Every time you hear
A baby laugh -
Every time you see
A firefly -
When new spring
Or you hear the
And Momma's perfume
Fills the room,
When the first flakes
From winter fall -
And when you hear
The robin's call -
When you see
A bright-eyed child
On Christmas morn,
Or a brand-new baby born,
Just like the soft silk
From the corn -
I'm in the teardrops Grandma cries
When praying every night.
And when the eve is over,
You'll feel me in the morning light.
And every ray of sunshine
That warms your Saturday,
I'm there. I'm in their laughter
When I see my sisters play.
When you hear
The thunders roll -
Or hear the sharp song
Of the Oriole,
When April blossoms fill the trees,
Or you hear the song of honey bees,
Just like the gentle
In the cool of the morning dew,
And in the little songs that you
Hum when you're not aware,
Or when new snow falls,
And Grandpa calls
To ask you how you are.
When the rain beats low
And the soft moon glow
Wakes up another star.
I'm in the lazy
The dancing trees -
When the first spring rain
Greets the day,
Or you hear my sisters pray,
And a secret blessing
Falls your way,
When the first leaves
Of Autumn turn,
And Winter nips
Against your door,
And starlight dances
Through the sky,
And bare feet tap
Across the floor,
Or that final breath
Of Autumn sings
A song from oh, so
And Winter sets her
Eyes upon the morning
With a dust of snow,
I'll be watching over you,
As quiet as can be,
With a gentle warmth
Within my heart-
Because you mean
So much to me.
Copyright © 2011 Richard D. Remler
"Perhaps they are not the stars, but rather
openings in Heaven where the love of our lost
ones pours through and shines down
upon us to let us know they are happy."
This poem is not meant to
Offend anyone's faith or
This Is In Memory of Gage King,
My young cousin, who, on Tuesday,
September 2, 2003, at the age of 5,
Was struck and killed while riding
His bicycle by someone speeding
Through a residential section of
Manning, Iowa, USA . .
Justice loves injustice
Doctor loves disease
Foreman loves damages
Livelihood for the sages.
I cry for justice bold ,sold
In deaf ear for years old.
Justice or my lawyer ,unjust
Put off hearing , file in dust.
Democracy or Bureaucracy
Suffocate in ugly Autocracy.
Political labour; unions cruel
Compel the subjects crawl.
Equality , freedom, justice
Sweet for poster slogans
Pay and use roads lead us
Pitiably to the island Mess
Of Fuss , hiss; kiss of miss
As frogs spring over Bliss.
It seems like yesterday
I was young ,
an innocent sweet bride
embarked on my new life with my mate
but time has a way of moving quickly
and catching you unaware of the passing years
I wonder where all the years went
Now I only have
glimpses of how it was back then
and of all my hopes and dreams.
Here it is ... on summers day
It catches me by surprise
How did I get here so fast?
Where did the years go
and where did my youth go?
Met an old friend of mine...
looking tired, all old and grey
she brought the news of our retiring friends
some are dying on hospital beds
some are walking slowly in old folks home
some have gone senile and forgotten their way homes
I hugged my old best friend
told her to rest as much as she could
I am thinking now of how lucky I am
To complain of a few creaking bones of mine
I should feel ashamed!
Most people enter into this new season
of their life unprepared for all the aches and pains
and the loss of strength and ability
to go and do things that they wish they had done but never did!!
I'm not sure how long I will last...
But through another winter.. spring and summer
I wish I could still live to breathe
I am not yet ready for the day
when my life is over on this earth...
yet to begin a new adventure of life...
in the hereafter.....
This morning I left my winter coat hanging on the wall
and got out my Spring jacket,
put that on and left.
The doors of the train burst open
and as I stepped out I looked up
and saw the buildings like cliffs in the sky
hanging over me.
I looked out and saw
the sun fell in triangles and rectangles
on the walls and corners,
and they’re like dry rock pools, rough sand.
And I felt like I was in Mexico or Uruguay in the early 80s.
If there had just been moustachioed men,
girls in white jeans,
someone with a camera that clicks,
the sound of footsteps down an alleyway
as you notice the sky going dark.
Going home the trains packed and I’m right up against the doors.
Through the window and the fog I see the floating lights.
And every time we come to a station I have to curl back my arm
to press the button so people can get out.
And the evening city air comes in.
A southern blend of jasmine and magonolia waft across the grounds an in it is a mixture of tell
Tale knowing a little smoulder lies in her eyes it causes you to anticapate a well spoken word
First it has a different sound than the rest of the country it has a bluesy age to it like it has come
From the delta it took its on sweet time in doing so it is bold just with enough southen sass to
Keep you alert you can’t take for granted that which is explosive and vibrant you don’t live in
The rise and fall of such rich history and not carry a mystery and confidence that is allureing
Tressels and verandas build the tender mood of gentel beckoning that is adorded as seasoned
Fashion spell binding unabashed qaulity is seen in modest means that streams like blue bells that
Have been turned to liquid by charms power and it lays like a long lasy haze that reaches the
Far horizion with a sigh you stop and deeply meditate this creates strong thoughts that go out
From your inner self like a suden strong wind that list and goes where you no not but
refreshment Is left in its wake like an old winding road it not the arriving but the going that is
awsome it delivers Many sights like the night it holds wonders of compassion as an old man you
see in his eyes That knowing that shows care you feel a welcome embracing toucing you for
Dixie makes a Speacial brew it takes long long southern days and paitennce here is derived like
no other place you get that taste of grace speaking slowly it is a trait of the wise that came by
it not by racing To it but by a slow assurance that only grows when you give it time it gives life
a higher qaulity that Is rare in our modern world why would you take a speed boat when you can
go by paddle wheel and go to a place called Natchez eithier real or imagined gentel thoughts
invade and they are a gloroious parade with all sorts of colors and floats that portray geenteel
sentiments some of it is the feeling of loss that great and real times that held such sway are truly
gone with the wind bedeviled by a women she wears a oversized hat that frames her and in many
ways explains her the showing of a well spring of love to be bathed in her voice it trully is the
finding of that memory and grand glory of a true sothern bell walk softly in this spell created
over many treasured moments in southern rays and moonlight kissed by a protective certiny of
woman hood found in no other place cover me God in sothern primose dreams until I walk again
on the great southern soil
you are my seasons.
My world is spinning underneath me
And I've lost my ability to stand
My paint is chipping as my life begins to defeat me
And I could really use a hand
But I'm bad at asking for help
This is a cry for
"I'm in a crisis"
Left to my own devices
and my track record says I tend to make incorrect choices
But the voices of my friends
say "It gets better in the end"
and I know life is a cluster
of lies we tell one another
So happy birthday, Earth
Sorry I missed your call
I've been hiding all winter
sick in spring
hoping to be dead by summer
If my mind were the Wild West
Girl, you'd be my Fort Sumner
Call me Billy
and shoot me before I get away
she told me once that she worshiped the
forest of her body and the garden she had grown (like spring
all over her outsides).
she said she loved skin the same way i loved
marlboro blacks and sweetwater blue (obviously and
she screamed compliments at me in
soft words with rough meaning (like bloody knuckles against
freshly cut grass).
she assured me that it was okay to wake up
in cold sweats with heavy limbs (unmovable and brittle,
buried under sheets).
but i knew better.
didn’t cry at the funeral
didn’t cry when the meteor hit & wiped out my beloved Brontosaurus
didn’t cry when the ash of New York shrouded the half-mast flags
like the bandanas Syrians wrap around their mouths to celebrate
their own blood-spattered independence
didn’t cry when I got my period
when I remembered the first time I kissed a guy
he called me flat chested
told everyone my braces tasted like rotten apples
& I flopped my tongue on his like a slug
the first time he wheezed like asthma
& his skin turned yellow
& we knew it was over
or I remembered Pepper’s death
stiff, black, glaucoma, all out of barks
(I’m all in & right back out again)
didn’t sob when I found out that molestation runs in families
or that cats hate toasters in water
or that I fucking hate jelly but I ordered the special, bit in
& it stained my Keds
or that God hates most women
& so do most men
didn’t cry when I got my first or seventieth rejection letter
didn’t make a sound when I saw the faceless ball of energy float across the kitchen
& try to rip my tongue out when I opened my mouth &
breathed for the first time since August
&what a great imagination she has!
I want to rip my hair out
dance on a bed of nails while five thousand demons
shoot acid charged needles into my spinal cord
nail my hands to hot coals
cut off my eyelids
feed me tubs full of sleeping pills
eat spoonfuls of rainbows in front of me
while telling me I’ll never be an astronaut
licking the purple off their fingers to tacitly remark
you’re too scared of heights!
let go & let God they said
but I also heard
God hates vaginas & crybabies & two’s gotta be bad
wound so tightly in a barrel of armor
every time I tremble I retreat to a seventy foot snow castle
with a prince spoon feeding me rainbows
so high in that balcony
light as our plans & lit with vivid conceptions
that I pulled right out of my head
I walked right into the sidewalk
stubbed my toe & balled my stoic little eyeballs out
for five fucking hours
she’s so *brilliantly theatrical!
racing the streets with my hand on my chest
the persistent why bleating from my histrionic hissy fit lips
hair disheveled & inexplicably soaked in sweat
dots of black tar covering my freckles
I taste snot & beads of total humiliation
a look on my face like I was responsible
for every starving orphan in Darfur
every crushed mantis
every prehistoric fossil
every fried brain cell in his tossed out head
I had written My Brother is Dead in the back of a notebook
that I never read or glanced at again
I stood tall in the wake
pigeons perched on my biceps
she’s as still as deep waters!
today I was a reckless witch who just flew off the handle
who just stood at the barrier in bloody coral platforms
like an oppositional two year old who can’t find Waldo
in a dress on a street in the spring in a city
in a bruised way that makes me look so much like you
in your swimming trunks when you hit your forehead on the edge of the ladder
& it hit me harder than that slab of concrete
a car backfires in the distance & so does every fucking other thing
that person-hating God winks & it feels like rain on a little fucking parade
so this is the climate of never gonna happen & it seems
(it’s hot & muggy & full of gray)
like I’ve been this way forever
she is having the best day ever!
all things want to float.
I followed you home like a baby Russian stray
it rained & we met under the awning
awkward apologies & swollen speech
you look like a dead relative
I can’t smell the mold
you smell like baby powder & manufactured lilac spritz
I’m losing it
your scars are from concrete shooting galleries
mine are from dried out nights on a carpet of a place that seems
too brutal to face so I keep waiting
for next Father’s Day
I’d have more but he finally took the whole drawer away
May snow brings June despondency
let’s put our V’s together & make great peace
great distance from a place
that is white in summer
a farm in Santa Fe
full of feral cats that follow me from place to place
like baby Russian strays
back to your place to watch each other’s tics
& discover how much we know about how to chase
how to pause
how to taste the lingering question in the air
who are you & how did you get here
how to pretend to be asleep
when I should be leaving
tell me about the time
you brought a lover home
& never said a nice thing
I’m digging this
& burying the hatchet in the snow-capped den
that surrounds us like a cage
yield to total elation
& jump on top of me
all dimming things want to grow in the detritus
of someone else’s spring.