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Open Poetry #48
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Tiara'd Crown [Hobo'd Trails] #2
| Open Poetry #48 |
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Tiara'd Crown [Hobo'd Trails] #2 |
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Sunshine
Administrator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-25
Posts 63354Listening to every heart 
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Tiara’d Crown [Hobo’d Trails] #2 He could tell where her bags, those sacks of hold-it-all clothe had sprung from, the coiled and coiling knit 1, purl 2 of yesterday’s colors, those once hot pinks, fluorescent greens, and brilliant blues, now grayed, betrayed by her fingerings and reminisce, every time she would burrow into this or that hold’em chief, as she called them, when talking to herself. If you were inconspicuous, quiet, she would allow you to sit and listen if you didn’t disturb her, or ask for a sip, and she would start her own conversation to herself, of course, as she wouldn’t talk to no stranger… and then in life’s meager twilight time, some full bodied moment came into view…. By then, you could’ve asked her for a cup’pa coffee, even a sup of her stew, but ask her to share of herself, tell a story, or two… it was invisible she’d become to you. She would meld into that deep twilight time, some silence heating the lonesome point of dark, and then, with that red tip burning, she began to leave her mark. Her stories never varied, nor strayed, her lonesome was tomorrow in some cool summer’s shade; she was midnight, and moonlight, and summer sun aglow, she was yesterday’s tomorrow, in all the grit she wore, she spoke of her Rose of yesterday, and of Autumn who sang a song; of her April and those brighter moments, and of all the monied promises, if only she could have strung her soul that long… “I gave it up for quiet, for some peace within this old soul; no one should own a human, no body is someone’s gold.” She lit the stoke a time, or two, then swallowed the rest of her drink, she slowly leaned into tomorrow, falling deep into Morpheus’ brink… I blinked a moment, the moment flew tomorrow was yesterday’s past… I remembered the woman, a hobo of time, with her fluorescent-colored bags… I wonder of her now and then, all the price she had paid, and knew in my heart of hearts that saw, her tiara of life had been fully paid and slowly, painfully, renewed. Knit 1, Purl 2. ~*~ " It matters not this distance now " Excerpt, Yesterday's Love ~*~ KRJ |
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| © Copyright 2012 Karilea Rilling Jungel - All Rights Reserved | |||
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JerryPat2 Member Laureate
since 2011-02-06
Posts 16975South Louisiana |
This so much remind me of an older woman who lived in Hollywood, California, not far from the famous streets with all those hand prints on them. The house where she lived was like her, beaten down and tattered. But every day, without fail, she would sit a huge bowl of salad which consisted only iceberg lettuce and purple cabbage. She had paper plates and plastic forks. Nothing to drink, and she didn't hover to talk, it was just there for those who were hungry. I admit to sitting on that wooden bench and filling my plate with dry salad, and refilling it feeling her eyes on my all the time. I think about that woman often. This, then, is just another time. ~*~ If they give you lined paper, write sideways. ~*~ |
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r v wooo Senior Member
since 2007-08-07
Posts 656 |
The human mind...an interesting place...as a young boy, I spent many hours on the backporch steps, of our house, talking to the hoboes that made their way from the train tracks, to ask my mother for a meal, and though we never had much to eat, my mother never refused their requests. Your poem rekindled those fond memories. Enjoyed the interesting story...RV |
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