"caldwell" poems
Orsemas Caldwell
was a curious old man
who lived deep
within Elderwood forest.
Everyday he'd gather
branches and boughs
to cook his dinner
and warm himself
inside the drafty,
dusty cabin
he called his home.
I clearly remember
the night he invited
my wife and I over
for biscuits and tea.
We left our car
at the entrance
of the single-file
footpaths that led
into the darkened
shroud and stillness
of his forest.
We sat at an ancient
wooden table covered
with the inscriptions
of hundreds of writings
from decades past.
I remember his wrinkled
trembling hands as they
set down the tea
he had dried for us,
I believe it was chamomile
with a hint of lavender.
We talked about a great
many things, but nothing
made his eyes light up
like when he told us
about his wife, Percilla.
They were ministers
at the old baptist church
until they retired to their cabin
in Elderwood forest.
Young lovers again, they'd
lay under the trees and laugh.
He showed us her picture
and smiled remembering.
I could hear in his voice
the sweetness of their love
and a longing for reunion.
I don't remember much more
than his words that echoed
in my head as we drove
back to our modern day
amenities, holding
one another's hands:
'Don't let one thing
come between you.
You are one flesh,
you are not two.
Don't let children,
or money, ambition,
or your vocation
come between you
and the one God gave you.'
This is the memory of
Orsemas Caldwell.
Feb 23, 2017
Feb 23, 2017 at 3:02 PM UTC
the saying goes
"you must fail, to succeed"
but in my life i did nothing but fail
the story of the life i live and lived
were a statistic board of my failures in life
as a person, as a son, as a partner, and as a friend
succeeding is one thing i am not good at
probably will never be good at
but failing is one thing i know must of all
once life given up on you
you give up hope
you give up faith
you give up trust
i only speak the truth and tell the world what it really is and become real is because i have nothing else in life to give.
the raven may come for me one day and that day i'll probably succeed in death
but living is no longer in the balance of failure or success
it all crumbled down beneath my feet
like sand underneath a palm tree located on gravel that one can not specify to see but know it is there.
that is how the palm tree stands tall
through my failure someone else is given the opportunity to stand tall as i crumble beneath ones feet.
the life i chose has no meaning
-Julius Caldwell
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 12:00 AM UTC
Yes indeed, oddly enuf.
(sonnet #MMMMMMMX)
Let William Caldwell Roscoe's line fr'intents
Sift to the 'fore while sapphire blue skies hail
In warming black's first light, the moon's detail
Upon day's eastern rim, just as he thence
Wrote centries ere, a sliver in suspense:
"The eastern hanging crescent--" in betrayl
Does not climb higher as he'd said, though how pale
Blue heavns 'gin now to lighten in defense.
And she must have been younger, cuz in her
Love he felt resurrection. Ah, but to
Effect ist? I shrink from old men, as twere.
Why maunt a young man cherish me and woo?
The moon is lost as surly racks now stir
Rich pink's blush of chagrin. O what we knew!
13Mar18a
Mar 17, 2018
Mar 17, 2018 at 12:04 AM UTC
Some words
in proper combination
and just-so order
contain light
but only light for certain eyes
and maybe only at certain times
light like no other
light for parents
whose children scream
or fall silent
light for sisters
who have lost sisters
light for the desperate and lonely
light for men drowning drink by drink
for the girl not taken to the dance
and the boy lacking courage
to ask her
light for the surgeon who failed
light for the bored housewife
contemplating escape
light for the third child
of a forgotten family
seeking shelter
in a dead city
Light for the wounded of the earth
and the lost
Some words are holy
though you are unlikely to find them in scripture
Some words staunch the bleeding
Sometimes these words
are lightning
sometimes thunder
sometimes a breeze across the ages
And I have lived my life for these words
in their pursuit and service
Come Hemingway
Come Faulkner
Come Hannah
Come Bukowski
Come Caldwell
Come Carver
Come Lee
Come the unknown genius who knows the mysteries of my heart
Come you thick Russians
Come Borges
Come Bradbury
Come Brautigan
Come Welty
Come Brown
Come light
Come, always, light
Some words
in proper combination
can save your soul
can teach you its pits and textures
And we are all ****** and bleeding and words are what hope is made from
And some words
are what remain of heaven
when angels give way
and sometimes
they are enough
Apr 29, 2018
Apr 29, 2018 at 10:52 AM UTC