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Sax
Caroline Shank Feb 2020
Sax
The sound of the tenor notes
culled by the expert plying music,
swiping keys and sweat from
the essential melody of the
saxaphone sends me into
the world of the sensual.

I breathe shallowly.  Sigh in
the tender way of notes
brushed against my skin.

I sit in the smoky club as if
alone in my secret self.
Smoke trails from my mouth

as he makes contact.  
The player sees me and
knows my helplessness
as he swings toward me
trailing the sound of his
sax across my waiting lips.

Caroline Shank
Caroline Shank Mar 2020
Beware the stranger at your door.
The tissue voice of magic,
the tight handshake.

The seduction of your senses,
good words can lie.

Arrive at a place of softness,
the betrayal of surprise.

Stubborn denial, voices
enlarge the deceit.
You are not safe
when softness hides
the stone of treachery.


Caroline Shank
Caroline Shank Dec 2021
I search for
rooms
that are lighted.  
That belong to
mornings.

I have beacons.
I search all the time.

On a
pebbly day.  My feet
run away with
the thought of
tomorrow .

I travel crests
of waves. In storms
I have stones for toes.

I am salvage of an unused
life.  Minutes,
hours, seconds left over

from the lover you
were ...

I run through
cold and
hard
gull screaming thoughts

of city lights and smoky
bars and poetry

unwritten.

Caroline Shank
Caroline Shank Sep 2022
Summer

The stream trickled on,
the frog jumped in to cool off,
the branch creaked with loss

Autumn

autumn golds the leaves,
the cool breeze stirs the summer's
winding song to winter

Winter

Wind wraps around me,
I breathe in the winter air,
the cold ice crack snaps

Spring

Clouds form.  Cold North winds
toll in.  We run toward Spring,
slide.  You warm in me.



Caroline Shank
Caroline Shank Jan 2023
Tonight is soft, the Wisconsin
winter's chill is tame and I am
practicing for queen of today.

I am lit inside.  Determined,
I breathe.  My familiar scorn
is put away. I walk the city's
street remembering, the
calming soft breathing.

Tonight is almost over and i
approach tomorrow in silence.
I walk some more in the

chilly drizzle. So soft the shadows
smile back from the store windows.
There are no don't walk signals.

The neon sign in Maxwell's flags
me, lures me inside.
I walk on.  I want to reach the
seventh block.  It's a good
number.  I stop at the gate,
a small park.  I pass it by.

My serenity is a soul sculpture.
No longer a passage in some
one's book. I author me.

Thanks to the moments of
shared caring.

I walk on enthrall of the soft
winds that bring me home.

I am returning to MySelf.

Caroline Shank
1.17.2023
Caroline Shank Mar 2020
Your shade, ma, follows me like a
loaded red wagon .  You are heavy
with the fruit of your youth.
What were you like as a young
girl fresh in the breeze of
morning?

Did you love your mother?  I heard
her singing in her French
voice.  She folded into life in
Milwaukee, spread into death.
She covered you like a
cowl.

You don't cover me.  You are not
allowed. I never cry for you
and that is your naked
sorrow.

I saw you once crying for your
mother.   Are you together now?

Shades rolled over on
the window of my
days and nights.  

Go away  Ma.  
Run for cover from my
poem's imagination.

Caroline Shank
Caroline Shank May 2022
It's been a long day.  You
died so soon ago and we notice
your noise is gone, the parakeets and me.
You should comment somehow on
the oddness of things
since your disease.

The paranoia and lies the dementia
played made your dreams seem like
waking and your sleep tore into

you with fantasies and confusion.
You shouldered the  nurses by
telling them you felt fine.  That
lie pushed you to more agitaton.

I never knew you would get well.
I was cursed with a colder reality.  
As I drove to see you in the cocoon
of the nursing home I wondered
would you be crying or well.  

It was the crying I never unfolded.
in your room where we so carefully
braided the colors to your whims.
The colors are the same today.

Now wilted, the bright sun's rays
like the daylight dim but your harsh
yellow teeth spread around my
name and you saw me beaten
and unforgiven

You took me with you to the
Hell of brass urns.  I thought
to ask you why but the look
on your framed face said you
were waiting and your yellow
grin dared me to be quiet.

I saw the years in stark
isolation.  
You in a painted slicker,
I knew you
loved me once and
briefly.   Your journey
was a long one. Mine is

to shower daily your burnt
name across the
yellow ******* of

chared Sorrow

off.

Caroline Shank
May 15, 2022
.
I just found this and printed ot on AP as a journal entry
Don't worry about reading this until there is time

Today is Thursday September 27, 2001

It was a warm night. July in the Midwest has evenings that sieve the  over you like a breath, sometimes too moist, but more often than not a whisper to be wanted. She was never disappointed in the evenings. Except this one. This one was so unexpected. This evening she didn’t feel the breeze or even remember to feel for it as she did so often. She liked the Midwest summers. The cold of winter that sliced through all the down jackets and sweaters were a long way off in July and she always deluded herself for a few months. No, not really.

Every May first she would say to her husband, “Winter’s coming”. He would always give her a hard time about that. Instead of looking at the beginning of summer as a celebration she always felt it was the beginning of the end. She really didn’t like the cold of winter and the only thing she could do through it was count the days until March 1. That was the Big Day for her. It meant the beginning of the end of the worst part of winter. If it snowed again it wouldn’t stay around long and the below zero wind chills wouldn’t probably happen again until next year. But the Midwest, especially Wisconsin was tricky. April and May could still be cold and wet.

There was a trip she and her husband took to Prairie du Chine for his May 10 birthday and it snowed in Milwaukee. What a ****** that was. So May could still be cold.

The exciting springs were when she could get out to tan as early as April. The feel of the warm sun on her skin and the air spinning softly over her body was the best feeling she had ever known and actually still is to this day. Not that on that July night she expected to ever have this day or any other.

Depression is exacerbated by the music of the 50’s and 60’s. Did you know that? If you are a boomer, depressed, and smoke a lot of cigarettes, drink a Lot of coffee, sweet and milky and wonderful that coffee is, and listen to enough Andy William’s, Jerry Vale, Jack Jones over and over I guarantee you will find yourself in pretty sad shape. When you are young yet, full of mistakes, and sure that life hasn’t a future you want, well whoops, trouble.

That’s the kicker. That future thing. You have had twenty odd years of futures that you watched over your whole life. Every year had it’s own future. When you were a kid and the other kids hated you, you could hear some voice, probably Catholic, telling you it would get better when you grew up. What if when you were a teenager and you knew love as ****, and drinking, and Really Bad choices? What did your future hold for you if you thought about it? What if your parents were so debilitated that your future looked like more of the same of that?

So then it’s July, a time of beautiful flowers. I have for many years now, in my fifties as I am at this time, believed that every flower is the face of an Angel, but when I was in my twenties I only subliminally understood this. July is when the lake is blue every day and covered with diamonds. I took a picture a few years ago of this. The blue lake in the background, a slab from the tunnel project in the foreground, they used these slabs all along the lakefront to help with the erosion problem. In front of this piece of concrete was a beautiful yellow flower. It remains one of “her” favorite flowers.

See I am changing pronouns here, which I promised myself I wouldn’t do. This is a story not autobiography, that vehicle often for the pitiful and beginning prose writers.

She is a poet and was even then. She wrote lots and lots and was just beginning to get a few things published in small literary magazines. She decided to go back to school. She really wanted to be able to talk to very bright people and hold her own. She knew she needed education. There was a whole school full of information and she loved the idea of exploring that. She loved the campus and the quest. She wanted that sooo much. But, alas, money wasn’t really available. She’d married young; she’d been very narcissistic all her life and didn’t realize she had to get a good job.

She had her babies. Her babies were the most amazing and wonderful beings. She sang to them every night. They grew up to the sound of her awful off key voice. But they did grow up listening to her.

That was debatable that night in July. She was going to die. You see her future was one of more bad choices and no way out of them. Her history, her personal history was written across her skin in the tan lines of the bikini she was still able to wear in her yard, but only in her yard, as the *** belly with the stretch marks of two close pregnancies were white even after the rest of her was tan.

She was full of rationalizations about “the kids”. At that moment they were “the kids”, but she knew they would be all right. “A million mothers die every day and their kids grew up okay”. Besides, this was about her. She was incapable of distinguishing her pain from anything else. Only the wretched who have traveled that path understand that. Panic was her master. She just didn’t know it was panic. It was many years later when the panic attacks hit that she knew what they were and got some kind of treatment. Oddly the same psychiatrist was able to help her then, with the panic attacks when she was in her fifties, the same psychiatrist that couldn’t help her that Wednesday night in July.

She was at the end of all her bad choices and lost opportunities. School had just begun. She was to take a midterm in her Anthropology 101 class the next morning. That didn’t matter. She knew she was going to get an A anyway. She knew the material inside and out. She loved this stuff so much she’d spent a long time, years, reading about this. Getting accepted into college was not easy. She graduated in the lower 10% of her graduating class from high school in 1965. More bad choices, but she really hated studying, hated everything about school except getting done with it. She had to graduate or her mother would be so humiliated, she would be humiliated too because in 1965 you had to have a high school diploma to get a job. She just wanted out of school then. She wanted to work in an office. The thought of further education was not possible. Not for her. Not for any of her friends although she dated mostly Notre Dame students, that was not for her grades. They liked her fun side shall we say. Some of them found her bright. Ace, whose name was Gary Heck, remains unforgettable as a force for her self-esteem. He really believed she was smart.

Namaste………………..


L
ake Michigan with diamonds and yellow flower










Thursday September 27, 2001 8:00 pm


There was one time she remembers with amazement and still a little humor. She was used to blind dates with Notre Dame students. She didn’t mind them. Her girlfriend ^^^ would usually fix her up with someone her boyfriend ^^^^^ knew. One of the fun things they did on Sunday afternoon’s was to go to the cemeteries around ND and look, (yea, right) for Knute Rockne’s grave. But she thought the fall afternoon’s in the quiet, cement-aged, leaf strewn place was pleasant and it was cheap. Notre Dame students had No Money, Ever. So one time she was fixed up with this freshman.

Whatever his name was is gone now but he was kind of cute. The car was packed. For once she wasn’t driving. Who was? Hell, who remembers? This guy was young, about a year older that she was. The other guys had beer of course and plied her with it. It was a riot to get her drunk. It was an ambition several of the males she knew aspired to. Oh well, she drank and got a lot of attention. This guy was really kind of shy. She knew she could bring out the fun side of him. She’d seen shy guys before and she had a knack with them. It was like making honey. She settled her personality over them and just squeezed. (She’d learned a lot since her youth in that rotten New York suburb) and found out how to be liked. Not *** exactly, but funny drunk kind of cuteness.

Well, this poor guy never did call her again. It seemed she overwhelmed him although he did seem to find her fun. Who was it that fixed her up with him? Hell, it was so long ago, and there were so many. But this was kind of mean. It seems this guy had just gotten out of a Catholic seminary and had never had a date before. She had no idea he was a social ******, but everyone else did and it was unanimous that the perfect person for this guy to break open his little piece of innocence was her. Oh boy. When she found this out she was flattered I think. ****, she would have been flattered by any attention that was evenly remotely fond. These people basically liked her and that was new and marvelous in her life.

And so it went on for a couple of years until she met * and found God at the same time and by twenty years and nine months old she was married. She was secure. She could stop working and be a vegetable. Which of course happened for a while. Poor *, he was sort of socked between the walls of his cells with her neurosis. But it seems he loved her. He still does for some reason.

This July night in question. July 10, 1974, she knew that there was no way to stop. No way in Hell she was ever going to not need attention. She was young, she was not pretty, but had nice legs and skirts were very short at the time. Very Short.

There was the time when she was eighteen and she and her friend @@@@@ were chaperoning dances for the local YMCA where @@@@@ worked. It was co-chaperoned by the local cops. There were a couple in particular who liked her a lot. One she was really nuts about. He drove a motorcycle at work and was pretty cool. But there was one who kept telling her he only came to the dances to watch her legs. He thought she had the most amazingly beautiful legs he had ever seen. So did a lot of people. She wasn’t pretty, but to some guys that wasn’t IT. She had little chest to appeal, her face was odd and quirky looking, her brown ratted hair was OK but she did have those dancer legs. And she loved to dance. When the skirts went up thigh high she was really in trouble. It was several years before she realized how much trouble.

So she left work that night, a filled thermos bottle of water, and a new prescription for Fiorinol in her purse and headed for the lake. She figured she wanted her last view of this life to be over the water.

Packed into the wooded hillside with her blanket she was like the last cigarette in the pack. She was utterly disposable and probably easily overlooked. She counted on that. She knew she needed time.

All those pills, then a last cigarette and then her “Babies” came into her head. Not “the kids” but her “babies”. Her sweet wonderful barely older than toddlers babies. NO. So she ran.

Namaste……………




May 2, 2006

I haven’t written in here in two years it seems. Or should I say “she” hasn’t written in here.

She was watching Oprah today and Terri Hatcher was on talking about her abuse and the results of that treatment. It is de rigueur these days to talk about our abuse and recovery. It occurred to her that “abuse” was the only thing she ever knew as acceptance. She craved abuse. The terrible part was when no one was abusing her. Then she knew she was trash, something to be left at the curb and picked up by the trucks with the rest of the garbage. She laid out herself in the paths of all the trashmen she could find, one after another.

It is no longer relevant what her mother taught her or didn’t teach her. She knew from her mother’s knee (or as Dr. Robin would put it her mother’s womb) that to be wanted, to be **** was the be all and end all of everything, even when her mother was calling her a *****, over and over again, it was still all I knew, all I understood. Her mother was crazy and out of control but still crying for her lost ****** self. Always to her death, drugged and calling for more and her mother.

She remembers telling her shrink of maybe 21 years that she was after all only trash. It seemed he really didn’t understand. That was a ****** only many years later, that part about him not understanding. He was a good man. He just wanted her to change her behaviour and didn’t feel like any kind of information about why she was the way she was, was at all relevant. So many lost hours, free, but essentially lost.

He had asked her when she was in Intensive Care that July afternoon after she had regained consciousness why she hadn’t called him. Frankly it never occurred to her. She just figured, she told him, that he would tell her to take 5 mgs of ****** and go back to work. He’d done that only the Sunday before the Wednesday that was to be the last day of her life. Crying she left work with her thermos and was off to the beach, perhaps to finally fertilize the ground beneath her blanket.

She had many years with this shrink. Years when just the knowledge that he was still setting her up with the next appointment that she clung to like a cat in heat clings to carpet and pulls herself along. He was my carpet and everyday I would get up and pull myself to my next appointment. Once a month. We would have pretzels from Auntie Anne’s in the mall, which I would bring along with coffee and literally shoot the **** for 45 minutes. He knew she wasn’t getting any help but he never left her. He never left her.

She was thinking today during the Oprah show that so many girls feel bad about themselves when they are abused. Not me. I felt bad about myself when the abuse stopped. It was through the abuse she found that “validation” that seemed to be the raison d’etre for her life.
She sought it, begged for it, cried for it, and panicked when it didn’t happen. When no one wanted to knead her and ply her and pull her to their own greedy selves that she felt like a failure. No, abuse was what she craved. Abuse was love, no abuse left her with only garbage to look at in the mirror.

She came running back to the one who trusted her and the two babies who were her only badges of anything resembling an attempt to do something that actually mattered. Her husband and children saved her as she crashed her car in her drug induced coma.

She got over it so slowly. She had two friends who walked her through the volumes of her narcissism and out the other end. She understands so much now. She understands, at last why *** is so awful and the trust is when the *** is not an issue. *** is the disease. *** is the end of life. It was coming back to trust that saved her that night. Running as fast as she could to the only person she knew who loved her and would save her.

Still does. Thank God!

1
Caroline Shank Jun 2024
UIt's not like Dinner where you
Tell the maitre d to give you
a different slice of prime

rib.

You can't slip the pastry
into your pocket this time.

Called out for your writings,
for the chains of thought

You were
heed less in your

Society

Today's the day for
the bells

to ring. The justice.

Please EXCUSE me

I Abhor the convenient
L

To learn is to
scrape the jug.

of

The Grains

Of conversation

s. No. I cannot
marry you

Like this.






Caroline Shank
06.20.20.2
Caroline Shank May 2020
Is there shelter from this storm?
The neurons rage at the
light that seeps through the
cracks, waiting for the prayer
to form from forgotten words.

The days are short, no more
gaps form between the two
waves of memory.  Gone
on some mornings is the
memory of the time before
the syllables of experience
faded into time.

There are many ways to make
a life over when the buoys
and markers are lost.

I will find you inside
your days and I will hone
your experience into
days you will not miss
and I will cry alone.

Caroline Shank
Caroline Shank Jan 2023
She Wrote Again

She wrote again. I found her
letters, looking for the storm
of him.  The wind knocked
red hair, the black boots left
outside the door.  I read that

he left on a Sunday, walked
away without his trademark
whistle trailing Oh Shenandoah
behind him.  

The dim days followed.  She
asked everyone, where he was,
his blue eyes a DNA call away
from her.  There was no
response.  

She had no speech left and
the nurses were glad to be
rid of the man in the picture
on her broken table, broken
between the war years and
liberation.

She glanced backwards in
her dementia.  The rough
hewn Sundays, the lost
afternoons.  Her disappearances
not the less tiresome, were
gone.

She wrote letters over the same
paper, shop worn stationery,
over and over.

When she stopped it was on a
sunny afternoon.  No one knew
she left for the day before his
kiss became goodbye, with a
smile of relief.  

Caroline Shank
1.11.2023
Caroline Shank Aug 2024
Walk the Gulf side
Steals your love and back

The ubitiquos lure of sand dollar,

the caw of the gulls piaint
Statements.

We will make, love.  The vow
is Absolute.

Clouds form a canopy.

Tomorrow's walk will
be another step in
the sea call to us,

love crossed,
We bow

to our loves
own

Destination


Caroline Shank
8.1.2024
Caroline Shank Feb 2024
My husband would have
told you I was

loud.

He
died then and through my
silence

I mourn the sounds of
his breathing.

I listened to the clouds
whispering
The trees swimming
sounds through my

tears

I scream in my brains
lobular desertion of

reality.

The end of my thoughts...

of

yesterday..

There is no reason
to explain the

desertion

of a life unaware,

of my silence that

now screams for the
end of my tears.

Caroline Shank
Caroline Shank Sep 2022
Write what I know?  I am pocked with
chunks of broken moments.
Bits fall to the ground, trip me.
The terrain of my youth is a
moonscape.  I know what I know in
the craters of this place.

Born on the darkside and thirsty, I was
cold.  I found the sun later when I
was tumbled out the door of my
Mother’s leaking house.  Her screams
had become tentacles of maniacal
music.  Or do not call it music for
if you heard it you would not dance.

I am old now.  The view from my landing
is filled with sunlight and children,
“There are children in the leaves,
laughing excitedly”.   (Eliot)
I am paused in this imagination on
occasion.

When she is quiet,
I sweep her under the porch
where she lies drunk and unlaughing.
I do not let her out.  Yet she
steers me.  Her corpse loud
in her ***** nightdress.  

The terrain of my old age is pitted
with the debris of this haunting.  She
unsings me, makes me lie in
craters from which I climb up
daily only to tumble back down,
to have to begin again
from the bottom each new **** day.

But I sing as I crawl. And
she does not like the sound of that

Caroline Shank
Caroline Shank Dec 2019
Write what I know?  I am pocked with
chunks of broken moments.
Bits fall to the ground, trip me.
The terrain of my youth is a
moonscape.  I know what I know in
the craters of this place.

Born on the darkside and thirsty I was
cold.  I found the sun later when I
was tumbled out the door of my
Mother’s leaking house.  Her screams
had become tentacles of maniacal
music.  Or do not call it music for
if you had heard it you would not dance.

I am old now.  The view from my landing
is filled with sunlight and children,
“There are children in the leaves,
laughing excitedly”.  
I am rescued from this debris on
occasion.

When she is quiet,
I sweep her under the porch
where she lies drunk and unlaughing.
I do not let her out.  Yet she
steers me.  Her corpse loud
in her ***** nightdress.  

The terrain of my old age is pitted
with the debris of this haunting.  She
unsings me, makes me lie in
craters from which I climb up
daily only to tumble back down,
to have to begin again
from the bottom each new **** day.

But I sing as I crawl. And
she does not like the sound of that.
Write what I know?  I am pocked with
chunks of broken moments.
Bits fall to the ground, trip me.
The terrain of my youth is a
moonscape.  I know what I know in
the craters of this place.

Born on the darkside and thirsty, I was
cold.  I found the sun later when I
was tumbled out the door of my
Mother’s leaking house.  Her screams
had become tentacles of maniacal
music.  Or do not call it music for
if you heard it you would not dance.

I am old now.  The view from my landing
is filled with sunlight and children,
“There are children in the leaves,
laughing excitedly”.   (Eliot)
I am paused in this imagination on
occasion.

When she is quiet,
I sweep her under the porch
where she lies drunk and unlaughing.
I do not let her out.  Yet she
steers me.  Her corpse loud
in her ***** nightdress.  

The terrain of my old age is pitted
with the debris of this haunting.  She
unsings me, makes me lie in
craters from which I climb up
daily only to tumble back down,
to have to begin again
from the bottom each new **** day.

But I sing as I crawl. And
she does not like the sound of that

Caroline Shank
Caroline Shank Nov 2019
Haiku.    Snow

Winter comes early
The leaves are not yet raked in
The snow covers all.
Caroline Shank Jan 2020
It's snowing in flat fat globs.  

The wet from which it is born 

laughs at me.  It knows I

feel alone in my misery of 

winter. 


The cold turns my fingertips

as white as ice.  I must have

injured them sometime.

I stay in the house mostly


and I dream of big spots of 

sun like Florida summers

en *****.


I wait for Wisconsin

to spill it's tulips and

poppies.  I breathe slowly

the gray days of January.


I sit cross-legged alone 

in the icy winter, wake

when warm air permits. 



Caroline Shank
Caroline Shank Feb 2022
Soldier


He was perfect at loving me.
He knew the sweet spot.

He walked with me and
He talked with me.

That's a song.  I forget the rest
But i didn't forget him.

He appeared
like A Grace.

He took

A longtime
going away. .  

He left in the
rain.  

I am invisible now,
by your side.

Tomorrow i will write him a letter
and i will Trust.

Tomorrow i will do a lot of things.
Alone i watch him flailing in
the wheat's crease where it

spreads itself on the road.

Love is a sorrow to my
soul.   He is missed
by the flowers we planted.
His memory blossoms,
The pain of this soldier's
retreat opens every night.

Alone

I wear his medals and

rub the shine

of the

gun.



Caroline Shank
Caroline Shank Jan 2020
Some things are tough.

Some roads are rough.

Some horses are rode

hard and some are

put down wet.


Some lives succeed.

Some lives don't.

Some people strive.

Some people won't.


Some people give up.

Some people slow down.

Some people love.

Some people don't.


Some say the sky is blue.

Some see the colored hue.

I saw Heaven beyond the pale.

clouds, and I saw you.


I saw you in Paradise.

I saw in each other's 

eyes love

in your rainbowed arms. 



Caroline Shank
Are there too many cliches?
Caroline Shank Jul 2024
Sometimes

Sometimes I just sit. Wading
thru thoughts.  The cells
of my future
capture
the nonloves of mythical
proportion

I have clocks all over
the walls.  We tic
together.
White sheet rock,
flat line.  Everyone’s
story is coded in the
cells.

The walls are
dry. I see names
Scri+++ names.
Thought comes and
GOs.

Tomorrow will slide over
me in an ecstasy of

feeding.

I will sit and count the
days until my sorry

***

goes….. .



Caroline Shank
7.17.2024
Caroline Shank May 2021
Sometimes I see you dancing.
Your arms are strong and hold
me up.  I would have
fallen without you, tumbled down
like a doll flung away.

Sometimes I see your strong
walk. You were my bear in the
warm summer of my 27th year.

You are still playing
music in my old age.

Sometimes I see you
dancing
in the night,
in the rain.

Our
song,

floats away

like smoke

in the air that

I breathe.




Caroline Shank
Caroline Shank Sep 2024
Somewhere I Started to Cry.

The bus pulled out.

He didn't notice.
There were chunks of
concrete slabs big
enough to hurl.

The last one lands
away from me. I shout!

Tomorrow! The War will end
Tomorrow.
Hold my hands, my mother

is dying.

The phone is ringing out
the news that I am now
Bob Barker's next
contestant.

I'm not given a paddle
or number. My shirt

Is Unwritten.

You came to save me from
the
Hell

Of undone promises.  

Evocation of a snarly
life

at your feet my deah.



Caroline Shank
9.10.2024
Caroline Shank Sep 2023
Your song, like fire, burned into
the daylight skies over Mexico.

The cactus words stripped my hands.
These hands which held the
Universe above you for a long
Steel barrel you called Daylight.

I heard you when you said you
loved me, saw you ride away.
The cactus leaked and I watched
Your name form on the sand.
You turned and mixed me with

Jose Cuervo until I was footed
and could say goodbye.
The skies, painted by numbers,
wolfed down the landscape

In which I have been

erased.



Caroline Shank
9.20.23
Caroline Shank Sep 2022
I have never walked here, like
this, before now.  Moist
footsteps follow me as dreams
follow after the
pain when the rains came
finally into the desert.

I have never knelt here like
this before now, by the sand’s
edge where grass grows
like green singing in a scenery
by Dali, perhaps.
This place with its
small hands combs the bodices
of trees. You run
fingers through the desiccated
leaves of my soul, water me.

I have never hiked into the
territory of your country
like this.  Day runs
down my face, drips off
soft moss which is your voice.

But I am here now.  I unfold
this poem of yours as the wind
blows which, when you open your
arms, releases the simple sounds
heard in the branches and leaves
of a friendship whose fertile
landscape grows its own singular,
philodendronous song.


5.1996
Caroline Shank Dec 2020
Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my star to keep.


I see from out my window all
the patterns in the sky merge
for one moment to the sound
of Angels trumpets.

Tonight is the time for kneeling
and watching as the sky turns
dark blue and gives off a light
only once at the stroke of
midnight.  A Star reserved
for you, a motion singular
and unmoving.  And with
a closed eye the Universe
sings.

Caroline Shank
Caroline Shank Mar 2024
To whom shall I say
I love you
If not to you?

To my bent head
I close my mind
to paths windings,

And the sun’s bright
light steals the dark
secret of you.

To the nights signature
you lie with me.
I wrap my dreams
as hidden

in the shelf of my
breast.

Not to know this
is my gift to you.

The place upon, where
you
rest is the worn
In me the tragic

song.


Caroline Shank
03.17.2024
Caroline Shank Jun 2022
Song

I am a metaphor for your loneliness.
Rigged out in sunshine and crowned
with blue skies I am your looked for
ticket to the cotillion.  You never
saw me before the imprimatur
of poetry.

I want to tell you the stories of
my life.  The daring deeds. The
mistakes that you hear in my
voice as a prelude to love.

I am the curlique of madness
that tempts you from the tropic
of yesterday. We were young
and wanton in blue jeans and
rolled hems.  I wore a shirt
emblazoned with your name.

You were perfection in gray
pants and pink shirts.  It was
the 50s and the air sang to us
carrying the music that we
knew as love songs.

We were young then unknown
to each other. Our old souls
were songs as yet unwritten.
Do I confuse you with my
symbols of forgotten requests?

Don't try on my song.   I never
wanted you to.  I am here in
the vocabulary of mistakes.
We cannot find the meaning
In the experience we each had.

Don't look for me to sign.
I am alone in my recent grief.
Don't wait for a sign that
has lost its true North.

You send me flowers which
do not arrive, candy which i
cannot eat.

Tomorrow dies,

as unwritten

song.


Caroline Shank
June 14, 2022
Caroline Shank Apr 2022
I dont want us to evaporate like the
last forlorn drops in the jar. The stuff
you can't reach.  It's when you throw
away the lingering remains of a
once future promise you shake the
meanings off slick with the wetness of tomorrow.

"Some may say I'm a dreamer but
I'm not the only one." You were
promise and gone before I drank
the last dark remains of my beer.
I sang the songs of unbelieving
in the moment before you left me
in the summer's late night rains.

We were spoken of by gods
and goddesses.  The language
was curious and fragrant. Full
and lyrical.  Did you lose their
song?  It was a fabulous song.
I believed in the tune we wrote
together. Tomorrow will fill our
throats with the flattened notes of
a once flying bird.


Caroline Shank
April 28, 2022
Caroline Shank Mar 2022
Soon I will die or be dead or
seemingly so.  I will not write
this document nor will I ever
be there for Spring has never

arrived.

You, who spent some time under
the tree with me will be gone,
Cynara.

My thin pages swirl from an open
book   I will not care. You, whom
I have never kissed will close the
hamper.  The lake will never be
the color of afternoons
pressed against us

This beach where once we sought
friends colors will bleach this poem

of ever even you.


Caroline Shank
3.3
The numbers of sin’z
scales written ,
of
her inequities is
like bells on
Christmas
morning.

Never silent She (I)

is
capable
of great

misunderstandings.

Tomorrow's multiplying
the rotations
around the

streetlamp.
Kids we were singing
And cLapping

Every time today is
crumpled.

Lights on the ground.

Not forever (me)
Again.

Sing a song of
Six
pence

inevitably.

And she died of
bleach.
Scrubbing Hands burn.

He left on a
weekday.

Today
when I was
Young.

Tomorrow and tomorrow
and tomorrow

was a play

after all.



Caroline Shank
2.18.2025
Caroline Shank Mar 2020
We dug with bare hands
each to the other.  Sifting
minutes into memory,
language into clover.

We spread our hands
gave life a chance and
the Universe said Yes.

We haven't changed a
minute.  We share the
telepathy of souls,
the candles of passion.

Tomorrows infinite,
reaching into each
other,

roots entwined.


Caroline Shank
Caroline Shank Jul 2022
I am a slave to the sounds of
poetry. The rhymes of lovers
pledges, the colors of tanned
songs sing to my imagination.  

Poems drape over me like
dresses on women.  I see
colors and patterns reach
with tender fingers. Vowels
touch and with moist
lips, rhyme.

But there are no poems
here in Gilead,
no epic washing away of lines
on the waves of the

final

flood.
Caroline Shank Aug 2023
Sounds In Silence

Tomorrow comes like a slap
on my cheek.  It waits in the
drains of today like a cat, reaches
for my footstep. Trips me up.

Yesterday slithered into the
cesspool of memory.  I am
a flag in your stand of
cardboard in the window
in Chicago, at the corner
of Rush and State.

Today I set my feet to
find the last place where
the countless clocks struck.

There is no sound in the
Universe today.  All the bells
are open sockets without time.
I am looking for the trigger.

The last walnut cracked under
your weight without warning
and I stand here again

alone.

Caroline Shank
08.27.2023
Caroline Shank Jun 2022
Southern Days


I almost called you the other day
to remind you I have a birthday
soon and yours is near too.   I
knew you'd be busy and I put
aside my knitting to think about you.

Last year was the trip to Savannah.
I showed you pictures.  Jim died
before we could go back.  I wanted
to include you in my reminiscences.

Tomorrow it is supposed to rain.
I don't do anything on rainy days.
I sit by the window with my tea.
Remember I told you about my
cat. She stays close when she
senses I am looking for you.

I know Jim said you would come
when the sky was gray and I was
lost.  He thought I was lost a lot.
He would ask and there was
never a reply.  He was not waiting
to hear me.

He didn't know that the days of
a fine drizzle were my favorite
days. I watch to see if you are
walking toward me. Your tan, hands

Beautify.. My life with your strong
fingers. Your red hair ubiquity
of the love you left me when
I said no to you Un covered
you said goodbye and then
I died.

The cat knows and she kneads
my shirt.  I stroke her and
call your southern name out
Loud to the mirror of remembering.



Caroline Shank
June 19, 2022


Caroline Shank
Caroline Shank Dec 2019
clouds form  cold north winds
roll in  we run toward spring
slide  you warm in me
Caroline Shank Feb 2021
The first inspiration of Spring.
Sunshine patterns the snow
and it is almost March.  The
bird's song is returning and
I am glad to see the
days ignite the flowers under
the garden

paths.

Remove the cold
chill of snow.
The Winter winds blow
for only a while.  I am ready
to be toasted by jonquils
and tulips which reach me
under the tattered cover
of darkness.  The cold
nights bear witness to my
vigil and I wait for

you.

Be mine and I will be the
best of warm on your
red arms.  Dance me to the
heart of Summer.  
We will be the songs of
Midnight

together.

Take me into Summer like
two voices singing.
One note at

last.


Caroline Shank
Caroline Shank Mar 2020
That say if you stand at Michigan and State
in Chicago long enough you will
meet someone you know.
My mother always said that.

Will I meet you there?  Will you
see the eager young woman you
once knew?  You know, the brunette,
thin, full of your blue eyes looking?

I will stand there for all the years
I have left.  I will shield myself
from disappointment, having forty
five years of practice, I wait
like Penelope.  You have only
to sail your ship to my side.

You are a voyage I can't
complete alone.  Raise your
red sails.  I stand on this
corner to save the life I
once threw away.  


Caroline Shank
Caroline Shank Feb 2023
How many times have I said
I love you?  Those words to
express that for which words
expire on uttering.  My hands
alone clasp the urgency of
this expression.

I reach for you.  Touch is
explicit.  Your heart responds,
and I am your song.  You
who never sang Sing now.

The feel of love is a reach to
the stage your heart has hidden

in.

I am tactile over my self.

You no longer hear me  
as you have stepped away.
The hours have turned to
days, into years.  More
than 50.

Yet I move. One woman.
hasn't the  power to reach
for your booked and ragged
Goodbye.  

But I will go on because
something turns me that
way.  Like a spiral whose
Need is to turn toward
the sun.  

You illumine my life with
the memory that once you
touched me,
spelling the future
I declined so many
times.

I cannot walk away.  This
strophe will not
stop,

the message is in my

stride, without
you now
I am chorus

to the

play.

Antistrophe
for the gods

amusement.


Caroline Shank
2.12.2023

.
Caroline Shank Dec 2019
The stream trickled on
the frog jumped in to cool off
the branch creaked with loss

Caroline Shank
Caroline Shank Jun 2024
Is it too late to watch the
To see the
cracked burns
of the elderly

the disappointed vocals
of the women in
petticoats


It's a game, Eric
The stringy sounds of
Yesterday. A calliope
Of Summer's by the beacň.

Hold my hand Mr soldier
if you can, take the whisper
of those who read the lips of
those who, like me,
slide it down your pants

To Hell


Caroline Shank
06.20.2024
Caroline Shank Aug 2024
It's a quarter after six, on an August
evening of my 76th year.   I drink
a sherry.   Here,  my feet
are free of the socks I insist on
wearing,  I am smoking.

The entertainment
for tonight is planning tomorrow.

Tomorrow is the last mention of
Summer.

You took me into custody, left
my life's belongings behind.
Sans identification,  sans valuables,
sans feeling.

Now there is only the zeitgeist of
this age.   The long lobes of wise men
and the sagging ******* of yesterday.
I write in cursive so you will have
to talk to me.  

I am the last syllable of my family.
The seventies remain as a bastion
of understanding.  Do not blame

me for remembering you.

I have forgotten many things but not the warm Summer night.   It creeps over me like your

hand.


Caroline Shank
8.15.2022
I'm not sure if I posted this before
Caroline Shank Aug 2022
Summer Night

It's a quarter after six, on an August
evening of my 76th year.   I drink
a sherry.   Here,  my feet
are free of the socks I insist on
wearing,  I am smoking.

The entertainment
for tonight is planning tomorrow.

Tomorrow is the last mention of
Summer.

You took me into custody, left
my life's belongings behind.
Sans identification,  sans valuables,
sans feeling.

Now there is only the zeitgeist of
this age.   The long lobes of wise men
and the sagging ******* of yesterday.
I write in cursive so you will have
to talk to me.  

I am the last syllable of my family.
The seventies remain as a bastion
of understanding.  Do not blame

me for remembering you.

I have forgotten many things but not the warm Summer night.   It creeps over me like your

hand.


Caroline Shank
8.15.2022
Caroline Shank Feb 2020
Do people take car rides
anymore?  Is the cost too
high?

We would spend Sunday's
in the car exploring the
streets and lanes, farms
and small lakes or streams
around northern Indiana.

The weather was always
a wash of sunlight on barns,
small grassy paths, cows
and chickens lowing and
crowing.  

We would stop for a minute,
kiss as if we belonged to the
shade from the trees and
chatter of the singular little
brooks outside the car.

It was always gentle on
Sunday.  The car seemed
to know where to go. I
would slide across the front
seat and with my head on
his shoulder sigh, forgetting
the hundred pages of
Shakespeare that waited
patiently to keep me up

late into the night, the verbs
to conjugate for Monday.
They could wait. I remember
I loved to inhale the music
of the spring.  

A symphony
played as we rolled down
the windows of our pleasure.

Caroline Shank
Caroline Shank Sep 2022
Sunlover


I lay out there nearly naked.
You are warmth and touch and
kiss.  My pores open, yield
juices that color me the shades
of heat; the browns of new-
chewed leather.  Your breath
rubs me.  Gentle undulations
thrill my almost open and ever
waiting body.

But you cannot reach me where
it counts.  Oh, would I give myself
naked, your lover, exposed.  I
would be unafraid.  As it is I
look in the glass at your outline,
rub the places for you, reaching
for the juices you should
lick but don’t.


Caroline Shank
Caroline Shank Jun 2020
Sunshine on bare ground.  Acorns
fall off live oaks.  The shade
creeps where last year flowers
grew.  The planet is off its axis
and I am alone.

No language leaves splats where
before the sunlight shone in a
poem of great beauty.
Tears now nurture time's
becoming.

Trust the only thing that has been
ever true.  Goodbye has many
leaves.   It yields stones among
the twigs, fruit that is puny
and wee.


Caroline Shank
Caroline Shank Jul 2024
The syllables of conversation
scatter like Shore stones.
The Gulf prefigures you
as a dream prefigures the

child.

Salt water runs through our
toes as we walk. There are
birds and wind like kisses
lick the sides of yesterday

when the screams of love

reached

Heaven.


Caroline Shank
7.6.2024
Caroline Shank Oct 2021
Have I told you about
the Summer of 74, my
steamy discontent?
The suicide that fell
from the dusk of your
goodbye?

There I was, crumbling,
like someone crying
in the empty midnight.
Erased of sound, i
waited, with a sorry
silent cry.

I forget my next thought,
these aged dry days
but never those early
yellow evenings,

Moments float like a
remembered kiss into
a filled mouth.
We breathed
into each other, wanting
always promising.
I keep them in the
Chinese box. Your
souvenir of an
abandoned July.

The soft song lasting
in amber grained wood.  

Your words there
on my kissed lips.

The perennial intimacy
in the upstairs room you
slept in.

Now the warm night's tango
slides like lotion down
my tanned thighs.

This dance is forever.


Caroline Shank
Caroline Shank Aug 2020
There you go again
scaling the walls of
my scarred and forked
emotions.  I cover the
limbs which you have
not as yet noticed.

I hear you chanting.
I shiver as you dance
around the soft underbelly
of yesterday.

If I could tell you that
which I know to be
true would you stop
your blue colored cry
to be love touched?

Could we but begin the
music again?  I don't know
what the years of our separation will bring, I only know
that we are soft
sound on skin.

Tango me esta noche.


Caroline Shank
Caroline Shank Oct 2021
Have I told you about
the Summer of 74, my
steamy discontent?

There I was, waiting,
like someone waiting.
An empty dance card.
So to speak.

I forget my next thought,
but never those yellow
evenings,

Moments float into a
filled mouth we breathe
into each other, wanting
always waiting.
I keep them in the Chinese box.
Your souvenir of an abandoned
July.

The sweet soft

song lasting in amber grained
wood.  

Your words on my kissed lips.

The perennial intimacy
in the upstairs room you
slept in.

Now the warm night's tango
slides like lotion down
my tanned thighs.

This dance is always,
forever.

Caroline Shank
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