The Amherst Poems: Summer 2010 by Richard Ganahl

The Amherst Poems: Summer 2010

THE AMHERST POEMS: SUMMER 2010

The rhythm of the rain so sweet, The flickering of its leaps. Soaking through the soggy earth, The cycle of our birth.

The rat-a-tat-tat of the rain on the roof, Then it rolls right off into the ground. Rivulets of grace fallen from the sky.

Deep within themselves, Lost to all others. No sense of those around them, No need to be hugged or touched. What can be said? Shared? Revealed?

Silent as death, Not a sound to be heard. The lid lowered tightly, In darkness forever, Light never to return.

Daniel is gone, silenced forever. Insights are blinded, connections are cut. Once I heard him, never forgotten. Nothing much is now sensical.

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When I’m tired I get cranky, Must watch what I say. When sleep has eluded me, I can ruin your/my day.

The rain has stopped, the fog descends Now the smell of moist takes hold. Tomorrow the sun and its heat will build, I wish it would rain some more.

When light will come, I cannot say, The dark seems here to stay. When long ago the light did shine, The days did never end. But now it’s over, the songs have all been sung, The best of all is never to come.

Sometimes I just wake up, well before the dawn. When the moon is still walking, And the sun is still forlorn. The nocturnals are a lusting, hunting their panting prey. For me there remains so much to do, It’s just like the mid of the day. Soon the sun peaks through, sharing its first light. I run to find my covers, and return to my own lonely night.

The sky is blue, with wisps of white, oh where has the dark grey gone? ‘Twas only yesterday, the sun it would not come. ‘Twas rain and rain, and rain some more, The thunder it did not stop. And now it’s crisp, and clear, and cool, I never would have known. The road of life takes twists and turns, ‘twill never pass again.

Death broke through the dead-bolted door, I thought it locked up tight. I had not planned to go that night, My life was fun and just begun. It does not matter, death said to me. Leave it now undone. Follow me, leave, we must in haste. Shield your eyes, and brace your breath, Ascend into the lustrous light.

I met him once, in splendid light, my breath he took away. He spoke to me, in muted silence, his words were pure and true. Surrounded by those who’d gone before, they smiled and stared in peace. Go back you must, it’s not your time, I know you want to come. Worry not, we won’t forget, you’ll join us all to soon. Go spread the word, tell all who’ll hear, there’s much in the far beyond. You can not know what you will see, just know it’s there for sure. You’re not the first, and not the last, just play and pray…and most of all endure.

A sergeant of arms, in the war for peace, I know it sounds so strange. Hacked off limbs and gouged out eyes, there but for the grace of God. Without this war there’d be no peace, without the screams no songs. Believe me - you say you can’t, it’s madness for sure. For once let’s try a different way: Without this peace…they’ll be no war.

The words just come, from where don’t know. The pen it moves itself. In my mind, the drum beats on; the sounds, they sing their song. How long it’ll last, I cannot tell. Don’t think, don’t talk, don’t plan too much, your life belongs to us.

Yesterday I was just an ordinary guy, A bit quirky I must admit. Today I’m more than ever planned, Just sit back and enjoy the ride.

I never thought I’d be a Dad, it sounded all too strange. Nor have a wife to call my own, too much to dream about. But now both I have, to hold and to be held. So lucky – so strange – all hope.

To squeeze – to hold – to whisper sweet, ‘tis heaven here on earth.

Gifts we all, I’m quite sure of that, Pens, paper, brush or thread. Grab your tool and come with me We can create what ever we want. Work alone or partner too, It makes no difference what ever you do. For in the end, we’re puffed with pride, The act lives on way past when we’re dead.

Puffers Pond is big, blue and full, Of families and friends young and old. It’s deep I am told, dark and cold to the bottom. But that I’ve not seen that for myself. So I’ll take your word if that’s what you say. Give me its top, to float on all day, Like a leaf stretched out flat and real straight.

There are things that I must do, Before for me it’s all through. Sit down and let me tell them to you. But the first, I can’t say in the light of the day. So I’ll whisper if only you stay. The second, can only be told when the first is complete, It can be no other way. The third, fourth and up through number eight, Well for them…oh it’s getting so late. Promise I do, to tell them to you. But for now that’ll just have to wait.

It once held such promise, Of treasures and pearls Just a very short time ago. But looking back now, The story’s quite changed, It’s much different and I don’t now why. We took a left, when we should have gone right. Went down and not up as we should. Must all dreams so soon, End up dry, only to be doomed?

Before it starts, it turns dark and grey, Cold and a bit too quiet. That’s how you’ll know it’s the end.

It’s been two months since Moms gone for good. She’s now on the other side. Was she really here? I must ask myself. Did every day we talk all my life? Now it’s upside down, and all turned around. I don’t know, but I’m still so damn, damn sad.

‘Remember I love you’ these were her words at the end. ‘Remember I love you’ I still hear her say. ‘Remember I love you’ she’s gone but her words still stay. ‘Remember I love you’ over and over it goes, on, on and on. ‘Remember I love you’ I’ll never forget these last words of my Mom. They’re all that I have. Somehow they’ll live on even with her gone.

The cat she has moved sometime I am sure. Sometime in the dark of the night. She’s now closer to me, she is staring you see, Staring with eyes mere slits of blue ice. The sharp sound outside disturbs her not. She seems to hear nothing at all. Then to the corner she springs all at once. It’s the end, I fear, for those poor trapped mice.

What if the sun forgot to come? Held late by the songs of the night. Oversleept did he, forgot you and me. Can’t stop shivering. Please hold me tight.

I know the moon well, she’s a friend of mine, We visit almost every night. She’s quite shy, yes she is, says narry a whispered word, And insists we meet out of the light. She moves all around, won’t stay in one place, Rarely shows me her smiling face.

I’m a lucky man to have the woman I do, She’s a real grace, a real gift from God. She’s from the East, and I’m from the West, Our differences are real and quite profound. Her eyes go this way, and mine go that way, Her eyes are brown, and mine blue, Her hair is black, and mine is brown streaked in grey, But think what you wish, look as you may, Our hearts beat as one, and in the same place they both stay.

The sparks were quite bright, seen only by us. The ka-boom rang only in our ears. While the lights were distracting, and plenty was happening In the outdoor room filled with many. Our affair was so short, over in a second, Quickly and completely consummated. Soon we moved in our own separate directions. Much can happen in such a short time, Now you’ll live in your life, and I’ll live in mine.

A long time ago a painter was I, Spent my days at the top of a ladder. It didn’t take long to learn something was wrong, That my feet were for more earthen matter. Up and down, up and down, was surely not the way, To spend my fine summer day. Now I lay on a blanket with a book or two, The grass is my sweet scented pillow. And I pity the painter at the top of his ladder.

Silence in the garden in the middle of the day, A cool breeze to cool my mind. The sky is deep blue, Laced with white clouds that bump each other with a thud. There’s much more commotion going on up above, I’m pleased to be peaceful far below where I am.

I’m really quite tired of the men in our room, Who stand when they should have sat. Their aim is no good, nor their intentions either. I think I’ll take my leave, trade my ticket for later. The outdoors is where I can stand and breathe.

Ours is not a sturdy family, tragedy has taken its toll. Financial ruin, early deaths: both sides have seen the same. But try we have, to make it right, pray it works this time.

There’s a train overhead that roars through our trees, With no stops planned at our porch. I’d like to get on and travel to the end of the line. But stuck am I here whether I like it or not, I’ll just have to listen to its steaming engines, no ticket do I got.

What could be more peaceful, than an afternoon cat, Curled on the red satin pillow in a round furry ball? Her tail twirls sometimes in large lazy loops. Her eyes stay slit-open slowly surveying the scene. She cares about nothing, not a darn, damn thing.

My body moves slowly, tightened by its aches and its pains, My mind leaps lively from one idea to another. Sometimes less often (now) the two work hand in hand, The first thick and sluggish, the second lean like lightening. These differences seem destined to grow more in time.

Chilling with my daughter, I like hanging in her ‘hood. Taking time to laugh and study, Hoping this will keep us close as the day she was born. Soon may come too soon, I fear, when she heads out on her own, I’ll be stuck here wondering how to survive all alone.

My life for a friend’s, is a gift I hope I never have to give. If the time must come When thy will be done, I pray the right one lives on.

She is so serious in her own child-like way, To live like an adult, to grow tall and straight all in one day. Her idea of being a grown up is much better, I think, Than those of us who are. More pure, more intense, more honest for sure. Pray we be like the little ones when we try to act our age.

A watch is such a useless tool, pretending to mark our day. Ticking or tocking when it should be grokking – the babble of such a fool. For some of us know, time is not as simple as the signal of outstretched hands. There is your time and my time, our pasts and futures too! It’s morning here while it’s evening there. A better watch would have many more faces with many more hands Moving this way and that way without any temporal cares.

Why do all the people my age, Seem so much older and more tired than me? I guess it’s the water I’m drinking, And the company I’m keeping.

Sooner or later these musings may stop, Backed up by the sewer of life. Schedules and meetings will all scream you need me, And clog my veins with their strife. I’ll try not to listen, pretend I don’t hear, Act like I have a cauliflower ear. But mighty they are – this I know, I’ll do what I can to keep this my show.

I’m sorry my friends but I just can’t shake This sadness that sinks my soul. No matter what I do, no matter what I try, At any moment I may just breakdown and cry. Prayer doesn’t work and neither does booze, If it keeps at this rate, it’s my life I may loose.

Aimlessly wandering through downtown, Nowhere special to go. Five blocks north to south – several blocks deep, How lost can you really become? Killing time in a small town, Wondering how do they live. It’s fun for a spot, But can’t take a hell of a lot, Cause it’s bringing me down, down, down.

In the end her body simply gave up, She could not go one step more. Everything was failing forever, shutting down. Her heart, her lungs, her kidneys too, Even her skin was thin and brittle. In the face of this suffering As the pain pounded with every pulse A few faculties did not leave her. Her eyes saw everything - remained sharp and clear blue. Her ears heard everything – the monitors beeping in the tiny room. Her spirit stayed firm and focused. Her will to live did not leave her - even as her body finally expired. She lived a great life, longer than most had expected. In the end we said our goodbyes with cries of pain and loss As she quietly took her last breath.

The gates are all open, Wide ajar they are flung. It’s far too late to close them. The plains once were free – they and the sea belonged to all, But now they are buried by a gross urban sprawl. The air was pure, so breathable, Now it is sold in cans - part of a business model.

Could I ever really give to this guy called Jesus Christ My life in its entirety? Could I really give up my wealth, fame and fortune For the promise of something unseen? Could I ever really love others as I love myself Even those not known to me? Who really knows who he was or what he did or what he said? Who really knows the cruel method that made him dead? Died so all may live on in grace forever more! Ascended into heaven after three days off the cross. One in three – how can that be? I know it sounds fantastic like a story for the screen, But it means so much to so many. Work for grace now, protect the poor, give up all for a life in eternity.

I watched the line of soldiers pushed against the wall, Fear running down their mud-streaked cheeks. No one had told them a squad such as this Could mark the end of their military duty. Ready…aim…wait!!! I must close my eyes – can’t stand to see the sound of the guns firing. The poor young boys slide to the ground – they now are no more. Their mothers away will now cry a sad, tearful goodbye.

Life is good and God is great, Wondering what I did to deserve this fine fate. Got my health, and a bit of money too, A wife and daughter who say I love you. How long will this last I cannot say, But I promise I’ll love it till the last day.

Pain in the mind can be the worst of all, So deep it can’t be relieved. Once it starts it pounds me to the pavement. I try to stand tall - pretend I am strong But probably should plan my bereavement.

There’s an ant on the floor scrambling for the door, Trying to get home before dinner. The smile on its face makes him a sure winner, Not sure what he’ll do or what he will say, When the black sole of my shoe ends his day. Splat!

The woods have their dark secrets, but they won’t say a word About the crimes that are buried there. Over there in that over grown pit, lies the bones of thieving crook. Strewn across the rocks of the babbling brook, the bones of a rapist are strewn. You can count on the woods to do what they can to balance good against evil. If there’s a wrong in your heart, it’s best not to start In the woods during the rising moon.

On and on the forest goes, From the east coast to the west. Just pick your direction, put on your pack Start walking and you’ll soon be home.

Summers are so special, each year has only one. Like birthdays they are measured, their memories always treasured. From when we were young to now that we’re old Summer scenes stay forever. Beaches, pools and mountains too, or just plain staying lazy. Summers are so special, this one will be our best, Quick make a list – what shall we do?

The thick early mountain dew, covers all with its morning cool. Did it rain last night? Is that a spill? The towel is soaked with its fill. It’s a gift from heaven – sent in the dark. Scrape its large globules into a cup, save its ethereal pure. Sip its serenity, swallow its promise of eternity.

The breeze of life Brushes my skin Fills my lungs with courage To begin a life a new on the trail of unending strife.

The woods talked to me in a tongue all its own, Telling tales of woodland terror Not since told in a lifetime of todays. I learned of cold-blooded nighttime killings, Executions committed by carnivores. The silenced screams of songbirds swallowed whole on the vine. Whole families of babies slaughtered in their sleep. This village of violence whose mute victims lay motionless Seeking peace among death in the night.

How much longer till I join you, comrades of the clouds? I see many names I recognize. There is a baker, a laborer and a farm hand too. You did what you had to. None of you were too proud To toil till your bodies made numb With anger and boredom. How much longer till I join you? Much longer will be the better.

Some cars drive real, real slow. Some go much too fast. Me, I drive in between. Hell…just let them pass!

Oh I’m such a simple guy, Don’t care much what I do. I’m as happy as a butterfly, When I’m alone with you.

Travel the world, see all you can. Let nothing stand in our way. Climb the mountains, trek the jungle, Cross the desert, sail the seas. Travel the world, be all you can be. Walk, run, sail or fly. Just keep moving till hunger racks you with rumbles. Sitting home is never good. Get on the road – you know you should.

Swimming in the cold mountain lake, With blue sky and white clouds overhead. Floating on my back pretending I’m dead. Bob up and bob down as the water laps over my ears. Friends on the beach shout a warning, but I cannot hear As the boat coming full throttle Just on the horizon rears.

Killing time without a lot to do, my mind is floating free. Thinking a bit about some other folks, most with less than me. Wond’ring what kind of person I’d be, If all I had was a little time to spend.

Summer brings such great food to eat, freshness in every bite. Fruits of all colors, shapes and sizes, veggies for every dish. Freshness is such a natural treat, Makes restaurant ads seem so untrue and trite.

Can’t tell you how many times in a day, I think I hear my Momma say, Be good, my son, be the man I know. Be honest – speak the truth And live all the time in the Lord’s way. Don’t be too loud, brassy or proud. Take your time, be patient to grow. Act like I’m with you Pretend with you, God let me stay.

High school seems so far away, How did it ever mean so much? So fuzzy and fading are those days, Yet I know what went on then Made me who I am. While I can’t much remember, I don’t ever want to forget Those memories of ephemeral triumph.

I stared at a cloud for a really long time. I watched it change shape – and I made it mine!

Does anything mean much to me? God, country or my community? What would I die for, or even argue about? So much leaves me in a deep state of doubt. My daughter, my wife and my family too. Of course I’d do battle for you, As you are my heart’s true treasures.

Making war is really hell, For warriors and those warred against. Making love is much more fun, Much more laughter and stories to tell.

Accommodate.

Why?

Assimilate.

Where?

Annihilate.

Who?

Assume.

What?

Asinine.

When?

Assassinate.

How?

Assuage.

Possibly.

Brazen.

Possibly.

Bold.

Certainly.

Bawdy.

Sometimes.

Bossy.

Hope not.

Braggart.

Try not.

Bully.

Never.

Naked. Alone. Unconnected. Without a mechanical link to the world. Voice. Gestures. Facial expressions. A few hand-written notes. Terrified? Positively not! Panicked? Never! Concerns? Sure! Cautious? Certainly! Sensitized? Of course! Reaching out? If must. Off the grid – on my own. Again. At last. Let go. Unwifi. Unwind. Unhinge. Pull the plug. Disconnect. Log off. No network. Breathe. Deep. Touch. Friend? A noun? Verb? Adjective? A person. Real. Again.

Cozy.

Want it

Cuddly.

Need it.

Cutesy.

Not ever.

Comforting.

Hope so

Cocky.

Could be.

Cockhold.

Never.

Dull.

Seldom.

Damp.

Yuckkk.

Dumpy.

Stay away.

Dogged.

Trudging.

Down.

Sometime.

Ephemeral.

Can be.

Enigma.

Central.

Epiphany.

Seeking.

Eager.

Often.

Energized.

Bursting.

Today when I awoke, things were not the same. My mind was slow to kick start. My words were slow to speak. My eyes were tired and crusty. My legs stiff and hard to move. The world came slowly to me, And I returned its favor, And both were all the better, Content in our mutual anonymity.

Where is anger stored in me? Dare I go there alone? Peace and calm for so long, all seems so right. Then something pulls the trigger, things go flash and bright. Beware those around me, All hell could break out tonight. Â

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Ferocious.

If must.

Feisty.

Generally.

Free spirited.

Seem to.

Forgiving.

Try to.

Fickle.

Don’t think so.

Foolish.

Hope not.

Dull is the mind focused too long, Fuzzy are the eyes never closed. Dry is the mouth that’s full of words. Slow are the legs ‘gone to far. Bent is the body way too burdened, Spent is the spirit silenced by wrong.

There’s a damn big difference, Between what you want and what you must do. The first will bring you happiness, The latter just brings you down. One comes from the inside, The other externally. Can the one become the other, And the other become the one? Can what brings me down (be made to) to bring me up? I’d rather be happy (doing what I want), Than (being) dragged by what must be done.

Galvanized.

Try to.

Guilty.

Damn hope not.

Gullible.

No way.

Gallant.

Work to.

Giving.

Should be.

Closure is just another word for Exposure that’s about to end. Winding down is not always fun to Grinding plans must soon be begun. Lookng back on the best times when Shaking loose from the past. Happy no more with what may come when Crappy chores are sure to be done.

It’s time to pack and leave this place. Seems like I just arrived, Now it’s time for me to go. Who was I when I arrived? Who am I upon leaving? How much of me is staying? How much of it am I taking? How has it changed since me? This place will be with me Long after I am gone. Even though it is no more Its memories have just begun.

Must I leave your mysteries? Must I go today? Must I say goodbye to Your dark, deep woods? Your cool, clear lakes? Your majestic mountains? Your quaint, quiet villages? Your temples of learning? Your poets and their struggles? I know so much about you, now And how much I’ll never know. Your secrets are safe with me, and Hidden they’ll remain. And while I may not return, Inside – forever – your spirit will burn. So long…

Give back to the mountains, The stillness of the ages. This was never our home anyway. As they’ve always belonged to eternity’s sages.

A Graduation (Of Sorts) Poem They came as total strangers, Young boys and girls from everywhere. Some from teeming cities, Some from small, quiet towns. Some were black and some were white, Some had eyes shaped differently. Some were loud and laughed a lot, Some were shy and thought much about. But all were there as the chosen ones, With minds seeking the mysteries’ answers, To master truths unknown. They played, they laughed, They shared their secrets, And passionately made new ones. In the end they were quite different, The many were now just one. Little as they were when they started, That much taller they all had become. They hugged and cried as they said their goodbyes. Promising this was not the end. Deep in their hearts each one knew this Was not the end but the great promised start To a wonderful life just beginning.

Like a clenched fist the Cape juts into the Atlantic. Shaking its defiant and muscled forearm Through hot and muggy summers, Into ice cold winter nights. The fist serves up a warning Of taciturn defiance. Aloof and uncaring about The rest of us land gnats.

The sea stays with you forever. The wind flails your face and fills your ears with an endless and forceful caress. The sand smothers and smoothes your feet and entombs your body with a million warm and dry pin pricks. The salty water clings to your lips and skin encrusting it in a sticky wrap that drips salt down your throat. The sun bakes your body and blisters your behind leaving it brown and blotched and witheringly wrinkled by the weather. The sea invites you with every rhythmical lap to join it on its journey that never ends.

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What sort of life has this shell seen? Who has made its home within? How long did it reside? Was it a quiet guest, or Was it bold and loud? How did you get to this long sandy beach Alone and empty and half your former self? What will you think if I take you home? Will you miss the sea, the salt and the sounds? Will you be happy sitting on my shelf, in a glass or on the counter? Sometimes it’s very quiet and dark and very alone And the sea won’t reach quite this high, and its tide is never this low. Should I take you with me? Or would you rather Be left here on the beach still alone?

Home, home, home at last. How long have I been gone? Where did I go? Where did I sleep? What did I take with me? What have I brought home? How much did I know when I started? How much have I learned on the road? They say a rolling stone gathers no moss, But a stone standing still just sits there, grieving about its loss.

There’s a thief in town and he doesn’t wear a mask, And he boldly walks the streets in the light of the day. He wears a striped club tie, and a starched white shirt, Look at his manicured fingers and you’ll never find any dirt. He starts at nine and may work till five with long lunches in between. He signs some papers, shakes some hands and shares some very stale jokes. He takes our money earned through our sweat and hides it away in the dark. This thief in our town, must be banished for good, if he stays it’ll continue to hurt.

COVER PHOTO: This centuryold white oak shades the side yard of the Emily Dickinson home in Amherst, MA. Emily (1830-86) wrote over 2,500 poems, none of which were lifetime. She published in her lived her entire life secluded at her home, rarely (if ever) leaving. She endured years of her brother Austin’s very public affair with the wife of an Amherst college professor. Austin and his family lived just several hundred yards from Emily in ‘Evergreen,’ a home built by Emily’s father to entice Austin’s stay at Amherst. Emily planned every detail of her funeral, including the white funeral press and her white coffin that was carried several blocks to the cemetery by six Irish-men groundskeepers that served as pall-bearers. Her head stone reads ‘Called Back.’ Photo By Richard J. Ganahl