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An image of strength and courage,
from a man of lowly means;
Taught me so much about life's trials,
and how music can wash it clean.

He stood on our sidewalk's corner,
while he played his saxophone;
Sometimes walking through the streets,
on a mission he followed alone.

A former soldier who'd lost his sight,
in his service during World War II;
And as folks would drop coins in his cup,
he'd often play their favorite tunes.

I watched him hold his head up high,
as he sported the red, white and blue;
His soulful melodies made me teary-eyed,
through his heart so clear and true.

'Back in the day' there was little relief,
for returning soldiers hurt and maimed;
I'd like to believe we can do much more,
to put an end to our country's shame !
Hail all veterans...may your recovery be swift and rewarding !
Tenor Kemp Jan 2012
beauty wept among the loathsome swells
a bitter squall that lashed and so then unforgave
all good of days now gone and lost and buried
in her remembrances of cities beneath the waves;

from clouds of brilliant light against the blue,
and hope and love for time still then ahead;
in thoughts that had no life and yet still knew
that now, though still alive, were mainly dead;

i watched from high above and circled wide,
forbade her tears from strengthening the waves;
i sang of sun beyond the rim, and turning tide,
and of the hope and brighter light her new life gave.

the ocean wore the stone away at last
but not before her life became their past.
15 April 2011
For my wife, who was going through some tough times.
William A Poppen Mar 2018
Tonight is a cluster of
Recognitions, remembrances
Mostly reminiscence
Which sift in the breeze
Gusting beneath the temporary
Tarpaulin tent

Backs are slapped
Arms embraced
Smiles predominate
As shiny faces and gleaming  foreheads
Illuminated by flashing cameras
Twinkle like fireflies displaying
In a muggy June meadow

Photos pulled from stained
Billfolds move from hand to hand
Displaying glossies of babies, graduations
Weddings and “The big catch”

Relatives, friends and officials
Find their place on folded metal chairs
For a wedding ceremony

Tonight has become a gathering
Marriage planned for tonight
jane taylor May 2016
stepping back into the west
chills reverberate up and down my spine
chiseling open obsolescent padlocks
dangling with dust
on ancient treasure chests

pallid colors in the attic release
a blossoming familiarity
faint hints of retrospections float on faded paper
granting me access to roads
where no map is needed

as i peruse the streets
my heart flows coalescing with the vicinity
caressing each detail i transform to fluid
and fuse with the past
through fresh strokes of watercolored memories

recollections flash before my eyes
revealing antiquated stories
though thought forgotten
an etched history endeavors to define me
renewing itself as i turn each corner

i shudder at some remembrances while encompassing others
through synchronicity realization hits
that I am all of it
yet none of it
at the same time

familiar faces paint meaning onto me
no longer do they know me
yet they airbrush vestiges of yesteryear
and coat me with connotations
i allow them to think i am whatever they imagine

i morph into their canvas temporarily
then break free in multi-dimensionality
they don't hear me with a new listening
no longer invested in their projections
once sharp triggers now appear in soft focus

an auspicious mist lies around the edges
of my former life
it is as if i never left
yet traces of the east lie sandpapered in me
a maturation commingles with my former self

flushing out on my skin
tethering newfound emotions
a gentle gratitude for home territory
nestles softly

i listen to the clicks
of my scuffed cowboy boots
on acquainted yet somehow distant sidewalks
the echoes layering multiple impressions
glimmering with the utter beauty of this terrain

as I wander through the majestic rocky mountains
drinking in the quaking aspen's crimson edges
interfacing the evergreens
hushed whispers of autumn loftily rest
juxtaposed neatly against futures waiting to unfurl in the wind

an amalgamation of intimate sights and scents
dance in open wounds
homesickness cured
a wholeness returned

as winter's crystal dawn blooms
i realize the depth of my growth
for in leaving here and returning
i cherish the west
my home

©2016 janetaylor
Connor Oct 2018
"In Heaven
The Water
is Shiny Gold"

In approach of a clearing /
empty hopscotches fade with rain, remembrances of my foiled return
lent to after-rather haze mingling line by line
with eyeglasses fogged up

I relinquished the panic of your absence one week ago today, but it wasn't easy, being caught in such swelling strings once desiring to wake in Gold

I was guided by my dream family which led me thus / glimpsing premonition Wyomings sprawl with pine & geyser
flat land fire
down river /
Spring Snow and tribulations sound with elemental reverberations of Spirit colliding with Stone
pirouetting upon a newfound expanse

My restless and uninitiated Tulpa stirs and screams
(I am owed this one) delving to ancient territories of attractive chaos
emerged unkind
but tender enough to fold into my next dressing, appropriately remote


By June I ascend further via Nepalese staircases carved from Mountain rock, Sun-showers resplendently endow this band of rattling Sherpas with grace
to hold, to wrap around their necks and deliver to my private Summit

(where many have died, where many have given their flesh to this
Golgotha Sagarmatha)

Sneah Yerng !
away you mortal entity death !

I consume you with Himalayan tea and the heavy sensation of my boots planting their weight to frozen earth - listening, attention to the foreground Chorus exhaling harmonies of Khmer which give further texture to the native brush

(We were once kindling set perfect across the ground - to blaze & become heavenly together - instead subjugated by time's feral will, you - now a Mother and a stranger to me, Myself - continuing & following this sense strangeness which is always present but flickering like cosmic frequency magnetically luring me into a breadbasket of fire & weeping intermittent, into a cycle, a snake - surrounding magic Islands of self-past and self-future
which whirl-about searching feverishly for a path - now that the one preceding has been lost or misguided, you're bound to this breathing child who's not ours - but yours)

This is how our story ends. Where we diverge and become Actual -
carrying separate but respectful momentum in each Epoch of life in all it's various & flowing Identities, just as I'd once predicted in an Altenburg Kitchen reading Rimbaud and sipping hot water quietly, disturbed - knowing, somehow, that we'd irrecoverably commit to being temporary conflagrations in the lives of the other. The end of A summation. Events that in many ways were born there, it is forcibly behind me now.. I was the result of these things. A sword carved from heat, and pressure.

What do I do with this?
So worn with necessity - living
Enjoying occasional rain, timely - capturing passing loves
refusing to stale and finish as Petrarchan - Madame George and Myself as two ambitions which acted both honorably & dishonorably at times. As human nature dictates, as I'll know, a branded truth from now on -
I am proud of you, I love you. I will cherish you, always.

We curate and amend – understand
each other's impossible profundities

(Shh! lights go out unexpectedly ! Your remainder hovers by the door for just a few secret and sacred seconds/ gone...)

These poems have been as much for you as they were for me - But I must exit this vacated place of only peering into the beyondness of things that have outgrown their form
open, step - deliver myself to:
The last poem I'll be posting here or writing for a while. The end of a continuous stream of thought depicting the events and emotions of the last two years. Recent events have called to their end. I'll be ready to write again once this coming new state of mind and being has revealed itself - of which I am optimistic
Two feathers lay upon the new-mown lawn
Like aircraft wreckage after a combat pass
Remembrances of violence in the sky
Of death and blood – now only souvenirs

It was as always an unequal fight
The hawk falling upon a smaller bird
With superior stealth and strength and speed
And grappling-hook talons of screaming death

The little fellow made a good show of it
But he didn’t escape:
                                           hawks never lose
Your ‘umble scrivener’s site is:
It’s not at all reactionary, tho’ it might be drivel.
Lawrence Hall’s vanity publications are available on as Kindle and on bits of dead tree:  The Road to Magdalena, Paleo-Hippies at Work and Play, Lady with a Dead Turtle, Don’t Forget Your Shoes and Grapes, Coffee and a Dead Alligator to Go, and Dispatches from the Colonial Office.
Tossing back tequila shots
To burn on down to blackened thoughts
Why am I unable to cast aside my old emotions?

While flecks of darker memories
Pollute the air in front of me
Never would I even wish erasure
Of the thoughts I've spoken

Maybe I'll just keep on clinging
Hum along with heifer's singing
Crowning list of weaknesses
Is failure to let go

Bob my head, alone, in silence
Midnight flight with no co-pilot
Fearful of the landing
Better shout 'Look Out Below'

Just play my music louder
While I stop to burn the flowers
And I shed my old remembrances
Like caterpillar's skin

Shreds of life streak by in flashes,
Must adjust my rose-hued glasses
Rub my tired, dried out eyes
To block the light and look within
betterdays Apr 25
pride wars with regret
old men march in ranks depleted
medals clink  in time to the town band
children hold grand childrens hands
then the bugler plays
and as the notes fly into silence
old men cry in defience of age
that has wearied
and remembrances of those gone before
they remember more and more
lest we forget ...
sunshines in the bluest of skies
and there is youth once more in tired eyes
anzac day 2019
Connor Feb 26
Where is that amicable child now -
Running with scissors towards the summer to cut the sun down
Like a dazzled godhead balloon out
Towards a vast cosmology carved of orchards (to lay and die in, cradled in blond sweetness which glows & glows brighter
In the loveliness of death)

Traces of fir fragrance mingle with the damp grass filled with sadly deflated stars - candle keepers pace the borders of the grove glad and passing, awake to the transitory nature of brilliance (all things disheveled and clean will await the final culling / faces of roses / phantom laughter out the door - into the garden - through the roots of the trees - settled)

Four black motes stained on ivory wings cross mildly accompanied by rain, a gypsy's kiss quivered forth from undiscovered beds - remembrances, a parade for quiet insects, a time for repose & evenings dedicated to spaciousness.
Two crispy chicks crowded the **** king ~ Two crispy, chicken-
chomping Canadian chicks cackled for the cocky king of ***** as
there was an uncaulked ****-hole in the **** of the **** king that
the ****-hole doctor coldly caulked with cold, ****-hole caulking.
Deovrat Aug 2018
foregone time
loneliness  in deep silence
awakening in dark long nights
remembrances of beloved ones
while sitting alone

believe me
pleasure and joyfulness
such lively zestfulness
inflictions and predestinations
can only be experience
all together in such

©deovrat 23.08.2018
Graff1980 Apr 16
What is truth to this

Winded widow
who walks past
shaded windows
where loved one
play out the day
in a familial way
while his pain
pulls him
other directions
like some

Emotional upheaval
as he struggles to
remember and forget
in the same instance.

slight pauses
in his breath
and occasional
stares where
there is nothing left.

A poorly painted
green brick building,
with its rude
in a place
where he fails
to stop reflecting
causing a close
personal inspection
with his whole face.

Light green flakes
his stubble covered skin
forcing him
to be present again
and the dull ache
from his mistake
is something
he appreciates
he isn't forced to
recall what he’s been through
when he is dealing
with his newly chipped tooth
and ****** busted nose.

— The End —