the Four
And the Six and the Eight!
He counted each sock
Until it seemed rather late.
Then he sighed as he sat
In his little Mouse chair.
And he took a deep breath
With a haunt of despair.
And he thought:
Never lose track of socks.
They never forget their neckties
Or popcicle blocks.
They do not misplace their Hourglass,
Or lose track of the time.
And Counting-Type Mouses
Are on time
All the time! ”
He fuddled and fudged,
And scratched at his ear,
Took a deep breath
Just to let his mind clear.
And he spied at his Shadow,
Who had nothing to say,
Who simply shrugged long
In its shadowy way.
So, he counted again,
Very slowly this time,
Sounding each number out,
Every succinct little rhyme.
Every four, every two,
Every ten, every eight.
Every twelve, and each twenty,
Until it was later than late.
“This simply does not make sense, ”
He mumbled to himself.
“Where could they be?
I’ve looked on every shelf.”
He searched through his house,
Very high, then down low,
Every place they could hide,
Every place they could go.
He looked deep in his cupboards,
And inside every jar.
He searched as close as he could,
And then he searched far.
He looked in his freezer,
And then in his hat,
On nights such as this
Mice will do things like that.
He hunted deep in his closet,
And then in every shoe
That he kept always ready
Underneath his canoe.
He searched up the small staircase,
And then down through the vent.
He hunted inside his chimney,
And above the bell tent.
He looked behind every picture
That hung on his wall.
And then he decided
To check behind his baseball.
He searched through his Bob-Bobbers,
And inside his fly sheet.
And, just to be safe,
He looked down at his feet.
And his eyes peered so narrow
He bit down on his lip,
And he twizzled and twozzled
Every single toe tip.
There were his socks,
Safely there, rightly put
As well as can be
On each little Mouse foot.
He hadn’t lost them at all,
And they hadn’t lost him.
They’d been there all the time
Very proper and prim.
And Fervis F. Ferville
Jumped up with a snap,
He sang out a “Woohoo, ”
And he let his toes tap.
He danced with a jig
And a biggillowigg,
With his toes hanging out.
He looked at the clock
That hung high on his wall,
And he stretched out, refreshed,
Like a porcupine ball.
And Fervis F. Ferville adjusted his tie.
And breathed deep the evening air.
"Why-ever have I been so distraught?
This simply does not seem fair."
I have every toe, every ear, every sock.
I have every number that ticks on my clock.
I have every whoo that has ever said hey.
It is a grand and new, wonderful day.
And wonderful days, as the story is said-
Are filled with those numbers that dance off the head,
And tap tap tap wonders of yellow and blue,
Wonders that shimmer much newer than new.
And he smiled so warmly the evening shined,
As though Fervis had one more adventure in mind.
He spied his fine Shadow, on the dash of a whim,
And his top secret Shadow spied right back at him,
And then Fervis F. Ferville so calmly called out,
"I've counted one hundred eleventy-two!
And that's a very fine count, an impressive amount.
I am certain I've counted much higher than you.
But his Shadow just leaned against the far wall,
Unwilling to join in the foray.
Shadows never re-count a good count,
Not when there's still time for Shadows to play.
And Fervis agreed.
For a fine Mouse was he,
Oh, there was so much more
To counting young Fervis could see.
And he smiled a wide smile, fine as any wise Mouse,
And returned to the joys of his little Mouse House.
Copyright © 2010 By Richard D. Remler
'I still find each day too short for
all the thoughts I want to think,
all the walks I want to take,
all the books I want to read,
and all the friends I want to see. '
I planted flowers
Fixed the floor
Worked for hours
Painted the door
Re-grouted the tile
Sowed some seeds
Rested a while
Then pulled the weeds
Painted the halls
The carpet is new
Washed the walls
And baseboards too
Removed the clutter
granite counters were bought
Replaced the gutter
'Cause the old ones were shot
I stand back and see
the results of our work
And mumble softly, Gee
You're a stupid jerk
Shiny and new
The house is a show
Prepared for a view
By people we don't know
Our home's at it's best
And everyone can tell it
So now we can rest
And the realtor can sell it!
People are mysterious,
We all have stories,
Secrets to keep,
We all have our lies,
Most importantly we all know pain,
It is always the ones with the most pain,
Who become the targets,
From other people they are judged,
It's a very strange process,
Giving more pain to the pain,
They already suffer,
Take time to think,
Before you judge a person,
Ask yourself what they may be going through,
What happened in the past that affected who they are,
All they are trying to do,
Is figure out why they are here,
Who they are,
Sometimes they get blinded by judgement,
They get negative answers,
They think negative thoughts,
Then they become someone....
Wrong for who they were supposed to be.
It's also the strongest people,
Who have been through the most pain,
They suffered through all,
Found themselves in a better place,
Lit up there lives,
Ignored all the judgement,
And forgave those who put them in pain,
They grew from their experiences,
They never gave up,
They followed fate,
It brought them to a stronger place.
What more can be said
before a guns put to the head.
Rights were there wrongs
and now the lifeless bodies of loved ones
lay face flat on the earth, DEAD!
Millions watch in horror as they bled
out like mammals with a limb cut off and see how fast
The light of life quickly shifts from green to red
and their dreams shut off!
Red light, Green light.
Lives gone in a blink of an eye
What more can be read
before one realizes
they're being watched by the feds
there was truth in these last words I said
Ashes to Ashes
Life and Death
Mankind will clash
Until no one is left.
my father was born a giant
but somewhere along the line
to the size of a man.
like a pea,
he could hold me
in a single hand.
They felt like sand.
Warm, and welcoming.
My father’s laugh
like the ocean
would roar and boom
and grow soft.
My father’s roar
like the storm
would rise and fall
with the fall of his hand.
I once was a pea.
I once was a seed.
I grew and grew
until the tears
weren’t quite so ready
and my hands were rough
If only I could
out my life.
Every surface tread
with steady steps.
would be even.
I could fit
in a neat, tidy
File them away.
Though I imagine he would
the tight, muddy space
beneath the ground.
I imagine he would
the only sounds I hear,
blows I fear
are the ones that won’t fit in the file cabinet.
Reckless blood and wit intertwined
A twisted, brazen mind.
Is so clearly different
It leaps and soars, so acrobatic
And your thoughts appear to me so hazy and enigmatic
Your mind is simply not pragmatic
Yet your perception knows no bounds.
You have thoughts that come close to insanity
That sometimes flow in the form of profanity.
Is either very high or very low
Up and down, to and fro
There is no in between for you
Some say you are stupidly crazy
The dull ones say that, the ones too lazy
To see beyond the rugged surface.
The subdued and vapid ones
Will never understand the magnetism
Of your sweet, exquisite devilry.
On your face you often wear
A fierce and restless stare
A wan, discontented expression
As though you're always awaiting
Are fluid, swaying fire
And I will never tire
Of watching you burn
I can see you brain boil and churn
As it reels into into areas of madness and chaos.
Is an endless field of dark reverie,
Of fear and vagary.
I know your night terrors
Your savage dreams of death
Screams and bated breath
The grotesque world of horror thats spins itself out
And dribbles into your drawings
All those creatures, skeletons gnashing and clawing...
Are gentle and thoughtful
Yet you are terrified
Of this dark thing that sleeps within you.
Your eyes - they’re stunning
They’re tempestuous, wanton,
Wild, like some fierce animal peering out of a rusted cage
Oh, your eyes
They are something beautiful, but annihilating
Like Autumn crocus flowers, innocently poisonous
Lids splaying delicately like its violet leaves.
You are tall and strong
And your smile
Is the biggest paradox I've ever encountered
You are not
A creature of the commonplace
You are not a slave of the ordinary
You are not a mindless drudge of the mundane
You are free.
Or bewitched, what's the difference
Been dazed and confused for so long it's not true
There were kids
Sitting in the soft night's semicircle
Encased in a haze of smoke
The darkness enfolding them in a cloak
Of all mysterious things nocturnal
Making it all eternal
A superficial feeling of found truth
A white aura of blazing youth
Conquering the darkness with the fiery tips of lit joints
Puffing chimeras and golden illusions
Things left unsaid yet lead not to confusion
The substance and the glowing friends
Seems to fix everything and make ineffable amends
Lends them some heightened receptivity
With some dazzling sensitivity
To the dizzy promises of life
Wanted a woman, never bargained for you
There was blue bottles and red cups
Sloshing full of 21st century ambrosia
Every moment of the night
Is doused in glowing star-light
Different rooms, dark places
Different shadows, similar faces
Lots of people talk and few of them know
There was music softly ebbing and weaving its way to us
Soul of a woman was created below
Gleaming sequined pillows
Curtains ebbing in delicate billows
That no amount of reality could ever harden
In the black garden
Amidst the tangy, acrid scent
Boys and girls came and went
Among the soughs and the vodka and the gleaming stars
We are young; vodka replaces wine, blunts replace cigars
You hurt and abuse tellin' all of your lies
An adagio of whispers travels with a florid vibration
Waves of words, swirls of conversation
High kids trying to touch
What has never been tangible
Run around sweet baby, Lord how they hypnotize
These kids linger on towering stools and lush couches
Leaning back with careless slouches
Or wander back and forth
Breathing dreams like air
Sweet little baby, I don't know where you've been
An elusive rhythm throbs in the humid atmosphere
Fragments of lost words hover on drunken lips
A stirring warmth flows
From bodies spilled together
Snuggled under a blanket of stars
Gonna love you baby, here I come again
Hands take hold of hands
And fingers tightly interlace
Throbbing softly with fluctuating warmth
The room is electric, filled with tiny flowing currents
Try to love you baby, but you push me away
In this wake of boozed up elations
All sorrows are aborted, all conscience is obliterated
Blitzed kisses are exchanged, transitory enchanted moments
Bemused nudges and tender embraces
Arms around shoulders, heads resting drowsily
All of this immediate and forever
Don't know where you're goin', only know just where you've been
And the tipsy, blissfully mindless joy of youth
Gives them bleary yet satisfactory hints of the unreality of reality
Sweet little baby, I want you again
The teens are flickering in and out of consciousness like befuddled fireflies
The sober ones roam the rooms, drifting haphazardly about
Simultaneously enchanted, bewildered, and repelled
By the seemingly inexhaustible variety of drunken fun,
The racy, adventurous mood of the night
Been dazed and confused for so long, it's not true
We are all so young
So young and dipped in the dust of folly
And our laughs contain a hint of melancholy
The magic of nights like these,
When the spell of mortality is broken,
Eludes us all,
Yet we cling to them
Like moths to a flame.
Nights like these dig deep in the stuff of the soul
But there is still much to be learned
Sure... Just write down your secrets.
What a simplistic idea.
You know those things you've done or thought or said that you be terrified if someone ever found out those very things came from you.... pu tthem down on paper. It's just that easy!!!
But the truth is: we all have them.
Ones that will make us feel smaller than we'd like to feel.
Ones that remind us that we are bigger that we think we are.
Ones that in front of other people we might take pride in, but behind closed doors imprison us with shame.
Ones that we're too afraid to claim as our own because of what people might think or say if they knew,
but in our solitude, speak peace to the confusion and restlessness conjured up in our hiding from the sometimes brutaltruth that makes us the men and women we've become today.
But what if I told you you're not alone?
What if I told you that I've found a place where you can be honest with your secrets and no one will judge you, tell you that you're wrong or that you you're some kind of monster because of what you've
Been honest about with others and more importantly....
Let me put your heart at rest by saying to all of you:
You dont have to be afraid anymore.
This is a place to release all of those fears...
To finally put behind you what might have been weighing on your conscience for
Now is your chance to be FREE
There are a precious few
Souls that shine
With hearts wide open and
A moment of peace
An unspoken agreement
To only love
To cause no harm
Hold on to them
And love them back