"treadle" poems
“Moby **** Herman Melville
<•>
~for the lost at sea~
after a year of saltwater absence and abstinence,
return to the island caught between two land forks
surrounded by river-heading flows
bound for the ocean great joining
the Atlantic welcomes the fresh water fools,
bringing with them hopefully, but hopeless gifts of obeisances,
peace-offerings endeavoring to keep their infinite souls
sea accepts them then drowns the
warm newcomers in the unaccustomed
deep cold salinity, which
sometimes erodes
sometimes preserving
their former freshwater cold originality
I’m called to depart my beach shoreline unarmed,
no kayak, sunfish or glass bottomed boat needed,
walk on water and my toes, ten eyes to see the bottom,
no depth perception limitation,
reading the floor’s topography,
millions of minion’s stories infinite,
many Munch screaming
god’s foot, heavy upon my shoulders,
a daytime travel guide, hired for me,
not a friendly travel companion, nope,
God a pusher showing off a drug called deep water salvation,
designated for the masses, can handle large parties
my in-camera brain eyes,
record everything for playback -
the lost and unburied, bone crossword puzzles
walk shore to ship, on soles to souls,
is this my new-summer nature welcome back greeting?
puzzled at the awesomeness of vastness,
conclude this clarification for me of the occluded-deep,
is a stern reminder of my insignificant existence,
my requirement to walk humbly, spare my sin of vanity, and
forgive my trespasses upon the lives of others
perhaps then the infinite of my soul perchance restored,
older visions clarified and future poems
will write themselves
and sea to it my predecessors
be better remembered
Memorial Day 2018
May 28, 2018
May 28, 2018 at 11:53 AM UTC
*r EVOL ution
uncoils slowly by the fire
pondering of profound-flickering in the reverse-sparks
within the pupils of shifting-light*
1.
love(r) dips deep within a hardy fire-maker from another sky
body recycled and soul carried on
mind unlike any other
it’s simply a matter of Time.. holding that rusty-key of long ago
entrusted to a cavorite-place behind silent-wells whose treadle-functions heaven forgot
2.
yet what counts highest sits on a ledge of paradox
as happiness falls short upon the threshold of fornever and never after
there are tumult-fears to overcome
and it needs time, once again
as hearty does beseech temporal-cogs to ensure one full revolution
thanks are not enough for things that words fail to express
no specific thing to pin-point
of the immense power the discharged-missile holds
who is ever the same person in the marching of months?
3.
exponential growth is combustion understated and surreal-excitement catches
to find traction in the whistling wind.. only a quarter-whisper away
it has instead.. been phenomenally unreal
.. can't explain it
.. won't deny it
4.
the full idea has near-outgrown its twin-seal flanks
that choices came shaking.. aghast and
dripping its magenta-fury in heavy-drips upon the sand
half-spilling lava-filled cups of ire
near the camp-side
grabbed it by the lapels
shaking – I love you so
now, why can’t you say it?
why won’t you declare it?
what holds your yellow-ass back so?
5.
there's a power-burst in the trajectory-whirligig here..
can’t be stopped, won’t be stopped
burnt offering rises up in a scathing-hiss
and exudes such a sweet-cleansing
of
semi-cinnamon and subtle ginger
*and.. love is but a word whose letters
lie
in the sand*
S T – 11 nov 2013
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 12:10 PM UTC
***Dearest Tommy
I think of you every night
I lay awake listening to the thunder
and the lightening, and the rain
on the old tin roof
(which is leaking again by the way)
but during the day
I can't hear it, I'm so busy staying sane
Just want you to know, even though
it's only been 2 months I'm thinking
of you, again***
*My Heart, Melissa
I'm thinking of you out in the desert
there are 50 million stars
and several stray bullet tracers
but they can never mar the beauty
of the night sky, from where I lie
thinking of you and maybe...
our babe? Don't leave my hanging
sweetheart, give me a hint
to make my darkest day
I LOVE U!*
***Dear Tommy
The mailman came again today
with no news from you, I can't pretend
that it didn't light a fuse beneath my temper
but I understand you are busy and it is September
Autumn months where life lies fallow
I'm not trying to be shallow
I'm just trying to plug up the leaks
there is no babe, I'm sorry (I'm not)
but it's cold and life is bleak
without you***
*Darling Melissa
I'm hearing you cry out to me
I'm getting your letters but you're
not seeing me? How can that be?
I want you to know that each grain
of sand that I pour out of my boots at night
I count as minutes spent away from you
and I'm seeing you beyond sight
when I close my eyes under stars
that don't shine for you in your universe
and I'm sorry for that
but under each shining light, I pretend
that your looking up at the same star
and you are whispering what we rehearsed...
No matter where you are, you are my star.
Remember?
Love your Tommy*
***Dear Tom
The leak was fixed last week by Steven Treadle
remember him from High School
He played football for a little while
and then he decided college football wasn't for him
so he decided on a trade and now he's a roofer
He wanted to be a soldier but his injury prevented him
He's doing well, here in Suburbia...
and with me...
I'm so sorry, sorry, sorry, so sorry
but he's here for me...
I'm so sorry
but Tommy
I Loved you
and the idea of you and me
but Tommy
I need someone by me...
Sorry***
the last response Melissa received
was not a letter
from Tommy
but an Official
Sorry
from the Military
but it was never
as sorry
as Melissa felt
that Tommy
may have
(or may have not)
received her last
Sorry
or the Hell
it may have spelt
Mar 22, 2013
Mar 22, 2013 at 8:31 AM UTC
This one here's me aged three
at a trestle table for little ones,
snapped with a box Brownie
at the Miss Rosebud parade.
Fresh as a daisy in crepe paper petals
under an eternal sun.
There's my brother dressed as a magpie...
just out of shot.
I remember that dress.
Yards of love sewn into a snowdrift
of crisp petals tumbling into my lap
under the Singer where I sat shuffling
impatiently to the machine's rhythmic rattle,
mesmerized by my mother's puffed-up feet
on the treadle,
my brother's whining cry...
just out of shot.
copyright © Caroline Grace 2011
Oct 1, 2011
Oct 1, 2011 at 8:13 AM UTC
every time i wake up, i stare at the floor boards
waiting in silence until my thoughts **** me slowly
i take the stake, shove it through my brain
stop and think how much the devil has shown me
late at night, terror fright, taking flight, fighting might
shifting eye, little lie, guess i'll make this my plight!
demonic devil, do you use the deadly treadle
tapping toes too, to blue jam with your dreaded treble!
scratching claws now on chalk board black tops with your kettle!
shifting serpent spitting death you are black rose pedals!
kiss me quickly with bliss, i know the taste will settle!
watch my eyes close under sunlight, too late to level-
so, i let your poison seep deep into my concrete, abstract, and spirituality
hoping that the hoax has only one hold on my hellish individuality,
and that one omen of open obliteration making available my obliquity
stops before the second-strike sinks in my skin and makes me sing my dead man soliloquy-
how hopeful!
how hopeful to think that one mess is enough to get me by from the rest,
that enough is enough for me when i mess up,
and i will always be going good, going right, not running left.
sadly
i get mistaken by my madness for a smile and a pasture behind the veil that’s masked it!
while the laughter in my catacomb cerebellum crystallizes my coffin with convoluted clasps and cocoons me in my casket!
swallow the final wishes to walk away without wondering what would have went down without wanting to ask this
last question to push you powerfully over the edge without paying attention to the proper time, not seeing it’s all plastic!
because we’ve passed the only moment to turn our backs without the consequences of living in our bloodied baskets!
we kissed the serpent’s lips and ****** the spit off his silky-smooth tongue, mixing salt with fresh, leaving everything brackish!
cut off the arms and tongue before the venom attaches,
but still i swallow it whole and expect to outlast it-
Oct 31, 2016
Oct 31, 2016 at 11:18 PM UTC
Afternoon Visit
A privilege to behold
Her story unfolds
A quilt drapes the bed
A sampler hangs over it
A labor of love
Her voice soft and low
From her heart's memory
She recalls her youth
By the candlelight
Her mother passed on to her
A lifelong career
A hand runs over it
Beautiful flawless stitches
Admiring her work
She listens closely
Each detail is memorized
To retell later
Endless needle ******
Hours spent diligently
Lessons everyday
Cotton wool velvet
Solids prints floral fabrics
Neatly on a shelf
Once powered by foot
Now idle covered in fine dust
A Singer treadle
Unfinished dress coat
Embracing a mannequin
Never to be worn
In a chair she sits
Her hands methodically stitch
Unseen material
She turns her head slightly
As she dismisses her guest
Good night Mom is heard
PMD 2~1~2016
Mar 11, 2016
Mar 11, 2016 at 10:20 AM UTC