"shania" poems
having lived in california until i was seven,
and then moving to virginia beach for one year,
and then living in chesapeake for the rest of my life,
my childhood feels scattered.
i don't remember california all that well.
i remember palm trees lining the streets,
and listening to shania twain with my mom.
i remember the ben & jerry's on a corner,
and i remember the two boxers next door.
i remember two people, too. mostly, anyway.
there's you, jacob. and you, kayla.
jacob, you were my first real friend.
our families were inseparable,
we lived right next door to each other.
we were inseparable too.
i remember digging around in the garden,
that we quickly turned into a mud bog.
i remember you having chicken pox,
and our moms letting us play together.
[funny, i didn't get it until i was nine.]
i remember watching you crash,
all the blood on your dirtbike and face.
i remember visiting your school...first grade.
god, two years seemed like such a huge difference.
i remember throwing you a softball,
and you missed it, and got a ****** nose.
i think that was the first time i felt guilt.
but most of all, i remember that game.
with the dinosaurs, and a big field,
and an even bigger maze inside.
and, of course, your room.
your twin sized bed, and the huge bean bag.
even then we couldn't close the door.
we received your pictures for a long time.
so i feel like i might recognize you on the street.
but not for who you are, really. more of a...
deja vu type of thing, if you will.
i miss you, distantly. but deeply.
and kayla, well.
what i remember most of us...
is the purple jewelry box full of notes.
because you were always grounded.
then i think about making mud pies,
as we sat on the fence between us.
and...unfortunately, that one night.
the raid, and not seeing you again.
hiding the notes, until they stopped.
i think you gave me my first broken heart.
but it's okay, i forgive you. it stopped hurting...
oh, about ten years ago. i think of you, though.
i hope your parents cleaned up,
and i like to think you're happy.
you two represent my innocence.
my childhood. thank you.
i miss it so very much.
Apr 7, 2011
Apr 7, 2011 at 5:55 PM UTC
Flashing lights,
Chocolate delights,
crack a can, sip through it,
blast some music,
sounds like a party?
A party for one...
sorry Shania Twain,
ain't no party for two tonight...
this gal goin solo...
Jul 30, 2021
Jul 30, 2021 at 10:33 PM UTC
You remember Byron from other poems
I told you about. You can look them up
Later. Most of what I said was true
(Same as Twain - Mark, not Shania).
When I arrived for my visit, Byron's good friend,
Clive, was there, holding a cold one in his country hands,
Before the wood stove in Byron's man-cave.
They were talking about welding joints,
Or the pitch of a roof frame, or something
I know ******* squat about.
Both men, uneducated, but clever as hell.
Without writing down a measurement,
Or drawing a sketch,
Could reproduce the Taj Mahal.
Like Plato's cave dwellers, they just see it, make it, nail it.
I brought up the problems my daughter is having
With her toy poodle,
And Clive joined in about his disobedient
Great Dane. I'll call him Laertes,
Though his real name is Butch.
Clive says Laertes never stops barking,
Shock collars don't work.
Treats were to no avail.
Obedience School only worked at school.
I could see Byron's hand on his chin,
Looking off and up to his left,
Out the window over the wood stove:
Have you tried speaking Danish to him, asked Byron.
Enough said.
Dec 21, 2016
Dec 21, 2016 at 12:10 PM UTC
Let me talk you off that edge
I can see your standing on
Your standing calm
But remember life is beautiful
Don't cut your wrist
Don't look for no tomorrow
Don't feel hate
Don't feel sorrow
And I've been there before
I know you won't hear
Unless I'm compelling
Please hear what it is I'm telling you
I have blood in my veins
Boiling times a Scorpio
My birthday was yesterday
Really was it happy?
But still I'm holding on
Can I be strong? And make the change,
I'm waiting on
I can't if I don't believe it
Well I believe
I believe
I believe in a bright tomorrow
I hope that you do to
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 8:27 PM UTC
Shania ngarra Nelvin
he said in an SMS
she showed me,
grinning.
Smoke lingering in the kitchen,
a bucket catching drips of liquid
filling the silence with a comforting
consistency. A figure in the corner
with a cigarette in a chair
“we really get the snakes through here.
You know those lines carved in the desert by rainbow serpents brought me.
And the trains used to come by here, it was the train station.
On the grass I would make baskets and talk to the boys with my artwork.
cute ones, ones with diamonds to spare”
Outside; two lapwings, guarding
their nest in military formation.
On the roads, armored vehicles with armored people.
Police checking the parks for alcohol.
The palms wilting down, dead
brown, tangling the canopy
light in sporadic glimpses
on the concrete walls.
Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 6:23 AM UTC
In your heart there's a voice that calls me
keeping me alive beyond my days
it's always in my mind right before me
with your gentle love and all your praise
With your touch you calm and console me
and for me there can't be another way
so don't hold back just like you told me
true love never cracks and seldom sways
Hold me now and whisper softly
sweetly chasing away the grayer days
when the sun shines it's tender mercy
you and I will feel it's loving rays
"Cause I'm keeping you
forever and for always
we will be together all of our days
wanna wake up every
morning to your sweet face, always
I'm keeping you forever and for always
in your arms"
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 9:06 AM UTC
I remember a dark and weary night, slowly losing sight—
A sense of lost—an absence, if you must.
Forevermore I slowly waste away—Sort of like rust.
As I slept the night away—A nightmare awaits me.
The darkness tonight is curious and awfully strange—
The starlight that lights the way—Guides the wise men astray.
No fear or hesitation stops the day.
forevermore, the fear overwhelms me—
Like a vicious stray dog ready to attack.
I slowly begin to fade away—Again!
Into a deep sleep or call it a somber.
I am dreaming—Of death and bombers.
Forevermore I awake—it's already another day.
Like it never happened— Again I wander.
The day is loud, and full wandering wonders—of a child.
Excitement throughout— the valley of death.
A war! Another fret? Another death! The children are dying!—Innocents.
Mothers are crying— for the death of the younger one—
Now nightmares are appearing.
BOOM! BANG!!—The loud bangs.
A deadly bang that rings throughout the land.
Awake— reality seeping through these veins—
As if they were chains digging in the fragile skin.
Fevermore—do only nightmares wander?
Those wandering wonders are dead.
Lead to the valley of death—Where the unsaid is said.
Nevermore shall there be wandering wonders.
~Shania
May 29, 2018
May 29, 2018 at 1:25 PM UTC
A dream is the night creeping on little cat feet.
Slipping away into the shadows.
Preying on the broken-winged bird attempting to fly away.
Waking up from a deep sleep only to be caught again.
~Shania
Apr 4, 2018
Apr 4, 2018 at 11:35 PM UTC