lost in the fog
A flock of Canadian
geese crossed a jagged sky on a
recent night most likely their first flight
of the season back they blasted the quiet dale
with their explicit song ever calling sounding
kindred as to a faraway ship lost in a fog
by the time the dark nights nomadics
were out of ears accosting range
my decision had been made
I was moving back to
where I came
back to
the
place
a long time
gone the home in
which and where I belong.
It was late autumn & a blanket
of hoar frosted everything I looked for
signs of life in the early morning shadows
as I reached to scoop a fist-full of freshly turned
freedom remembering the farm and where I was
raised one needs to return upon occasion you
know the quietness and smells of the land
blending with ‘ol memories to open
up one’s whole being but is
that really so unusual
bubbling o’er again
with wonder and fresh
questions come on over sit I’ll tell
you the story how on curious harsh coast
the rhythmic lines roar of the sea is pierced
by coupling sounds where the sea meets
her lover ground normally the long
daz are ample for the timely
dramas of life to be
played before
the longing
to abandon
such phases but
one year the great windy air-streams
controling the weather changed their courses here
storms pelted the coast in a blanket of crystalline despite
the unexpected harsh I knew well it was right to go winter’s
freeze had already begun I could see it all along the laboring
coast with the combing and winter and your reminisce
meandering through the old homes missing
we’re no longer grounded for life
as thought somewhere far
into its night a distant
honk of a single
goose pierces
the darkness
and strangely
enough another
answers honking from a
distance with exciting augur his
very own miles close in minutes
as they embrace to love
again within
it.
* * *
Raptured
I sighed looking up at the mass
of dark clouds lifting off from kissing a
mountain side far north on the pan-handle
my friends said this would be a nice place to
pitch a tent but I was thinking more on the
line of a house tucked in near the cedars
red sides it was after all the great out
of doors settling in I thought
about asking all our
friends over for
cocktails but
saw they
were
gone and
we really had
none there was one
who was going to sail in but
said he didn’t know where to put
the boat and it was a long haul up the
Columbia but I invited him anyway I had
planned to show him the digitals and our
writing I stepped through the sliding
door into the grass still soft from
weeks of rain and the fog
still hiding the tall
firs looking
forlorn you said
from behind “You don’t
ever go out anyway” of course
I wouldn’t leave this house either
yet the following night I strode
down the fresh green path
carpeted in crystal
white with a
near by town
in mind thinking still
of a grand premiere luckily
I no longer had the drafts hands in
warm down pockets I turned to see
the bleu fog taking its final kiss
from her nights lover then
remembered I was
about to
* * *
Snake river bleus
sketchy Snake River ran in
between and below our knees hoping
to catch us cold white her rocks did tumble
and rumbled over and under moving onward
to oceans open sunken graves many times
unnoticeably we shoveled a drink and
though teased tasted we but yet
are left still deeper thirsty
a place up ahead sets
narrow slithering channel
open barely but fraught enough
yet with disguised peril just out of view
of undertoes current we’re helplessly clinging to
the others spirit while about to take me only inches under
I’ve barely gotten my feet wet and yet for reasons unknown my
senses are in drowning sketchy rivers snake deep thought between
souls who hear it never mind such things as the e’er after’s look up
ahead there hear the waters quicken I feel the rapids roaring
through narrow channels benieth my feet maybe barely
wide enough to chill but floods of brain waves and
accompanied betrayals surface cope I ever
long enough to come to see setting
sun on peaceful sea
I guess so it’s
just a
dream.
* * *
Blooze #66
I was born
near the crossfire of rolling rivers out
past an ‘ol sultry prairie given to no direction
where mama told me not to be keepin’ my head all
tucked and down but I took a saints position and started to
pray I thought it was the one my folks sowed me in tradition
steeped so deep on a dark sabbath night that I couldn't
even say my name was raised in crossfires weaned
upon prairies windy lean a little moist flask
of vino and a single crystal glass
mother gave me of the fire
water passed down
found I learned
to cry these tears
hit my rolling surface
saw the things there o’er
and done floating by on given feet born to run to
freedom and when mama died there I begun to fly was
then too began to cry how tomorrow I would wonder why
times back in the future I would see myself writing things I
must remember having a map but must have dropped
it in the dust there was a warning ‘bout where to
turn and travel there was a mark that told
me where I was some place on a
dusty road down the river
my mind can vaguely
see a damn dreary
broom sweeping
yesterdays strife
up from a third
post world war’s
blooze yet I do recall
the sun warm and well on
my shoulder and waking
to find it burning
me.
* * *
Tease of prose
nights filled with tired visions eclipsed
with mystique attired eyes while croissant moon
hangs on leafless horizon only half as bright as yonder
stars staircase almost truant from dawning's light Wisteria’s
scent teases air haunts emotions faery’s glare perfume of
lovers vaunt bouquet of spirits scent flaunt staring in
to needless night seas of Pixie’s fly through out
the oceans faint lights sometimes within the
often beseeching calls the most urgent
needs for quiet their wishes yearn
gorging the seas so loft I hear
their silence cry it, listen
now for comes the
soft white whispering
tease of snows between the
sounds of silence all hail the sighs
prose evokes lighting onto
abated quiet
* * *
the west end of autumn
on the far edge of October
near the west end of autumn a time worn
greenwood spruce seems to nod down her head to
an on coming winters orange the yellow browns there
paint a sad story as her skies drifting closing their eyes
and your night themes danced across the little left
of the low moonlit rise I heard how you had
waltzed across the central prairies and
the time you spent flying o’er
Gitche Gumee where
you took to a
courting some
mighty but strange
guys along with your sister
crazy Mary who was heavy laden
with rain and a mother to be what a time
it was to be flritin’ I guess your planin’ to be
stoppin’ to see your second X husband in ‘ol
Colorado’s Rockies while winters upon him
what a cruel lover you’ve surely been and
I bet they won’t miss seeing your cold
harsh face any more than I miss the
rain yet I do miss your thunder
when we were a lying there
under a spell of love in
the breeze but I am
glad that I got
over your
sassy
teasing.
* * *
make-up
O my gracious seas
alive your make-ups changed your
lace again those of us who knew you don't
even know your name is it cause you’ve lost
another lover don’t any understand how
to touch you with that special flame
how you hide your secret well
I can’t see your not the
blame but O ocean
sea are your lips still
as lily white do you still
bloom and roll o’er all ‘round
and through Pixie light O my lovely
ocean lady you took me when I was so very
fair are the other waves that we met still there the
same as the ones before do they still roll to your
welling flames or have you taught them how
to dance another staying up for luscious
nights or did they die in summers
rising covers when they
woke to find your
make-up
smeared all over.
* * *
We
carefully sauntered together
through garden and grave I watched
you grow sustaining on pledges many had
given yet nobody had gave to no one no not
a soul I listening to a song in the snow you
strained but your brain couldn’t hear a
thing or know the night I
recognized them so
softly sprinkling
my name and went
casually chasing the trails of
flakes left deep in night swore the
day I’d retrace my flights but when
turned wind found weather erased
their sight now in wavering
snow white fought I still
to unveil their lights
yet waded back
weary from a
traveling
night.
* * *
South of
alberta the airs turned to cold I feel like
your hills was raped yet nobody knows or cares
where I go I wanted to go out when you first I told
it was the last I saw you that and you’ve took all
I told streched o’er the prairies soiled & torn
strenching forever just longing a home
all I’m now needing is a breath of
clean caring air and too know
where I’m going and if
there’s a heaven
out there.
* * *
Nights
turn to a dawning as if there to late
fly through curtains lace they just couldn’t
wait a soul goes a running seeking morning
dews feast I missed breakfast produce
but I won’t miss his treats
so I started
lulling
down
valley ways
o’er around under
the sheets and that’s
all she wrote.
* * *
found and lost
Found his love
and lost my heart run for cover
skirt the wounds I’ll never another know
time in love spent and growing ending just a
line in towing mirror reflecting on lonely wall
tell my age and showing all it’s much to late
to loose the ballast yearning no back
turning now no time slacking
how I linger my love
dies day’s are
turning
Cry
* * *
Stampede pass
we saved and scratched
and pooled even made some all teary
yer plans emotions broke a few ‘ol fashion rules
they made long the way ago if they planned to thrash
our family lassies the money bought the RV and now
we had tools to go and well see now we’re runnin’
o’er Stampede snowy passes for all our world
to go seemed as I recall ‘bout half past
midnight or so when we headed
for our dreams truckers
flashed their pilot
lights to help us
find the way the
highways were ‘ol
companions but ain’t at
toll the same today yet I know there’s
somewheres waiting we’d else rather be there’s
moonlight on the snows tires chained and bound elation’s
bounty all there set for me a thinking we’s gonna make it any
how somethin’ ‘bout the way the road smiles reflects yer lucid
face and I know this ain’t the last tear we’ll be a crying before
we reach our resting place the wheels are running hard time
against twisty mountain passes another few hours and
we’ll be cross the borders grasses O my darlin’
cuppycake in freedoms sweet molasses.
* * *
The RE:
Oh my such an interesting and
speculative work which unwinds before these
eyes a very clever and mystique use of color-blend
activity and thyme I love the recipe somewhat like seeing a
picture in reverse of sepia and near to observing rain drip dry
or the sun rise from the bottom of the sea (for all you eastern
roller-coasters) maybe reading a prose end to front even to
hearing words stammering in reverse I must say quite
stimulating seeing blood coral red staining aqua
lungs park bench and it blush from a sticky
setting sun such prompting introduces
such emotion allowing concept of
possible "foul play" even the
brownish taupe font colour
you’ve cleverly used offers
much insight of imagery brightening
the litany’s intensity playing in memories own
ball park swings where one best concentrates on what
is felt in rather specific detail especially when coming back
from having a lite-diet lunch thus allowing each new free verse
to flow from throats of its own accord wrapping itself down and
around a merry-go-round until your feet hit the ground and
from the whirl your forced to sit yet still continuously
intriguing rows of prose and knowing later
you’ll be back riding it again until
it concludes with a very
evocative ending
KaBoom.
* * *
How true it is
How can it true be
that ever came I to losing me/you
only could I just see now both we lost every
emotion after the pain and sorrow my one darlin’
only to think of who the war has won what they’ve
done our souls to know dear how I’ve needed you
as the Lord’s flowers dew need lovin’ you why
my life nothing’s been lord I can’t conceive
we’re o’er and then too my God they’ve
locked her away so’s what does I do
I goes back to decorous Seattle’s
past to start a life anew where
their oceans rain meets the
sky ever returnin’ to cry
on us again was there
last thought I to love
maybe I think stay
there die I sit down
to park bench with me
friends and several others
too I tries real hard never to
take down or off me cover leavin’
me without and myself a showin’
others so what do you think
happens next it tears
rain again and
this time
Oh my God..!
my mama
dies.
* * *
the last Supper
Mother’s day nineteen hundred and
ninety seven was the last great home gathering
and supper that’s e’er been to date & mom & dad’s 50th.
anniversary my oldest sons birthday mom carefully planned
and showed us the pictures albums and some very old ones
too she had just recovered and framed hanging in the hall
there was an air about her something that I had never
known but passed all off to the years and today
our being grown I handed her the
camera I’d carefully packed
and ask her to please
take a shot of
Rosemary and I
somewhere out back
‘neath her forest pines and green
willow tree amid the cool spring breeze
little did I know it
was the last she would e’er do
for me only hours later
would dad call to
say mom died
in the night
playing
solitaire.
* * *
Cold cruel ground
when
he lost his wife
in early falls willow days
of autumn then moved he out
of town to a calling country trying
last to be forgotten the past time that
any went there by he was a makin’
sure ‘ol man winter couldn’t get
around his old frail entry
frame where the door
had been a vague few
inches off the cold cruel
ground floor where he landed
three years or so ago up back then
no one ever found or knows if he
got it fixed at all anyone ever
heard was mixed
emotions.
* * *
Wherever you go
you wander where ever
you go carry your troubles more
worried than woes chains on your
feet hot blistered toes wilderness
pilgrim seeking rest for the
night only to taste
of wondering
longing a drink
of light eyes have all
the company such travails
be only lonely yet your tears are
never alone earths resident disciple
finds he here a home yet still you
wander where ever you go
carry your troubles
more.
* * *
reflections
live no longer
per sé as looking into these sapphire
eyes moonlit and glinting from kindled pangs I thought
to analyze such veins inside the skins running life's throbbing
pulse through the warm blood carrying hot venom of disdain to a
sharp tongues I trace my lip as though I’m moistening a starving
appetite while laughing in disgust at my cocky arrogance my
skin is so frail supple easy to rip & would you just look at
me all the while I’m hiding in the shadows huddling
cloistered in torrents thinking about a warm fire
can you hear me my thunder calls to you
in the night when the moon flies full
glaring high with white fire breaking
into the atmosphere in multicolored curs
I feel a chill and know I’m powerless what is
this life I tense to think one sees me cower such I
battle this fleshy soul the last thing I’ll ever hear before I
die will probably be a frustrated bloodthirsty hollow scream
my heart so frenzied and scorned hears the lost children cry still I
huddle close to these colorless tears next to a hot lake of fire burning
deep inside my soul where nothing hides if I leave will you feel me
before I die it’s a good thing the children will never feel the scars
or know someone ever lied to them I’m dying where none are
able to know yet I live some how within a pressure cooked
heart where do I go from there do you hear me just an
empty echo in a mirror on a wall there won’t even
be a trite stone to write up on when I’m gone
I see a body but know it isn’t mine the
damned face I see must be stolen
also and someone I don’t
know who possesses
the reflection
asking
would you
play it all again.
* * *
Remember Me
As it
would in another place in another
grace would any save me while writing
little sediments as would the wind wills
taking this lonely child’s written seeds
throwing them in the air to whom
may be filled with promising
tomorrows while loss
enduring believe
and praying
while walking
away form sorrows
evening tide which rolled
in wearily through another daz
dusk yet morning tides rolled far
away back leaving dead shell
fish behind her lain.
Dale Wayne VanSickle Gwaltney
© 2000 Faith Island Publishing Inc.
