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780 · Apr 2021
I Am
Robert meacham Apr 2021
I Am
I am who I think I am
Not all you think you see
I am captain of my soul
Treading in the sea.
612 · Jul 2021
Love Letter
Robert meacham Jul 2021
Dearest Julie,
I hope this letter finds you safe and warm in your bed.
The frigid winds blow against my cheeks as I lay in this bunker
I look to the skies to find the star I know you must be
because I have seen it in your eyes.
I can barely write as my fingers burn and tremble
but I can imagine my hands caressing your soft warm body.
I want so to come home but in the distance, guns fire rapidly
and the nearer they come to us, the louder they become.
I miss you so and I call upon your strength of love to carry me
through this hell.
Heaven is feeling your warm breath just as our lips touch
and your scent flows to my senses and all is well.
Do not worry sweetheart. There will be a time that we will embrace again and the love we share will still the heavens that stares down upon us. I love you Julie, a word that just begins to define us.

All my love
575 · Apr 2021
Robert meacham Apr 2021

I could pretend you’re still here,
me listening to the beat
of your heart while you sleep.
Inhaling the scent of your body
As I lay next to you,

I could pretend hearing your voice,
Telling me that you love me,
Catch your eyes in the mirror
Flirting with me while I watch
As you dress and I sit

I could pretend holding you,
Embracing your hurt away,
Drying your tears with a kiss,
Sweep your hair from your face
As you look at me,

I could pretend and not live the truth
The truth is you were temporary;
like signature in the sand
erased by ocean's tide,
or autumn wind that carried you away
like golden leaves in flight.

I could lend pretending for faith
on whose wings your soul
has risen beyond the sky
And waiting patiently
my selfish heart beats
454 · Jul 2021
Good Bye
Robert meacham Jul 2021
I cannot rest knowing you have gone,
each waking hour  tears at my heart
I see and feel you in every way , yet
that is not enough and time;
time does not heal the pain nor
erase memories
I guess I am selfish
Because I was once given the most
precious heart to love
And I cannot let you go.
But I will keep reaching out
and know that you are out there somewhere.
300 · Apr 2021
Flash Fiction
Robert meacham Apr 2021
Ramón Delgado- The most feared name in all Mexico.

One summer’s night in 1866 while fleeing from the Mexican Army, Ramón Delgado, infamous hired gun, and murderer, clung to his black steed whose convulsing frame showed evidence of violent exertion. Ramón whipped and spurred his mount until white froth oozed from the animal’s mouth and nostrils. Appearing as shadow across the low ridge, Ramón and steed outran the echoes created by the beating hoofs upon the rocks.

There was a time, ten years earlier, when Ramón, a tall handsome dark brown eyed, square-jawed man with black raven hair, and full Manchu mustache, held the rank of captain in the Mexican army. One day, upon returning home, he found his wife and two sons murdered by the hands of well-known local bandits. Fredrico, neighbor and friend, witnessed the murders and informed the mournful Ramon. Ramón unleashed a ruthless revenge, sought out the bandits, killing them one by one. In doing so, Ramón became hunted by the very army he had served. Some would say he had right for revenge; others thought the killings made Ramón lose his mind.

In a short distance, below the ridge, a small town lay asleep, except for the cantina. The cantina lured Ramón to an abrupt stop. He dismounted, quickly scanned the area, and then went inside. Six caballeros sat playing poker as Juan Hernandez played flamenco while his beautiful wife Maria, clapping hands and stomping feet graced the small dance floor.

Carlos Alvarado, the short black bearded bar tender, gazed at Ramón in mortal terror. Carlos, as did everyone else in the cantina, knew right away, who entered.
Ramón stepped to the bar grinning wryly. “Whisky and leave the bottle,” he growled.

Carlos, shaking, reached for the whisky bottle behind him on the shelf, nearly dropping the shot glass as he turned and sat it on the bar. Slowly backing away from the bar, Carlos offered, his voice weak, “For you Senor Delgado. No charge.”

Ramon laughed, grabbed the bottle of whisky and shot glass, and then, approached the card game. When he got to the table, one of the caballeros stood and offered Ramón a chair.

“Take my chair Senor Delgado.” The man backed away, turned, and left the cantina hurriedly.
Ramon sat in the chair, took a shot of whisky each time he looked at each of the five remaining men, and then slammed his glass to the table. “Let’s play,” he yelled.

One hour later, an empty whisky bottle is all that remained on the table. The very lucky Ramón scooped all the winnings in his pockets and then waved his revolvers above his head. Laughing deliriously, he stumbled toward the table where the senorita still danced. He began shooting close to her feet until she stumbled and fell to the floor.

Ramon placed his revolvers in the holster, turned and walked back to the bar. “Another bottle for the road,” he demanded.

Carlos looked past Ramón and moved quickly to the end of the bar. The complete silence in the cantina compared to a tomb.

Ramón sensed piercing eyes fixed to the back of his neck.
“Who is this who wants death?” Ramón uttered as he turned to face Juan.

Ramón saw Juan staring at him with deep-set dark eyes, remaining steady and full of revenge. Ramón did not see the steady hands that drew the pistols and fired the bullets of death.

A life, short, poignant, and haunted, ended by a single bullet. Ramón’s life pulse lay mangled on the floor. His disorder of demons lay nameless in shrouded form. At least now, they could no longer haunt the shadows of his mind.
His soul lay helpless in obscurity without an escape route.
As Ramón’s lungs choked in silence, his new loneliness befriended darkness and his soul
266 · Apr 2021
The Traveler
Robert meacham Apr 2021
The Traveler
My wide path grew narrow- still and rushing its gate, an Autumn's chill, intruding through patches of torn cloth that turned to flaccid frills. Above me, a misty veil Hung its somber vapor tale- Inviting weariness to prevail Upon once bright vision-to pale The bush, the leaves in silence stood A reminder of a greener wood Brandishing all they could On their vests of golden palettes. As life is to death and death is to life and all is understood. In solemn silence the towers hide Behind a distant tapestry Yet they are the lighthouse, The way home.
243 · Apr 2021
The House on the Hill
Robert meacham Apr 2021
The House on the Hill
The state of Oklahoma is known for its frigid winters and December 1968 is no exception.
I anticipate seeing the old farmhouse again. Memories of a little boy six years of age in the same mind of a young man of 23 lures me back, even though the house is no longer occupied by my grandparents. Those memories have affected me. The love, hard work, and family ties in the house effectively shaped my mind on what matters in life.
As I drive up the winding dirt road, I can see the house in the distance. It looks lonely and cold. The windshield wipers swoosh away the windblown snow. The house looks like a portrait in my windshield. The memories rush in.
I get out of my car and step backward as I wipe the melting snowflakes from my eyes. I’m overdue for this, I thought as I approach the house.
The steps are strong but graying with the traces of times impressions on every board. The top of the deck and railings which wrap around the entire front porch holds the falling snow. The rod iron bench is still there waiting to welcome someone. I remember sitting there with my grandparents talking about their hopes and dreams for the farm. I wanted to be a part of those dreams but life took me away. And I suppose that is what draws me back.
The screen to the front door still shrieks when I open it. I anticipate opening the door to an empty house.  Each room, painted pale with time, project traces where pictures once hung. I didn’t expect to hear unclear whispers coming from behind the walls. Who is trying to tell me something? The voices come in stronger and distinctly and then reminds me to whom they’re addressing. I guess memories have voices too, endearing and comforting.  
I enter the room I hold closest to my heart, my old room. It seems so much smaller than I remember but I guess my world was smaller back then except the view out the window is as large and beautiful as I remember.
The promise of winter already covers the land like a silken silvery blanket.  As I look out the window, I can see the once bright red barn towering over the property. My boyhood lookout is high in the loft where I kept watch on the horses and cattle and hoping to get a glimpse of a coyote or the mighty black bear. The window is just a foretaste of the property and I am must go out back. As I step out on the back porch gazing out over the land, the pageantry of its beauty is breathtaking.
The 525 acres are stippled with white oak, red maple, elm, and redbud trees. My favorite is the white oak because their blue-green, lobed leaves become burgundy in autumn and remain on the trees over the winter. And their straight trunks reach high in the sky in majestic fashion. My grandmother’s favorite is the redbud, a much smaller tree that parades bright pinkish-red flowers at the first sign of spring.
Several song birds are resting among four oak trees while piping their winter songs, each taking their turn in composed concert. Their plumage displays a variety of brilliant dyes and I wish I were an artist to capture their poetical presence on canvas.
In the distance, the Ouachita Mountains appear as a blur, e.g., its peaks are hazy and the range lines seem to fade away. I squint my eyes to enable me to see farther and more clear through the shield of gray snow clouds. The more I squint the further I am able to visualize this beautiful mountain. The mountains run east and west, an oddity, since most mountains run north and south.
The mountains were original home to the Ouachita Tribe, according to the Encyclopedia of Oklahoma History and Culture, the name comes from the French transliteration of the Caddo word Washita, meaning “good hunting grounds.”
Bison and elk once found habitat in the Ouachita Mountains, but since been extirpated. The elusive black bear still roams the mountains. Today, you can find an abundance of white-tailed deer, coyote, and other common temperate forest animals.
I can hear the tales of yesteryear drumming in my mind, the ceremonial cadences are strikingly beautiful, sending chills up my spine.
Days end is approaching as the clouds and snow hides the dewy dim that begins to blanket the earth. Silence fills the air until night birds begin singing their solemn hymns but I can still hear the snowflakes falling, resting on the grounds and back porch. I cannot imagine a greater gift given me than the love of my grandparents.  And I shall keep them safely tucked away in my heart and soul.
I walk away knowing that this time I will return in a few days to stay.
I love you Samantha and George.
190 · Apr 2021
Robert meacham Apr 2021
Let not the night blind you
nor darken your mind's eyes.
But see past the tapestry of darkness
And see the majestic dyes
The poetry of its presence
Soars across the skies.
And if you dare to embrace it
In your respite touch it
And dream forever and ever.
And then waken to its demise.
140 · Apr 2021
Captain Jack and Lillian
Robert meacham Apr 2021
Captain Jack and Lillian

It was a mid-day in May
When red sunlight lazily lay
Peering through cloudless skies,
Casting down on ocean's brilliant dyes
That Captain Jack and his crew of three
sailed for the magic solitude
of the boundless sea.
Lillian stood on the surf-tormented shore,
Her eyes' scintillating soul the pain she bore.
Jack consumed her heart,
in all and in whole,
And with it he took his truant soul.

The day had grown to twilight dim
As Night birds sang a solemn hymn
That echoed across the night-tide's rush
riding waves' glow with reddish blush.
There appeared a bright cold moon
As if a talisman, not a warning too soon
For the once calm waters began to swell
from the chilling winds upon them fell.
The tossing tempests had grown and grown
as mountainous waves appeared as death's throne.
In solemn silence,
Captain Jack and the three
became slumbering souls
beneath the tumultuous sea.
The lurid sea, the lurid sea
in all the pageantry of her beauty.

Moon tints of purple and pearl
evolved into brilliant liquescence
when Lillian appeared as crystalline light,
the poetry of her presence.
Her face shone sorrow and her soul she borrowed
as she pleaded to the stars above,
wishing the return of Captain Jack,
her one and only love.

Out of the sea's immensity,
into a labyrinth of pearly light,
Captain Jack stood a proud tower
holding his stone flowers
toward Lillian , he held them out right.
Her heart palpitated at the welcome sight,
her eyes beamed with glee
One step then two then vanishing into
the cold embrace of the sea.
Love lost sea
138 · Apr 2021
By Chance
Robert meacham Apr 2021
By chance have you seen me
maybe in a dream or from afar
the silhouette you see may be real
or just a temporary vapor
By chance have you heard me
In a soft waft in voice
reaching the depth of your soul
By chance have you felt me
as I brush by you in a crowd.
by chance I am the rain drop
falling from your cheek.
By chance.
chance remembering
130 · May 2021
Time a Simple Concept
Robert meacham May 2021
The beginning has no time nor  end and in between there is life, oh so sparingly.
Savor its gift so ever deep in your heart.
98 · Apr 2021
The Veil
Robert meacham Apr 2021
The Veil
Darkness and light
from their secret embrace
sends their smiles
with promises
of new life.
The earth trembles
hearing the verses of lies.
Not the cloak
nor sprinklers dry
imposing limp litanies
that drape impotent
as a lifeless thunderbolt
will make a difference.
As wild dances dance
and choruses swell
the veil lifts
to the gates of hell.
92 · May 2021
Reflection of You
Robert meacham May 2021
The reflection is blinding , winding its pageantry
Around my soul, blinding sending chills,
Up my body's threshold, beholding its purpose
Awakening my sense, pretenses falling away.
It is you I see, believing all your grace
When at last I see your beautiful face.
Love you
73 · Apr 2021
Forever Afternoon
Robert meacham Apr 2021
Forever Afternoon
She wore her pigtails high on her head And tightly wrapped with green ribbon. He wore his jeans rolled up. Both barefoot and hand in hand raced the banks of the river. Their laughter swept through the tall pines and their giggles came effortlessly. Young and unknowing, yet they liked each other but didn't stop to think why. The sun bare down on their shoulders They stopped to rest in a cool grassy spot They sat looking at one another while the river serenaded them They both sighed They both wanted time to stop And keep this day forever. Faint voice of the girl's mother intruded Guess this will have to be a memory. They ran together hand in hand homeward.

— The End —