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Open Poetry #49
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Revisiting White Christmas (April 30, 1975)
| Open Poetry #49 |
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Revisiting White Christmas (April 30, 1975) |
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icebox Member Elite
since 2003-05-03
Posts 4383in the shadows 
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Revisiting White Christmas (April 30, 1975) Some days the ground shakes and I don't remember why, each year it takes a bit more before puzzle pieces fit so I can recognize images again, you see, little earthquakes happen here all the time but no one pays attention, like chump change like thump and crump of mortar rounds don't make nobody jump, the dead don't know what hit 'em and they don't care that I'm alive so I keep moving, like when the temperature was rising. I always stay busy today, for me it's the best way to ignore memories, though nothing makes them go away; we sure did tell some lies those days and make some hot pants promises, always tell them anything to get a kiss, but that's the way it is when you're stalking international bliss trying to dance in a world of political romance, and we sure did put on a good show though, bent them over the table don't you know, theater in the round all around well look at that they're all around, who would notice if a few more go down, settle a few old nagging scores in case we're gone forever more, and ever since Bing started singing the temperature kept rising. I was going out today, or maybe tomorrow, or maybe I could stay someone's always willing to pay, even after tomorrow when there'd be no more tomorrows; my god how we gonna move ‘em all, how could we just walk away, would this hollow pearl really fall, how could it stand when it was built on spice and ice and opium, and there'd be no help at all just that last radio call just hitchers in the sky trying to survive when the temperature was rising. Could I go back to being someone in the world when being no one here felt so soft and comfortable that my own skin was my best shirt, and then there was all the money that I'd made, they said I had a special skill set I wasn't just crawling in dirt with gruntslooking for the safest bet, I was a master craftsman, in a workshop where almost every other tool and blade seemed dull and bent someone like me was heaven sent; be nice though to find another trade, ‘cause here we were running out of shade and it didn't help to be among the few who knew it all along, even before the temperature kept rising. Should we stay, no one asked me, those who could already knew my kind of stories always go over the side, am I really gonna leave hell I'm wearing all I need, OK I suppose I had to find a ride; time to hook a jump seat with the castle jarheads, we owed each other that at least; loud noises real loud the kind I just can't hear, the kind that made me feel empty deep inside, would I be the last to die? Nah that slot was just filled. Semper Fi! Check the weather? Yeahyesterday, it was 105 and rising. ©2005, 2006, 2010, 2016 by icebox |
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Ari Squire Member Posts 488 In The Phallus Lane |
My jarhead days ('66-70) ended in that last year as noted in parenthesis. I'm not a "once one always one" kinda guy, though I can relate to much of what you've written, and written very well from your own perspective I might add. But what's up with all the copyright dates? I thought everything one posted here is regarded as 'copyrighted'. More feelings and fewer words please |
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MGROVES
since 2004-02-01
Posts 3802california |
1975, my sons father died 1976, i truly miss that man for he gave me life, joy, and god. if i could turn back time, even for just a day, 1975 it would be. My spirit will rise |
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JamesMichael Member Empyrean
since 1999-11-16
Posts 33336Kapolei, Hawaii, USA |
substantial writing...james |
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