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life nomadic Jul 2013
A tomboy, naturally barefoot, gingerly walks the white painted line because the asphalt is just too burning hot.  Scrubby tufts of weedy grass are welcome respites on the way, briefly cooling her steps even if they are stickery.  The ***** soles of her now calloused feet were intentionally toughened just before school got out, with mincing steps across the roughest gravel she could find.  Her mother accommodates her preference, leaving a pan of water outside for her to scrub her feet before going in.  Even then, a black path has gradually appeared leading from the front door in the old orangish carpet.  Two months of summer barefoot every day when she had the choice. Keyed roller skates clamped onto last year’s school shoes were the exception.  She can flat out run anywhere.
  
This particular expedition began like every other thing they did, which was anything to fend off boredom.  She had been sitting on a cement step shaded by an open carport, just three oil-stained parking stalls for three small apartments on the tired poor side of town.  There is a little more dirt on the street here, and grass is a little neglected.  Just like the children, but these kids prefer that anyway.  Two scruffy friends stomp on aluminum cans, brothers sporting matching buzz cuts and cut-off shorts.  They are flattening them for the recycling money by the pound, so the carport smells vaguely of stale beer.  Another boy attempts to shoot a wandering fly with a home-made rubber band gun; rings cut from a bicycle tube made the best ammo.  “What do you want to do?” …”I don’t know, what do you want to do?”  Thwack…  The only requisite for friendship here is vicinity, yet it is still true.  The idea of choosing friends is about as odd as the concept that one could chose where one lives... Strengths and shortcomings are completely accepted because it is just what it is.  

Their amazing three-story tree fort with a side look-out had been heartlessly taken down by the disgruntled property owner last week.  Two months of accumulating pilfered and scrap two-by-fours, nails, and even a stack of plywood (gasp!) from area construction sites had yielded supplies for a growing fort.  A gang-plank style entry had crossed the ditch to the first level.  Nailed ladder steps to the second offered a little more vertigo and a prime spot to hurl acorns.  Another ladder up led up to the third floor retreat, with a couch-like seating area and shoulder high walls.  A breeze reached the leaves up there.   The next tree over was the look-out, with nothing but ladder steps all the way up to where the view opened up out of the ravine.  When the wind blew, it gave merciless lessons in facing any fear of heights.  But now that was all over, discovered gone overnight.

Someone says again, “What do you want to do?” …”I don’t know, what do you want to do?”  “ 7-11? ”  Good enough, so they head out.   Distance measures time.  Ten minutes is the end of the street past the cracked basketball court in the church parking lot.  Fifteen minutes and the lawns end at the edge of the sub-division.  Half-built homes rising from bare dirt and scattered foundations could offer treasures of construction scraps, (where she suspects the stack of plywood came from.) but they keep walking.  Twenty minutes is where industry has scraped away nature, and railroad tracks form an elevated levee.  But time is meaningless if there’s a wealth of it, so there’s no going further until an informal ritual is completed.  Wordlessly they each dig around their pockets searching for equal amounts of pennies.  Each of them carefully arrange them lined up on the rounded-surface rail, and they settle in for the wait.  It could be five minutes or it could be thirty.  They all understand it’s a crap-shoot of patience waiting for the next train. It’s an unspoken test; quitting too early means losing your coins to the one who stays, so that’s not an option.

Heat presses down and the breezeless air smells like telephone-pole creosote.  She sits in a dusty patch of shade found next to an overgrown ****.  She knows it tastes like licorice and breaks off a stem to chew, but doesn’t know what it is.  The boys throw rocks randomly until she finally stands up to join in, tempted by the challenge of flight and distance.  Then she stands in the center of the tracks, looking one way then the other, searching for the first random distant glimmer of the engine’s light at the horizon.   A flash, so she places her ear to the metal Indian-style, and the imminent approach is confirmed.  She calls out, “its here!” and double checks her pennies’ alignment.  Heads up or tails, but always aligned so the building might be stretched tall or wide, or Lincoln’s face made broad or thin.  That happened only rarely, since it could only be rolled by one wheel then bounced off.  If it stuck longer, the next wheels would surely smash it into a thin, elliptical, smooth misshapen disc of shiny copper.  Its only value becomes validation of a hint of delinquency, Destroying-Government-Property.  Once she splurged with a quarter, which became smashed to just a gleaming silver, bent wafer discolored at the edge.  Curiosity wasn’t worth 25 cents again though, so she had only one of those in her collection.

The approaching engine silently builds impending size and power, so she dashes back down the rocky embankment to safety because after all, she is not a fool, tempting fate with stupid danger. She knows a couple of those fools, but she finds no thrill from that and is not impressed by them either.  Suddenly the train is here, generating astounding noise and wind, occasional wheels screaming protest on their axels.  She intently watches exactly where she placed her coins, hoping to see the moment they fly off the rails that are rhythmically bending under the weight rolling by.  It becomes another game of patience, with such a long line of cars, and she gives up counting them at 80-ish.  Then suddenly it is done and quickly the noise recedes back to heat and cicadas.  The rails are hot.  Diligently they search for the shiny wafers.  Slowly pacing each wood beam, they could have landed in the gravel, or pressed against the rail, or even lodged straight up against the square black wood yards down the tracks.  They find most of them, give up on the rest, then continue on.

She has thirty cents and at last they reach the afternoon’s destination.  7-11’s parking lot becomes a genuine game of “Lava”, burning blacktop encourages leaps from cooler white lines, to painted tire stops, to grass island oasis, then three hot steps across black lava to the sidewalk, and automatic doors swoosh open to air conditioning.  She rarely has enough money for a coke icey; she is here for the bottom shelf candy, a couple pennies or a nickel each.  Off flavors but sweet enough.  She remembered when her older brother was passing out lunchbags of candy to the neighborhood kids for free, practically littering the cul-de-sac.  She had wondered where he got enough money for all that popularity, or could he have saved that much from trick-or-treat? She wondered until he got busted shoplifting at the grocery store.  The security guard decreed that he was never allowed in there again, forever, and the disgrace of sitting on the curb waiting for the mortified ride home was enough to keep him from doing it again.

Today she picks out a few root beer barrels, some Tootsie-rolls (the smaller ones for two cents, not the large ones that divide into cubes) a candy necklace and tiny wax coke bottles, and of course a freeze-pop.   Sitting on the curb, she bites off small pieces of the freeze pop, careful not to get tooth-freeze or brain-freeze, until the last melty chunk is squeezed out the top of the thin plastic tube.

“What do you want to do now?” …”I don’t know, what do you want to do?”
Hal Loyd Denton May 2013
They tell and show us about space debris this matter that freely floats in the vastness of space
There is a comparison to the inward being many emotional breezes come unannounced they
Live in these treasured sightings the wind undulating across the prairie grass it first is caught by
The eye then it is drawn down deep into the soul how much bigger and newer life it gets when
The great magnate of all life receives it invests in it truth value the outward being can never
Know take the common fire from a campfire the mystery rises from the crackle and the leaping
Flames no longer is it just chatter but it is soul talk produced in depths of wonder that emerge
At the surface level bestowing gold from common folds of life or the majestic views of
Mountain grandeur Vaulted sky
Shaded canyon breathtaking heights does the angry wind speak if so in a whisper the granite peaks austere and bleak seem to frown on the trees and lowly grass lands with their fertility and ease of growth. While he the monarch bristling with his cold barren armor of granite invites the stares the awe inspired gratitude of nature and mortal man he knows there dreams and thoughts how many have stood at the edge of wonder on his brow with fainted hearts. Their thoughts drift out and away ever upward reaching the clouds filled and clothed with mountain air brightly they are displayed in these untamable rays. Voices of the ancient ones still echo their wisdom still resounds in the summer thunder they visited and released many a tortured soul. Before Blind they stood before the closed door of their minds knowing there is a path but where can it be found. Riches unbound await the searcher who will go to any and all lengths to conquer unbelief freedom his guiding star he walks in great shadows. Mountainous men Jefferson Lincoln his stalwart companions stand with grandest stature takes from the mountain those teachings not found in musty universities. Thoughts born on creations morn formed and laid on this rocky foundation now for centuries they have bore the weight this colossus purified they are words more noble than gold. Share them invest them in the borderless world of human kind that circle the globe. Moses was familiar and consorted with mountains the angel made one his sepulcher. Waste not the golden hours they are the thread that sows life’s most exquisite moments together making a life. Turn aside seek the heights they will give you respect and honor words will flow that are uncommon they will fit any and all circumstances filling the empty void where hearts bleed without ceasing. Your voice will be like the cool mountain breeze soothing filled with substance and comfort
Is it molecular it is and so much more they tell us of the drive by shootings a wonderful place to
Draw this contrast is Los Angeles called the city of angels but the most beautiful is
Its Spanish interoperation Low hovering angels this loses if we say it but let a Mexican say it his
Inflection most perfect if he is saying it from love. Is there a seriousness here our blessing is not be in That crucible even New York is called the big apple but those in the know call it the volcano with all its Eruptions and pressures so does L A fall into this category in fact if you live on Pico Ave it’s a category Five tornado this is one of the most fought out streets in the turf war for space to sell the Bain to all Society drugs see the flame it consumes the guilty and the innocent view this common occurrence way To common how many small neighborhood chapels were filling with caskets instead of wedding Ceremonies look and listen a Mac Ten pistol grease gun thirty round capacity it has just started its Deadly chatter laying down a withering fire this isn’t battle ground conditions this is a neighborhood Strafing a car the widow’s blow out the shooter keeps the fire steady it starts plinking metal as it moves
To the front of the car off the car into a white small picked fence wood matching the spray of bullets as It Flies in all directions Chicago revisited instead of the Tommy gun chopper of probation you got a Crazed dope fiend punk without emotions the sight of fourteen year old Maria standing on the sidewalk Never registered or didn’t matter three red dots appeared on her bright blouse across her back the Center spot stopped her heart forever now these precious Spanish eyes closed never to  see her rightful Future instead of one day walking the Church isle in a wedding gown now she would lie in repose in White with the flowers not in a bouquet but neatly fixed in  her hair So robbed of youth and life her Budding life so filled with promise where angels hover yes this is the blackness the soul knows perpetrated by the evil one but
There exists a counter part to this evil the good gifts divinely wrought the walk by how many
Hearts have fallen to love by just the chance encounter of her loveliness just walking by you the
Hair flowing and glowing the face created in the throes of love and romantic overload
Spellbound was the creator what chance do you have a mere mortal we are not in casual
Observation the soul is processing this at deepest of levels magic is taken from theatrical
Surroundings to the open places of the heart and being of living two other places for instance
The sea shore a new vastness that overwhelms with delightful pleasure and promise

SeaThoughts

Oh stand thy great waters contained in thee is mirth and terror some you have beguiled and then
Have taken them to your depths of destruction but by your benevolence the sea breeze blows
Inland from this moisture rain is called from its dwelling place the earth is refreshed the tides
Have cosmic ties by gravity the lone solitary moon is entreated and responds one speaks if only
There was a love potion that I could give my beloved so she would respond to me favorably it
Can never be created it already exists go out into the mysterious night stand under a great tree its
Dark silhouette will be more bewitching than the days shade speak your heart as you do take her
Hand and stroll out into the moon beams that drew magic from the great waters as it passed over
Does not wonder advance in this light softer exquisite the hardness of life bows and retreats to
Wait the daylight hours where harshness has its intrepid way so it leaves you with the volumes’
Darkness of night every person desires excursions into intrigue shadows will touch your faces
As tender as the willow then the soft glare of the moons love the mind and heart as its signature
Equation that old crazy moon has moves that are centuries old that birth love every time romance
And her broadest throne follow and are attended by moon light to develop a relationship
Correctly don’t go to the artificial neon lights that are futile and tinged with wickedness but
Sea side strolls are the ultimate inducement a pure stimulus that thwarts the too often knotted
World that keeps everyone at odds with one another everyone knows a great deal of love and
Romance when they are younger to revisit those cherished memorable times that started your
Life of promise with your beloved is invaluable mature love needs to feel the saturation of sea
Breezes the moons ghostly sights will fill in deep shadows where hurts have collected they need
To be free so they can go back to the darkness that gave them life your lives shouldn’t be defined
by them But the deep calleth to the deep set sail for Trafalgar not to war with enemy ships but to
sign With tender’s hand a peace accord to stitch the soft fabric of love that life’s mean elements
can rend in this you will find the sea’s glory and the moons positive glow has become a true part
of your life it is time the spring of renewal is in the offing and it sways to love’s song this speaks
Of man and women’s love this speaks of God’s love they saw the works of the LORD, his wonderful deeds in the deep

Where God passes
The edge of forever where raw power is displayed
Walk the seascapes enter the story told in timelessness except for outer space it is the only place where man finds his mind freed so steep is the unending awe that without question he finally is able to present his self as the tiny speck lost is all ego all self importance he is open to the quest for ultimate truth. You perfect you’re thinking at the sea shore it is a storehouse that lends itself to grand thoughts no limitations hamper your endeavors aliveness engulfs you totally. Subdued moods excavate every shallow you start a down ward decent the deep cries out to your soul the part that never can be accessed on shore. The ground a foundation for raising up temporal structures your needs are served in waters that open as a mysterious gate the deeper the fathoms the more understanding is released. To abide in calm surface features of the sea what a waste take off the restraints become a voyager drift with churning twisting pressures they will give great reward for accosting your accustomed staid and uneventful living. Go deeper the mundane the so called important will be forced through your very pores as you continue calling the unknown manifest itself with great scrolls hidden beyond reach to those that plod along the sunny quiet banks. Life test all men you can face them unafraid armed with years not minutes of preparedness found alone in the struggle only found at sea. Pondered Plumbed in inexorable conditions that stretches changes a person’s character his stature tempered fired as steel in the caldron. We need leaders vibrant thinkers people who can and will accost hell in the very near future and come away victorious. They will have found their way through the untold deadly entanglements figuratively and real they’re not accustomed to ease and know perils at close quarters they learned them in great waters not in pools that have not the ability to stir you to your core you’re going to pour out your life in one form or another do it with sand and grit leave a scarred an effectual trail for others to follow not the light untraceable light footsteps of one who has never lived this just barely scratches the surface of the breezeless that tug and press the center and being of us all I wrote this to be another of the blessings that touch your soul

If there are any mistakes I will have to fix them in a bit I can only work at the computer for so long and I want to get this out
LittleFreeBird Sep 2014
Nights like these
Sodden summer air
When the cicadas hum
And fireflies float
Flash photography
In the breezeless sky
Is when I best remember
Our July
In the rain
When the sun has just kissed
The horizon
And all goes still
Then comes to life
That first summer
Was honeysuckle on our tongues
Sweet for a moment
Then gone
But the flavor
Lingers
And you never forget
Your first taste
Memories
They are hard to grasp
To keep a hold of
Evaporating
Like rain on pavement
Dissipating into
A Midsummer Nights Dream
PrttyBrd Apr 2015
Sugar sand beaches reach the horizon
Water so far it is naught but a glimmer in the distance
Sitting in the warmth of that powder-like earth
The sun seems to set over a desert
Purple and pink in smoking swirls of Heaven
Sopping up the beauty in open pores
Ready to receive all that is offered
Watching the sun begin to slumber
As Luna's light begins to shine in bulbous splendor
The glimmer seems to twinkle as brightly as the stars as they awaken
Multiplying by the moment
Mesmerizing, as the lights seem to grow
The air changes, a little cooler now
The sand turns to black glass glistening in the moonlight
Slowly taking over the horizon
Watching the twinkling onyx reflect the night sky
Almost hypnotized by the melodic whisper
The only evidence of life within the breezeless air
As black meets gray, the warmth of the water glides further
Swallowing the shore inch by inch
Blanketing all as it comes upon its farthest outstretched reach
Bathing in the warmth of black water,
Stippled with the most brilliant twinkling reflections
Wrapped in the heat of the night
Consumed by the darkness, by the stars, by the very heat of the earth
Slowly, deliberately, the water rises
Basking in the beauty of a sea that came to greet all who care to notice
As the ripples and waves wash over the footprints
Erasing the day and birthing it anew
The moon smiles its bright smile
The sand swims by unseen
And the stars shine like the brightest diamonds
in the light of the moon
42515
Anna Burkett Dec 2011
Defying Divinity

Filled with buoyant helium,
Our world flies above the rest.
Swirling blues and greens,
Clouded by patches of white.

Tied of by our creator,
The world still wonders
What being has that power.
No one will ever know.

Everyday,
We step around each other,
Fearing collision for the safety of our planet.
For the safety of ourselves.

With the stroke of a sharpie,
Skyscrapers are built,
New rivers are drawn.

There may be an illusion of control,
But when it was created,
Our buoyant world was bumped.
It keeps floating in the breezeless atmosphere,
Forever in the same direction.

The swirling blue and green,
Are slowly transforming to brown.
The divine tie,
Is coming undone.

As we attempt to step around each other,
Our paths collide even more
And our leaders persistently attempt,
To erase the celestial pen.

These many troubles lead of conflict.
To guns and battles,
Harsh words and poisoned societies.

As we collide and fight and destroy,
We lose sight of our planets delicacy.
One misplaced bullet and
POP! It’s all gone.
Jamie F Nugent Jun 2016
A breezeless kite,
On the beds edge,
Daydreams in a coma -
With Jazz
For my ears,
And jelly
To sweeten -
All my guts
Spilled out
Like sour milk,
And my thoughts
Filled up
Like some closet
Of old cardigans,
Woolen, soft
And ugly
In this dead heat -
And somewhere
A cardboard-town
Is falling apart,
On top of itself
In the rain -
Oh, what I'd give
To be a supernova
Or just a kite
Flying in the breeze.

-Jamie F. Nugent
grumpy thumb Aug 2018
The weight of the last cinderblock
took its toll,
that one final heave,
hoist and offload
handballing the lot
from broken pallets
to flatbed's top
no forklift or barrow in sight
under weather made heavy
by breezeless skies.
Body's done,
hand's numb,
mind's dumb,
arms quiver through,
back aches from over missuse.
Fingers so stiff,
with a pen I cant write.
My thumbs are grumpy
through which I type.
Feeling old hitting my wall
which I have yet to build
gives me something to do tomorrow
if I make it till tonight.
Daniel Magner Oct 2017
I work next to a lake,
which spreads out from the base
of a mountain.
Everyday the stony guards
reflect off it's surface,
the trees motionless in the breezeless
landscape.
I never hear the birds,
nor the occasional fish splash,
too occupied by my dash,
the clicks, keyboards, spread sheets,
plugging away at the base of a mountain,
filling the frame
above my desk
Daniel Magner 2017
hannah Nov 2017
on breezeless, cold-kissed nights,
where my finger spun into your hair,
where i tried to create webs around the bony joints,
you lay motionless,
underneath a halcyon sun,
trying to gather warmth,
trying to gather something more than my hands could give.

you spoke tender,
voice breakable,
and i didn’t speak at all.

on charcoal painted streets,
where the yellow matched the gold in your eyes,
where trees lay dead lost things on the side,
where your eyes wandered to them
like an adrift soul,
in desire of being rediscovered.

you picked wilted flowers,
And gone gilt grass.
I ached for you to pick me, instead.

you crept along side me like a shadow,
blind to my wanting eyes,
my settled smile.

the rain didn’t fix us,
the sun didn’t mend you,
the perished daisies just served to your broken hand like a band-aid.

But it was always more than I could give you.

It was always more than my battered self could offer.
do you love me as I love you, or are your own shaking fears settled where my hand should be, where my heart should be sewn?
D Thornhill Jun 2022
shiny wind chimes hang
though a breezeless summer day
silently sleeping
©️ d_t + b
Dada Olowo Eyo Apr 2019
She actually screamed, "yyyyytttt!"
Half drowsy, in sweaty birthday suit,
I'd been fanning her through the night,
In our terribly hot and breezeless suite.
It's almost 4am WAT and I'd been fanning my two-year-old daughter since 3am after the power went off. Then the standing fan came on and she dreamily, excitedly said, "yyyyytttt!" Every Nigerian child knows how to scream SOME-THING whenever power is restored. It's a big problem Nigerians grapple with, have been grappling with since forever. A country of close to two hundred million people can only generate four thousand megwatt of electricity - only when the grid hasn't collapsed, which is quite frequent. DARKNESS. SHAME.

— The End —