Get Your Free Goodie Box here

Lilacs Growing on a Barbed Wire Fence by Chuck Warren - HTML preview

PLEASE NOTE: This is an HTML preview only and some elements such as links or page numbers may be incorrect.
Download the book in PDF, ePub, Kindle for a complete version.

Lilacs Growing On A Barbed-Wire Fence

Chuck Warren © Copyright 2003 Chuck Warren
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means without written permission from the author.
Inquiries should be addressed to:
Chuck Warren PO Box 1612 Holland, MI 49422 chuck@thelastwebsite.net
ISBN
Manufactured in the United States of America For Mom Who probably still has a copy of the first thing I remember writing. It was entitled An Ode to Rubber Cement I believe I was twelve.

And For Lanie
Who believed in me when I doubted myself. Again.
Poem \ põ-em \ n : a composition in verse (Webster’s)

or

Poem \ põ-em \ n : An arrangement of words and phrases, either telling a story or conveying emotion, that is equally pleasing to the eye, ear, and imagination (Warren’s)

You decide.

Contents
Introduction
Why Do I write………………………………………1 Before………………………………………………..3 Friend Death………………………………………...4 Dog…………………………………………………...5

One Word………………………………………………….6 I Dreamed of Eagles……………………………………..7 Childish……………………………………………………8 Come to Me……………………………………………….9 Lost at Times……………………………………………..10 from every child to every mother……………………….11 True Love at Five………………………………………...13 Within the Blue……………………………………………14 Ordinary Life……………………………………………...15 Night……………………………………………………….17 Roadside Crosses……………………………………….18 Dog 2………………………………………………………19 Any Other Name………………………………………….20 The Tale…………………………………………………...21 Powerless…………………………………………………23 Friends Passage………………………………………….24 Night Dance……………………………………………….25 How Technology Makes Life Easy……………………..27 (man)………………………………………………………28 Luna……………………………………………………….29 Abstract…………………………………………………...30 Brother…………………………………………………….31 Car-Sharks………………………………………………..33 Raindrop…………………………………………………..35 Turn Around………………………………………………36 C’est La Vie……………………………………………….37 The Door…………………………………………………..39 Monsters…………………………………………………..41 I Am………………………………………………………..43 In Defiance of Gravity……………………………………45 Passionate Kisses………………………………………..46 Roots……………………………………………………….47 Faith………………………………………………………..48 Loves Sweet Fire…………………………………………49 Roadside Crosses 2.……………………………………..50 The Other Side……………………………………………51 Man of the Hour…………………………………………..53 Stars……………………………………………………….54 Covered Bridge…………………………………………...55 Character………………………………………………….57 Irony………………………………………………………..58 Treasures…………………………………………………59 Angry……………………………………………………...61 Jasmine and Jade………………………………………..62 Princess…………………………………………………...63 No One…………………………………………………….64 Live………………………………………………………...65 Ship………………………………………………………...67 Sleepless Night…………………………………………...69

11:22 PM - Time for Bed….…………………….71
11:24 PM - Adrift………………………………...72
2:44 AM – Monsters.…………………………….73
2:46 AM – Awakened by the Dream…………...75
4:49 AM – A Sleepless Night…………………...76
5:51 AM – Dawn…………………………………79
I started writing when I was somewhere around the age of twelve, of course a lot has happened between now and then, so I may be a year or two off. I’ve been writing steadily ever since, spending hours carefully crafting a story or poem, never resting until I had all of the words and spaces exactly where I wanted them. I was only happy when I felt I had painted just the right picture. Once I had achieved this point of perfection, I would always celebrate by immediately balling up the paper and throwing it in the garbage.
I repeated this process for over twenty years, until several people who read the few things that had escaped the delete button made me stop. Even then, I was very self-conscious about letting people I didn’t know well read the things I wrote, but after becoming part of a local writers group sponsored by Barnes and Noble in Holland Michigan, I built up enough courage to finally show the things I wrote to other people.
I think the best thing I’ve gained from being a member of the B&N writers group, besides the wonderful people I’ve met, is the confidence built from interacting with other writers who are just starting to believe they have talent. It’s amazing how many people write, but never believe they are good enough to be read, or feel they really have nothing to say. The members of the writers group have become a sort of “Writers Anonymous”, developing a makeshift twelve-step program, with publication as our ultimate goal.
These days I may stop a perfect stranger on the street for an opinion of something. Usually, after the charges are dropped, I may hear something like “Please stop calling here and following me, I already told you I liked it.” I’ve found that persistence usually pays off, and the court costs are really not that bad.
I always valued the opinions of those who read my stuff, but I knew I needed to get some input outside of my family after I gave my mom written directions to the airport and she asked me to sign and date the page. Mom’s are like that, they can be blinded by love, although I do believe if my mom didn’t like something I wrote, she would probably give me a subtle hint, maybe by burning the page, or screaming in disgust while asking me not to quit my day job. Honestly, I know she would tell me the truth, I would hope that any opinions I ever receive from anyone come from the heart, otherwise I won’t know what to improve upon. If I can’t improve, I can’t become rich and famous. Today’s poetry comes in so many forms it’s become difficult to separate poetry from prose, and sometimes even short stories. I believe something is a poem because that’s what you call it, not because it fits into a certain mold. Poetry can be moving, funny, and sometimes just plain entertaining.
Some of the things I’ve written are intended to make a point, and some are intended to do nothing more than paint an amusing picture, because that’s all I saw while I was writing. I would rather not give away which is which, because I’ve found that many times people find a message where I may not have intended to put one.
I titled this book Lilacs Growing on a Barbed-Wire Fence because sometimes you hope what you say will waft on the breeze like the scent of freshly cut flowers, and sometimes the only way to make your point is with the all the finesse of sharpened steel spikes. I can never seem to find a happy medium, so I’ve included a little of both styles. There is a story behind the creation of every one of these “compositions” (as Webster’s calls them), but my hope is that you get something all your own from each of them. I hope you enjoy reading the words I’ve placed on these pages as much as I’ve enjoyed putting them there.

Chuck Warren

 

February 11, 2003 Why do I write?

I walk through life
Bumping into things
Walking through the flames Battered and slashed by the Events of the day
When I am bruised and cut My blood drips upon the paper

I could cover the wounds Or staunch the flow
But the pain and healing Create the images
And tell the stories
I just try to paint the pictures And give them to you
Before

The Only things
I needed from you Were the Only things You couldn’t give

The Only things
You wanted from me Were the Only things I didn’t have
Friend Death

I am not afraid of Death,
We’re old friends he and I. He’s been hanging around For a very long time.
At first I didn’t know
He was there,
He was careful to keep
Himself just out of sight.
But he gave himself away. Sometimes he would
Take the wheel,
But always to keep me
Between the lines.
And that time that
I fell through the ice,
He made sure
Someone was watching.
Sometimes in the night
I would feel his cold touch, And so many times
I begged him to show me His face, but he never did. When he was away,
He always sent postcards From far-away places
To show me what sights
He had seen,
Or maybe just to remind me He still had my address.
I am not afraid of Death,
Sometimes I can’t sleep
And we’ll play cards until dawn He is always well-mannered, Always polite,
And he always lets me win So far.
Dog

You are the picture
Of unconditional love
Always happy to see me, Eager for a touch
Or a pat on the back
Some simple reward
To show that I care.
I know you love me,
You show it with ease
With a wag of your tail Or a lick on my cheek
But I’d really like it
If maybe sometimes
You’d move just a little And then once in a while I could sit on the couch too. One Word

Speak
Once
Speak now
One word
One phrase
Today for all
The world to hear Tomorrow
Nothing more
Needs ever be
Said aloud again Your words
Your whisper
A touch of silk
Upon my skin
Your thoughts
Your emotions
Held in a glass Through which
I see
From which
I drink
Not a single sound One look from you Is all I ever
Need to know
I dreamed of Eagles

I watched,
Awestruck by
The beauty,
Such fluid grace
Their crowning glory

I watched,
Chained heavy To the earth below As silently they Flew on high

I watched,
And heard the wind Carry forth
The echoed cries Of freedoms song

I watched,
With gentle yearning For such wings
To carry me
To distant lands

I watched,
In the night,
In my sleep
I soared aloft
I dreamed of eagles Childish

Someone called me childish today. I thought on that for a little while, And then, when he least expected it, I smiled and I thanked him for it.

Thinking back on all the injuries,
Broken bones and fractured dreams, And the dangerous world of firsts and lasts, I sometimes wonder how anyone survives.

When I look at today’s children
Entering a world so rich in hope
Yet so full of unexpected horror,
And I envy so the strength born of youth.

I remember all the pains and wonder
Discovered in a first dollar or date,
The abyss of want and the agony of waiting, And finally, the pleasure that comes in receiving.

So many of the years I hurried through
Wanting one day to end and become the next So Christmas would come, or some piece of paper Might arrive to become my next step forward.

How I wish I still had a few of those traits The innocence lost and the hunger for life If I could reclaim just the spirit of youth To make far better use of the knowledge of age

Today I am childish, if only a little
I played in the sand and I ran with my scissors I took a few risks and I conquered my fears I even made mud pies, but don’t tell my mom. Come to Me

Come to me
Be near me
Come with me Don’t fear me Please hold me Please face me Enfold me
Embrace me My lover
My treasure
My partner
Together
You finish
You make me Your colors
Create me
A canvas
In waiting
I’m yours for The painting
Forever
I’ll follow
Without you
I’m hollow
You fill me
With pride
Please stay by My side
Lost at Times

I get lost
Among the
Words
At times
I can not find
The brush
Or color
That I need
A palette of
A thousand words And yet
Not one
Exactly right
To clearly
Paint the
Grass or mountains Or the raindrops That I see
And want
Or need
To show to you
from every child to every mother

such hard questions you ask
yourself such harsh questions and what of the answers,
they do not matter any longer even answers to week-old questions are not valid now, not valid today

you tell yourself you know
all of the answers anyway,
you just didn’t know them
when you think they counted most but the truth is, you knew all along you just had to improvise along the way

I still have the jar you gave to me, you gave one to each of us.
you worried that it was not full enough but it was overflowing, I just kept mine closed, for fear that some would spill and I’d run out. I never wanted to run out.

I never understood how valuable it was what the jar contained, and how it was meant to be shared, never hoarded, such a precious gift disguised
as strength, disguised as will
you would never have accepted failure

(cont) we never knew what we were missing because we were never missing much the best from you may not always be wrapped in paper and knotted ribbons but the best from you shines brightly still the light does not dim with time or distance

and what of the things that happen now could you have changed them in the past could you have kept a tighter hold
and would things be different,
would things be better for us now?
inside you surely know, what will be, will be.

though the years may pass you by you will still shine on awhile
your light will always burn in us and all the world will surely see, your sorrows, joys, and all your love for we will be the mirrors of your life. True Love at Five

She was a vision, in that dress I can still see her so well
It might have been yesterday The soft beauty of red velvet And white lace matched only By the melted chocolate
Of her hair as it dripped
Down over her back,
And then slowly pooled
Between her shoulders

If only I had the courage
To speak, to ask her if
I could sit with her a while If only I knew the right words How to pour them out
And carefully arrange them In the perfect order,
Then maybe today
Thirty four years later
I would still remember her name Within the Blue

My heart, my head, My every breath Forever more
Belongs to you

No matter what Will change in time You’ll always know That this is true

If someone was To look at me
They’d see the gifts Received from you

Within my eyes Your soul does lie I carry you
Within the blue Ordinary Life

I’m thinking of filing A lawsuit
Against my parents. It’s all their fault
That I don’t look like Brad Pitt or
Someone else famous. I could have gone far As a Hollywood star But instead
I’m condemned
To this everyday life. At least they could
Have had the
Decency
To give me
The brains of
Mr. Hawking
Or Einstein
But I guess
In this world
It’s much better
To be pretty
But dumb.
I know I can sue
My mother and father Because no one
Is at fault for their
Own actions today. I might just sue
God because
I slipped on the ice. He put it there

(cont) And I didn’t see
A warning label
So how was I
Supposed to know
That I should
Watch my step.
After all
My parents
Overlooked the part
About Einstein
And Hawking,
Didn’t they?
At least no one
Will notice the scar
I’ll just grow a beard
To cover it up
Then
When I’m older
I might get to
Looking just a little
Like Sean Connery
At least If I don’t
I know a good lawyer He’ll take the case,
And if not,
I’ll just see you on Oprah. Night

I lie still
In the dark
The red numbers on the clock Beaming through my eyelids Like lasers I cannot avoid

I know
Without looking
They say 4:01, like last night And the one before that
When the sleep wouldn’t come

I try
To shut out
The small noises of the dark The disturbances in the night air Like whispers I strain to hear

I hear
The rhythms
The rise and fall of her soft breathing The whimpers of dreaming dogs Chasing rabbits through fields

But I can’t
Block the noise
That fills the room like a storm
The silence of time moving steadily past Each tick of the clock sounds like thunder Roadside Crosses

I saw a woman
putting flowers
on a cross by
the side of the road

I asked her why she believed
this would help to ease her pain

She replied
I only want to
show my respect for the dead

I asked her then if it wouldn’t
have helped her to feel better now

if we all had shown more respect
to them when
they were alive
Dog 2

Sit…
Good boy.
Now lay down,
Lay down,
Lie down,
Please lie down.
Lie down.
Lie down.
Lay down.
Lay down,
Come on, just lie down Lie down.
Do you want a cookie? Lie down,
Lie down,
Lay down,
Lay down.
Oh, forget it.
Let’s go.
Let’s go…
Let’s go,
Hey! Let’s go!
Let’s go,
Let’s go…..
Any Other Name

I bend to smell the rose And catch my finger tip
Upon the thorn, I linger
For just a moment
In the reality of
The painful sting
I pull away and leave
A single drop of blood
Hanging from the needles tip A price paid for the taste The knowledge of beauty The drop falls slowly
From the thorn as if
The rose has cried
One single crimson tear And let it sink, to be
Forever swallowed by
The dust, the scar upon My finger tip, the pain,
The pleasure, still remains The Tale

I am the leader I am the trail I am the teller, I am the tale

I am the spider
Spinning the thread I am the baker
Kneading the bread

I am the lover I am the lust I am the iron I am the rust

I build the castles
And tear down the walls I drop the pieces
And watch as they fall

I feel the anger I feel the love I am the eagle I am the dove

I see the visions
And I feel the pain I walk in the sunshine And stand in the rain

(cont) I am the paper I am the page I am the silence I am the rage

I hold the memories And I share the past I keep the legends And I make them last

I am the letters I am the ink
I am the pitcher I am the drink

Releasing the stories Like birds that take flight I live and I breathe
I see, thus I write
Powerless

At times
I feel I am
Powerless
To look away,
To seek out more
Than dancing colors
And fantastic imagery There are times
When I feel
Powerless
To get up from
My seat and move
From my vantage point To find something,

Anything more
Than the
Mindless Chatter
Of talking heads and
Two dimensional parrots Flashing their plumage but That’s entertainment
I guess I should
Be happy to
Have such
Distractions, but
Then I remember that I am not powerless after all I have the power to
Push the right
Button and
Turn off
The
TV.
A Friends Passage

I will miss you,
I will miss all the things you gave to me. I will miss you everyday.

I will feel your loss,
As deep and painful as any wound. I will need time to heal.

I will see you,
In my dreams and out of the corner of my eye. I will want you to be there when I turn

I will not cry for you,
You have journeyed to some wondrous place. I will cry for me.

I will see you,
Reflected on the surface of the pool of my tears I will see you still.
Night Dance

Late at night
I might go dancing With soaring eagles Or crocodiles

Sometimes I float Along a river
Could be the Miss Could be the Nile

I stand aside
To let the dragons Swoop down to grab Their hapless prey

Or jump head first In to the water
To swim along
While dolphins play

Some nights you’ll find Me listening to a
Speech that’s made By Honest Abe

At times I may
Be found outside While Igor robs The freshest grave

I’ve traveled far
Throughout the cosmos To dance along
Some comets tail

(cont) And rode high perched Upon the saddle
Astride the shells
Of giant snails

So many stories
I have lived
While speeding through The darkest night

Some ended in A fairy tale
Some ended in A fearsome fright

But one thing always Stays the same
Whatever road
That I may take

I know I’ll find
Your sleepy smile To greet me here When I awake How Technology Makes Life Easy

dearmary, (backspacebackspacebackspace)
Der Mari, (backspacebackspacebackspace)
Dear mAry, (backspacebackspacebackspace)
dEar mary, (backspacebackspacebackspace)
Dear Mary,
I m riting (backspacebackspacebackspace)
I am wrting (backspacebackspacebackspace)
i Am writin (backspacebackspacebackspace)
I am riting to thak (backspacebackspacebackspace) I am writing ot tank (backspacebackspacebackspace) I am writing to tanks (backspacebackspacebackspace) Dear Mary,
I am writing to thnka yu for the (backspacebackspace) I am writin to thanks for (backspacebackspacebackspace) Thanks for the gift.
It os the nisest can opiner (backspacebackspace) It is teh nices can (backspacebackspacebackspace) It’s great.
I hop to (backspacebackspacebackspace)
I hope we wll se(backspacebackspacebackspace) I hpe we wil see (backspacebackspacebackspace) Hpoe to see (backspacebackspacebackspace) Bye.
(sigh)
(delete)
Ring, Ring,
“Hi Mary? It’s Bill!”
(man)

(man) stood at the open door
entrance was the sign on the polished surface the light was blinding but welcome
I am free - (man) cried - aloud for all the world to hear

(man) stood at the open door
growth said the sign on a colorful poster
the room was soft and comfortable within
I am free - (man) smiled – I have no cares nor have I fear

(man) stood at the open door
knowledge was the sign upon the heavy door there was uncertainty in the heavy air
I am free - (man) said to all – but what is expected of me

(man) stood at the open door
experience was the sign upon the vast entrance the view was chaotic and frightening
am I free – (man) asked himself – if so am I prepared to be

(man) stood at the open door
solitude was lettered on the gilded plaque
a

You may also like...

  • The Summers Readers: Primer
    The Summers Readers: Primer Poetry by Maud Summers
    The Summers Readers: Primer
    The Summers Readers: Primer

    Reads:
    11

    Pages:
    76

    Published:
    Aug 2022

    Collection of RHYMES AND POEMS.

    Formats: PDF, Epub, Kindle, TXT

  • Motley and Other Poems
    Motley and Other Poems Poetry by Walter de la Mare
    Motley and Other Poems
    Motley and Other Poems

    Reads:
    8

    Pages:
    45

    Published:
    Aug 2022

    A selection from among the poems included in this volume

    Formats: PDF, Epub, Kindle, TXT

  • Can Grande's Castle
    Can Grande's Castle Poetry by Amy Lowell
    Can Grande's Castle
    Can Grande's Castle

    Reads:
    6

    Pages:
    124

    Published:
    Jul 2022

    The four poems in this book are more closely related to one another than may at first appear. They all owe their existence to the war, for I suppose that, had...

    Formats: PDF, Epub, Kindle, TXT

  • Lumber Lyrics
    Lumber Lyrics Poetry by Walt Mason
    Lumber Lyrics
    Lumber Lyrics

    Reads:
    40

    Pages:
    62

    Published:
    May 2022

    Men who don’t get good and mellow when is due that brave old fellow, surely are cheap skates.

    Formats: PDF, Epub, Kindle, TXT