Summer Visitors

The inspiration for this poem comes from one of my Mom’s ‘Memory Stories’ and took place during the late 1920’s to early 1930’s.

 

Summer Visitors

 

They came during the months of summer, arriving in a caravan

Of wooden wagons laden with canvas, furniture, and pots, and pans

That clanged the song of their arrival as they moved up the dirt road.

Horses of black, and brown and spotted grey pulled the wagons

While the new ponies of spring followed behind.

 

Papa always let them camp on our land and supplied food for their stay

In turn, they helped to work the farm and gave Papa ponies in trade;

And our neighbors would come from miles around to have their fortunes told.

Although not relations, Mama insisted we gave them proper honor,

And spoke with respect, calling them Uncle Barney, Aunt Mary and Uncle Jim.

 

In the evenings, while we sat in a circle around their campfires,

They sang songs from their home country, so many miles away

Accompanied by mandolins, guitars, fiddles, and tambourines.

And as the red and orange flames danced and crackled

They told stories of ghosts, and shift-changers, and apparitions.

 

When the second big war came, Papa sold the farm,

And I went away to another city for school.

From that time on, our summer visitors ceased to come,

And there were times I wondered where they’d gone.

But, to this day I can still see them in my mind’s eye coming along our road.

And I will always remember the songs they sang and the stories they told.

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Nightmares

Down the dry walls of a hollow grave

A phantom speaks in solemn whispers

Cracking the stones of nevermore

To seek out the lives once lost to save.

 

Long, dark shadows rise to roam the ruins

To merge with memories of long dead corpses

Forming to fashion forgotten gossamer ghosts

That clear the cobwebs from cluttered coffins.

 

Demons dance in circles, their red eyes ablaze.

Ghouls scream their threats that split the night

To summon the vampires, werewolves, and trolls

That emerge in mist to drown the moon in haze.

 

Then all at once, monsters shrink back in fear

They cringe as an angelic song surrounds them.

And from the sky shimmering faerie dust falls,

Quelling the nightmare to let the dawn shine clear. 

The Life of Spirits

There are spirits that hide

Within the mists

Of days gone by

Forever dwelling in the past

Never seeking the days to come

 

There are spirits that writhe

Drowning in the pain

The suffering, the wrath

Of their life’s worst experiences

Never seeking to escape

 

There are spirits that rejoice

Swelling in the joy

The elation, the bliss

Content in their existence

Never seeking for more

 

And then there are those spirits

That encompass it all

Embracing each occurrence

Both the delightful and the dire

And even the mundane

As an adventure in their journey

Always seeking the abundance

That only living can bring.

Quake

Quake

 

The Earth moved this morning.

It was a single tiny tremor

Lasting only for a few moments,

But just the same

I felt the ground give way

Deep beneath my feet.

As Peaceful Warriors

On any average day we see

Shocking visions of violence

Carried out within the World

Human against human, against nature,

Against Earth

That startles the serenity

Of the calm mind

To bring flames of anguish

Searing deep to permeate

The stillness of one’s Soul

 

As peaceful Warriors

We must stand strong

Fierce in solid rigidity

To protect, to preserve, to shield

The innocent, the defenseless, the fragile.

 

As Peaceful Warriors

We must expose the intentions

Of those hell bent and driven

On greed, on power, on control

Those who delight in the destruction,

The suffering, the annihilation

Of the natural balance

The splendor, the blessings

Of all things living

 

As Peaceful Warriors

We must stand together as one

To defeat with civil defiance

The unconscionable violence

Committed against our Universe 

Questioning

Pelted with cumbersome questions

The answers that come are reluctant

And so guesses entrance our senses

With stray murmurs that float like smoke

To map our reality until our lives

Become as dense as cement.