I lived a childhood of dirt:
my beginning and end, my friend, my
frontier. Dirt was the reason why
when other kids were always sick, my antibodies
made me a demigoddess, a mud-pie,
sand-cookie, dirt gourmet
crunching lightly-rinsed carrots wiggled
straight from the ground.
It never hurt, never hurt at all.
Warm dirt under my knees and hands,
my nails blackened, feet buried like I
could root myself in the soil -- I was lettuce
with dirt at the center of each lacy skirt.
Horseradish, deep in the ground and bitter,
wanting to become something sweeter, a new
tree or rosebush or better yet a veggie,
like the wild dirt-skinned potatoes
I dug up in the yard.
But tubers don’t have moms who give
dirty looks and shake their heads,
examine your hair and your nails.
She sighs at the dark stain of your
feet, and banishes you
to a white tub, where she scrubs
the back of your neck, muttering
“Dirt, dirt, dirt,” as if
she doesn’t know what you are made of.
So give me the dirt, because I know my onions.
Always digging for gossip, flipping up
the neighborhood skirt, curious whispers
the way cornstalks share their childhood
tales before being tilled down,
becoming rich, dark dirt.
Ashes to ashes, I recognize some
for what they are, just fertilizer
for the imaginations and vibrations of others.
I may be half dirt but don’t
treat me like it, full of grit and
covered in sand from my hands to
my elbows. But what I am won’t
put up with your bullshit. Dirt is
a mother, to feed and flourish, dirt
is a woman much like me, and you
will never know the dirt under my
fingernails the same way I do.
Don't be sad.
Don't be blue.
Today is extra,
It's as if today
Were made for you!
So don't be sad,
And don't be blue.
For a while.
Than a smile.
It turns sad faces
And then you do
Not feel so bad.
And a kindly word
When spoken there
Can catch a
And for the
We get to share
The softest smile.
The sky is bright -
The robins sing.
Just listen to the
Song they bring.
The breeze is crisp
As morning dew,
And oh so extra,
And on days like this,
You just have to smile,
And spread around
A bit of cheer!
And that cheerful lot
Is still in style,
Especially when shared
So, don't be blue,
And don't be sad.
Don't be angry.
Don't be mad.
Share a grand old
And chase those
Pesky frowns away.
Copyright © 2013 By Richard D. Remler
I have been living in this apartment for 9 months
and there is a pink tree that I never noticed until this morning.
it reminds me of your lips
it is hidden behind the leafy green of trees that survive the winter
and it only blossoms in Spring
and I am willing to bet
it only blossomed last night while we were kissing.
that tree is our tree, it grew in 4 hours
sunk its roots into the ground when I finally felt your skin again.
grew branches when your long fingers and chalk dust knuckles wrapped themselves around my ribcage.
buds sprouted when we fell into the lost worlds of our eyes
and flowers bloomed with every kiss.
(4 hours is enough to grow a tree when love is the gardener.)
there is a vibrancy to the world today
somehow even grey skies light up the world
and cigarettes taste sweeter
but the cold is still too much
and inside, my apartment is permeated with your smell
I want to bottle it and save it up
snuff for lonely days
because what keeps me going is not marketable
which I sometimes forget, because sometimes in love
you believe that everyone looks at your love the same way you do
an image of Perfection
memories of perfection linger in this house and it feels like
morning will last forever
but I wish that last night had lasted forever,
grown an orchard of pink trees so tall & thick the blossoms
pressed against the windowpane
so when you had to leave the petals would pick you up and carry you home
a hundred and eighty-five miles is a long way to depend on petals
so I'll thread my veins and stitch them together
(because of your love my blood is strong enough) & when you get home
O-positive 98.6 degrees will soak the petals into the ground
and up will sprout a pink tree
so you can look up and think of me
and missing each other might get a little easier
(if) absence makes the heart grow fonder
the face turned into the haze of the sun
and in the corner of its unseeing eye
i perceived the nature
of these truths
its in that turned face
its empty gaze cast over the far distant landscape
we all seek to sate the thirst
for a sweeter wine
unleash the mystery of self
unlock the untamed within
its smooth plastic features
but some would say that only reveals that it hides all truth
in its pastel faceless features
that we all see ourselfs
in its pastel faceless features
i see all my loneliness
all my shared joys
all loves all sorrows
all my years struggling against the tide
mishap and perchance
its in that man made face
that we perceive the distance we must travel to find ourselfs
the trials we must endure to discover the truth
behind our own eyes
coiled in its depths are the answers we all seek
after all isnt it that simple
we create the troubles we seek to destroy
in its smooth plastic skin
she finds comfort
free from the fear of another's unpredictable madness
she can explore her own illusions
and that too seems sure
we destroy what we live for
on the beaches of my puddles
and in the forests between my lawn
and the kitchens back door
of my childhood home
the ages have worn away the questions
that once kept me staring off hopeful to the dawn
trying to decipher the meanings
from patterns of a gods casual breath
and so here i linger
these lifetimes later
waiting for the answers
that an inhuman human face hides
of the turned face
the barren night filled with wishes
and wishes filled with regrets
its pastel tones
haunt the night
its dark mutterings
play along the road that she bicycles on
whistling a girlhood tune
as she fades into loss
the light in her eyes gone forever
sometimes answers are the last thing we need
My home is like no other.
It is where the air greets you with a warm, welcoming hug
That caresses every bit of skin.
Massive oaks form wide tunnels
With branches that bend and stretch to reach the ground.
Tall cypress trees shoot into the sky,
While the Spanish moss hangs down
In curly gray masses.
Emerald green swamp stretches for miles on end.
The elegant egret balances on water, watching
As the gators sunbathe alongside tiny turtles.
My home is beautiful.
Here is where a fading culture still manages
To quietly thrive.
Grandparents whisper old Cajun phrases,
Not quite French but almost so.
Pronunciations differ from spellings,
Yet the harsh consonants in words
Are still spoken with voices smooth as honey
And sweeter than sugar.
Accents exist where they cannot be heard.
And even with the old French influence,
A southern belle feel lives
In the beautifully historic plantations and sugarcane fields.
My home is cultural.
A type of energy exists in the city.
Artists diligently paint
Delicate magnolias and the symbolic fleur-de-lis.
Soulful jazz music fills the streets
Above the clatter of horse drawn carriages.
Families gather in delight to share the mouthwatering taste
Of freshly boiled crawfish or a pot of steaming gumbo.
The energy expands even further during Mardi Gras parades,
When excited crowds become one inseparable body as they surround each float.
Hands go up and colorful beads rain down.
My home is alive.
It’s true that schools are bad and crime is worse.
Storms ravage our towns,
Fierce floods stealing away all we’ve ever known.
Stealing away entire lives.
But there is a reason we always come back.
Louisiana is Beautiful,
It will always be our home.
She's a delicious mystery.
I am savoring a star,
in a shell of innocence.
The more she grows,
the more she flourishes,
& the sweeter she becomes.
Beauty slowly seeps
pure into her features,
like pouring honey,
filling the reminiscent gaps
of her wild adolescence,
revealing the calm,
face of a "woman".
You, the warm breeze upon my cheek,
I , the cool touch of frost on your skin.
You, the only one I seek;
and I your only sin.
Brighter than the largest star,
Sweeter than the tea I drink,
even close your love seems so far,
only while you’re near can I clearly think
You set my heart on fire,
while in these memories I see,
love is the souls purest desire,
and pain its loyal devotee.
To love you is to kill myself slowly,
till the creatures of death consume me wholly.
I told a man that I did not know much about Pride & Prejudice
mostly because I had none,
he laughed and gave me packet of Earl Grey tea.
I wish all men did this,
all women too. I think there should be more free herbs
that you can add honey or sugar to,
I think that would make everyone’s day better and sweeter.
I didn't need reminding
But you told me all the same
What a laugh
Then fall screaming
I never stopped hoping
I went through those old letters you sent
Sweet perfume filling the midnight air
Toes playing with the surf
As the breeze sweeps my hair
Back from my face
Captured in a photograph
I look so young
So in love
Lines of love bleed onto the paper
Time never heals
It just sends us divertions
To cover the truth
It's hard to believe that young girl is me
I see myself differently
Through eyes that lost the tinted glass
To replace the past where it lays
I move on to tomorrow
Life is sweeter
Life is worth living
Sleep now comes
stripes of dawn sift through the grey departing night,
and in my home, behind those rays of dust,
the freedom i love will soon be claimed by an incessant morning phone.
my heart numbs, longs for the kindness, constant kindness of the night
the music of my pulse already starts to fade,
a weight sets in, invisible grimace of so many trailing thoughts unraveled now,
to bear until the darkness-swilling reach of soul can span again...
would i fly at brightened glass in fractured urges,
bolstered yet adrift in any day's torrential memes?
rage at seeming machination's constant interruption of my highest rarity of living well?
or smile at the herdlike expectation's threat to condescend,
and at least scour remnants of the search undone... throughout the day
insufferable choice of final future origins
the mail arrives,
my forehead stops to wonder at the door,
and at that pang of hunger
running, overrun, the mind churns night in such sweet shadow shifts!
to fall, legless and dissolve into the rising light..
as if a Noh play were being heckled through to end by gaudy ads
to jolt us bridgeless from that subtle world
and wander long on lethe banks of noisome blare.
at times i stroll this nowhere stranding here, pretend, and gaze from hiding,
between a wincing coffee swill
imagined easeful face of signs,
"easy as a gentle summer wind..."
tolerant to all, to blow a "selfless" stillness into me
to wave, and smile --breathe a blanket on acuter truths
with which i meet the day enwrapped.
but quietly i wait... for Time to die:
an hourglass to shatter in the instant of eternity!
and birthe anew each 3 am, create anew--
those kisses, frozen birds of static bliss become
a moulded wax to shape the plenum love as roaming peace,
darkness-rest to calm a pointless labor,
abate the drift into an unwalled corner's only inward exit--
as whisper hands can cradle nescience
such, that grains become a world,
in which invented seas are sweeter than the toxic real
whose bitterness a cherishing of death unveils awry,
or right as winter dust.
i yearn in flight and add to fullness,
find fullness once again
to hover equipoised at love's encrusted center,
where pain gives way to peace i cannot have.
if i would have this other 'purest' love,
and for instance find the meaning once again in wartime's bated negligence--
as in a perfect silence wind can brush the lips with all of life's aroma--
and as a gentle fire smouldered long,
at Spring, ignites within the splay of tender leaves--
so archetypal solitude of being beings manifolded one, i may fulfillment find...
i may go find myself alone now,
or swagger to an ancient drinking song,
or fall into those evening arms,
to find abated also, idols of the heart in each
for what the greater heart amends...
all for yearning better worlds
the pain has sent me reeling prone--
curling at complacent murmurs,
coos of love to torment all without
wherein i wallow, fallen from all heights,
absurd escape, removed---surrounded still
by so-called metalove, abject phantasmal swoon
i grit my teeth against,
as heaving sand would send the shore to sea and drown nostalgia evermore,
as only total extrication serves to quell an everpresence such as this,
ringing in the twilit dew,
or starlight whirl--
or inverse in a heedless curse--
horizons cease in this expanse
surging at the birth and death of things