Monthly Archives: September 2015
Golden Apples Picked In The Sun
When the journey’s over and the home street’s been done
When contemplation has wrought the glory that was won
When acts of kindness and meaningful connections summed
Was the journey worth the toil, memories cast, indelibly strung?
Was the perilous journey, fear seeping from every lone pore
Through the mountains of the Bend that had no seeable end
Fear amplified by loneliness and the absence of your friends
Fear inescapable, grit your teeth, brace yourself, look for an end
An apple won for doing what had to be done in the dark out the park
Cocooned for a day sleep caught up ready for a lark in the park but
Curvy mountain roads now an icey grip on my heart my soul yet
Possessive of my parts so I hovered in the foot hills of flowers
Picking more golden apples in the sun, until my courage won
Northerly driven to partake of missions, mountains and dunes
Railroad intersections, emotional interdictions and memorable
Apples picked with a Missouri homesick blue-green-eyed native
Where pictures of waterfalls stir happy memories of Missouri
Given for offerings to blue green eyes to save my soul from
Misery of empty paces in the soul for filling needs making whole
Yet as I looked back I could see golden apples in eyes of blue
Ancient adobe mission churches, wise-cracking bar tenders
With no social graces, a Walmart man who bought me dinner
In ancient lodgings where no one remembered when building
Was art and rose from the ground rock, earth and limb intended
Earth-bound a part of the ancient mother who protected her own
Destroying foreign encumbrances like toothpicks and foam
Earth friendly to earth timber to timber snug in winds of November
Gathering the cold in its bowels for hot summer days in July
Undulating sand moved daily by the fickle winds, no base for
Mountains that stand tall within, and dip their tops in white powder
A reward in the morn for staying and waiting and more apples
Picked for green eyes in waiting for poetry picked by me to test
Common intuition and green eyes glowing picking her favorite
A task for the unknowing but eyes never lie if let into them by
Brave souls bared emotions ripe for the reaping, a dangerous game
For the way out may never be found and two wounded hearts cry out
Why is it faces lie dim in the past and souls bared by a look may lie
Unforgotten when shone in the glow of golden apples picked in the sun?
Never to be set free, for a look into the soul that bonds with me is from
Picking apples of gold upon the tree that grows twined in the soul never free.
Homeward bound , but never to be, the same soul as I used to be
For apples of the soul shared spontaneously and free forever free
Soul’s vulnerability spread across the land forever changed, you see,
Communion of commonalities exchange to be free of emptiness in me
Universal belonging is it’s longing for brotherhood in hearts of men
Places of refuge on a cold night by the fire of passion and perpetuity
Fires so old that remember only sensations no words to describe
Freedom to roam the wilderness in sight and a refuge in the night
As far as I can see across the plains immersed inkiness like a sea
Schooners so vast in magnanimity ply the skies religiously looking
Looking for me? Small and innocent yet large and free in me lie
Memories of the souls, golden apples given to me in sacred enimity.
Schooners boiling, cannon in their hawsers loaded booming harmless
Warning perhaps that apples aren’t free, not knowing I already paid
Inestimable pain did in vain escape my hands of eternal grief paid,
Sonnets to the gods that be and let me leave that awful bloody tree
Cannon booming, jagged golden spears falling short , weeping pettily
Untouched by tempestuous wrath and jealousy for they could not leave
Tantrums of missing me, but the gods remembered rhythms and verse
Prisoners of the skies of the eastern plains since leaving the sea behind
Apples of gold picked in the sun see how they glow but be thou bold
You must pay the price a piece of your soul never to return but a
Haunting memory that never grows old that must be told in reverence
For sacred is the love you sold for loneliness on the road the golden glow
Golden apples picked by we that glow in love and silent sacred reverie.
My Friend Bill
“There are men too gentle to live among wolves” a quote from James Cavanaugh.
Such was Bill Compere, my friend, who passed from known existence a couple of months ago.
I understand there were many at Bill’s celebration of his life and many wondered where I, an increasingly close friend, was. I was in Ozark County at a family reunion and, yes, I could have come but I was not yet ready for I had a Steak & Shake at his home along with Gerry Toler the Wednesday before the weekend he died and he had said nothing about it. No, that wasn’t tongue-in-cheek because Bill had already told me he w
as tired of it all and was losing his dignity.
He remarked near the end of hiss life how people he had known and recognized but wouldn’t speak to him when tottery and frail. I said nothing knowing in our society illness and death must emotionally be kept at bay.
Now that I look back at it, that Steak & Shake seemed like a last supper with that particular 3 people. I knew he had pneumonia but he acted fine except the ride in the wheelchair.
Bill and I met on the Mother of all Backpacks about 20 years ago. We hung together loosely, hikng a little as if resting up for our big show. Aruund 12 years ago I was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease. Bill, probably later, got Colin cancer. I deemed him well but had gotten leukemia from treatments. He began having illnesses due to poor immunity and I headed into a three-year trial of ruptured foot tendons and sedentary life style.
Not long after my first surgery my wife fled the scene and I became house-bound. Bill, all ready sick spent many hours along with Dick Adams taking turns getting me out and taking me to lunch, drives in the country and art exhibits. What a treasure they were. I had not known true friends before always being unable to ask for what I needed.
Bill’s life had always been one of public service and it didn’t end with me. He provided moral and physical support, likely at times he was sick.
For some reason today I ate alone at Pizza House, a favorite of ours. All I could think about was Bill and sat with tears rolling down my cheeks. I knew it was time, promptly went home and started writing. Why not poetry? Bill was a facts man, not flowery.
I found Bill’s empty space inside me today. But, it has carefully been refilled with memories. And where memories reside so does our immortality.
I’d Do It All Again
Love was never over
Nor did it really begin
It was merely waiting
A place where to regain
Footholds in the souls
Of unsuspecting men
Love exists for love
Immortal in the hearts
Waiting to be a part
When two souls unite
A journey along the road
Growth and fulfilled souls
Hearts broken in retreat
Love promises only love
Timelessly runs it’s course
And I’d do it all over again
If the road led back to you.
Love a wound to the soul that does not heal
But only grows in the absence of the one
Until we release it with a prayer on the lips
Or rejoin in the reunion that was meant to be
To stand looking at the seas as one, knowing
Cupped protectively in your Father’s hands
Where imagination is free to take a stand
For me or any other man to recreate union
Throughout the land streams of conscjousness
Streams of love, streams of enduring sacredness
Gently the rains fall from the open hands