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Robert C Howard Oct 2013
In the year I discovered baseball
I stumbled on my brother's marbles.
I begged Jim out of a few and he
showed me how to make my thumb a trigger.

Soon I was checking out at Woolworths
with my pockets a couple of quarters lighter
but otherwise enriched by
several "purey's", a pair of "cat's eyes",
a largish agate as black as anthracite
and a pull string carry sack.

At home I lined them up in rows
admiring their reflections
on the glass top table.
I held my favorite cat's eye" to the light
(The diadem of my molded treasure trove)
However  did that orange swirl get inside?

Whistling through the playground
I joined a group of older kids
haunched around a circle
etched in the summer dust
with marbles clustered in the center.

Not to be left out I said,
"I've got marbles."
Before I had a chance to question why,
My orange diadem was in the center

Then WHACK, another marble sent it
flying out beyond the rim
and the shooter stuffed it in his sack.

I yelled,"Hey, that's my marble"
"Not no more, kid, the game is 'keeps'".
"What's 'keeps' I asked?"
"It means you lose"
and everyone laughed but me.

I scooped up the balance of my treasury
and left the circle quick -
(I dared not show my ***** tears).

So I left the cruelty of that dusty circle
sadder but just a little wiser
and never played for keeps again!

Well, not in marbles anyway.

October, 2013
Robert C Howard Sep 2013
Snowfall gently covered Belleville
in a blanket of softest down –
iridescent in the gaslight coronas.

A carriage pulled up at City Park Hall where
the coachman took white-gloved hands
and eased the ladies gently down the steps.
Some paused to pat the horses
in thanksgiving for the lift.

Top - hatted men offered arms to their wives,
escorting them up the snowy stairs
and into the buzzing lobby.

Trays of wine circled the room -
their cargo reduced at every stop.
Each raconteur spoke of celebration for the
Philharmonic had turned a decade old that week.

Programs in hand, people claimed their seats
while musicians on stage
practiced random admixtures of
excerpts that would come to order soon.

Then by the light of gas chandeliers,
Julius Liese raised his arms and brought
Haydn’s symphonic London to Illinois -
a citizen orchestra led by the local lumber czar.

After the final echoes melted into applause
and coats were lifted over shoulders;
the time had come for the waiting carriages -
snow still swirling in the gaslight glow.

The clopping of hooves on cobblestone
drifted into the passengers’ ears
and co-mingled with the echoes of
strings, drums and wind blown music
still singing in their memories
and irradiating their souls,

*January, 2007
This poem depicts an actual concert that was played by the Belleville Philharmonic Orchestra in 1877. The featured work on that program was Haydn's Symphony No. 104 the "London" symphony.  Night at the Philharmonic - 1877 celebrates the orchestra's 10th season.  The first concert was held on January 26, 1867.

Included in Unity Tree - Collected poems
pub. CreateSpace - Amazon.com
Robert C Howard Sep 2013
Ireland's emerald hills
     fade and fall into the sea.
        All my world is blue.
Robert C Howard Sep 2013
How could I ever understand
what it is you choose
to call existence
and how could I ever
tell you what it means to me?

A solitary dot stained
on the canvas
of the expanding universe,
I sense a primal shiver
whenever, 'stranger'
cries out from a page
or whispers in the aether.

*February, 2008
Included in Unity Tree - Collected poems
pub. CreateSpace - Amazon.com
Robert C Howard Sep 2013
The sun boils off its heat-light flares
        over 93,000,000 miles away
                yet as close to us as sunburn -
    drafting the circles of our years.

Our ancestors fill our boots
        with us and our descendants
                (one pair - so many feet)
    stepping out to where we've been.

Along the corridors of time,
        our mind screens play what passed
                before we fledged and fled our nests:
    There is here and then is now.

Whether we tilt the earth to shake out
        wisdom, fame or empathy
                or let chaos light our paths,
    our curiosity is a sturdy ladder raised

to scale the walls of space and time.
        Who cares that life presages death and
                decay calls breath from dust?
    Our earthly sojourns - our souls' domain.

*January, 2007
Robert C Howard Sep 2013
I wonder why - whether I please to or not
and I generally do.

AND IT GIVES ME PAUSE

But shouldn't I act or judge someone
before the moment escapes?
Hey, not so fast my, friend -
I still have some wondering to do!

So my fist freezes
suspended in mid-pound -
leaving the table hungry
for a cosmic collision!

Hold your ears....

SILENCE.

Sorry devil,
the angels made me do it.

*September, 2013
I will dedicate this to Nat.  He woke up with a good poem at 5:17am.  I woke up at 5:46am and Nat had left a few grains of magic dust which I tried to put to some useful purpose.
Robert C Howard Sep 2013
She brushed out landscapes with her words
as deftly as any impressionist master
and speed-trekked us from where we sat
to scenes of transcendent beauty.
Each day I awaited her verbal canvases
with self-indulgent anticipation.

But one day all was all different.
What was this horrific account of
of unspeakable Afghan tragedy -
A wandering woman whose final defeat,
after all she loved had been butchered,
was hope beyond all recovery
dragging her feet through the dust?

I picked up my heart from out of the soil
to ask her, "were you there?"
She was  - with a physician's bag
for Cindy is a doctor
who eschews a suburban clinic
to defy all danger
and be where life would fail
without her healing craft and care.

Dodging bullets, sputum and mortal threats,
Cindy fights life's most essential battles
and so uplifts the standard of our species.

The next day Cindy painted for us
a verdant mountain scene
whose whispering streams and fragrance
exceeded all I'd every witnessed.

I wonder where she is.

*September, 2013
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