Category: Poetry

Here and There

 

Twin red lights

Throb in the far distance

Beacons saying who knows what

To who can say and where

 

Such a great expanse

Between this “here” and all those “there”s

Even when all there is

Is the space between me

And two red lights

 

 

© Gayle Force Press 2000

 

 

 

 

Counting Out Time

 

I counted the hours today

Though I usually allow them to slide glide

Elide from now to then

Free floating nebulous not my business

Measures made by men

 

Why is it then that I counted

Slowly waiting for them to pass and hoping

That they would before my watchful eye

Could notice enough to miss them

As I did you

During each day long hour

Filled with many more than the sixty

Minutes I expected to torture me

 

Remind me once more

Since I always forget to remember

That the time between us

Passes just the same

If I’m holding or missing you

Or you’re scolding or kissing me

 

Regardless of what I claim to know

The time still passes

Even when I miss you enough

That in one absent moment

I feel the fear of forever

 

 

 © Gayle Force Press 2006

 

 

Hidden, Unseen

 

The city below me

Paints a picture of progress

With unspoken miracles

So commonly ignored

They’re scattered among us

Hidden, unseen

 

This church around me

Painted a picture of peace

With oft-spoken miracles

Uncommon but ignored

I’m scattered among them

Hidden, unseen

 

These lives distant from me

Painting a picture of purgatory

Their soft-spoken miracles

Too commonly ignored

They scatter from me

Hidden, unseen

 

 

© Gayle Force Press 2003

 

 

 

Kitchen

  

I walked from the kitchen

Slowly stopped and turned around

The gentle bubble of pots on the stove

Sounded warm and beautiful

Inviting, so I went back in

 

Watching the lid dance over my soup

I noticed the dry, hot smell

Of cumin drowning in the sweet

Black juice of the beans

 

I felt the smile on my face

And wondered how many times

My granddad stood smiling in his kitchen

With the cornbread beginning to brown

 

 

© Gayle Force Press 2002

 

 

 

 

Bloodmoon Morning

Today we had an earth shadow sunrise

As the girth of our Mother

Blackened the light

Forcing her daughter Selena

To hemorrhage

Where she stands

Becoming an artist rendition

Of cousin Mars

 

My sister in Tennessee noticed

20 seconds before I did

My friends in Minnesota

15 seconds later

While I stood in the middle

 

In my silent way

Awed overwhelmed

Gratefully surrounded

By a canopy of stars

Standing sentry over the universe

And me too

 

 

© Gayle Force Press 2014

 

 

Nectar

 

A super rare collaborative poem. Thanks, Bran!

 

 

Remember the time

I pretended

 

I was a bee

That stung you

 

Hard

With my butt

 

Then I pretended

To die

 

In love

As a sacrifice

 

 

Brandy Rodgers and Franklin Oliver

 

© Gayle Force Press 2014

 

Just Past Middle

 

This isn't the best poem I've ever written about my mother but it's the one I can share today.

 

 

Black female

Just past middle

Age weight height

Okay not height

 

She’s lived through

And fought so much

More than I know

 

Saving me from what life

Might, but never

Would, have been

 

Because she is

My mother

 

 

© Gayle Force Press 2003

 

 

Last Train from Overbrook

 

 

I love this tune from James Moody. It’s bright, bouncy and surprising. This is just three minutes of fun. I don’t know anything about the history of the song or the place called Overbrook (although I think Wilt Chamberlain went to an Overbrook High) or even James Moody himself.  The music has always caused me to envision this track as a celebration of an amazing night out. Moody takes the last train because you’d want to linger as much as possible on a night like this one!

 

The title though brought to mind something entirely different though, likely caused by the demise of Central State Hospital near the West Indianapolis neighborhood my grandparents lived in for decades. I began contemplating what it might mean to be on the last train from a place called Overbrook that had a purpose similar to that of Central State; caring for people battling mentally illness.  

 

This poem is the result.

 

                                                                    

The Last Train from Overbrook

 

 

The last train from Overbrook is leaving today

I suppose it’s about time

But this has come to feel like home to me

 

My tiny windows give me just enough light

To see the stream across the bridge;

This really is a gorgeous view

I know that Dr. Baylor was right, now

Rest and some down time made the difference

Thankfully everything is fine

 

This winter will be wonderful

I already can sense it, now that I’m well

The snowy days will be peaceful

With laughing kids reminding me of my own childhood

Not like last year’s taunting jeers

 

And Christmas, wow,

I can’t wait for Christmas

Even though I won’t buy any presents

It will still be thrilling

Maybe I’ll go out some night

Just looking at the store windows and houses

Decked out so lavishly

 

My apartment will be nice

With so many little things that I like

Some books, my pipe

Maybe a couple pictures too

Not the sad kind that make me feel lonely

But happy laughing photos

Filling frames and space

Some with people I used to know

 

The last train from Overbrook is leaving today

I know it’s just about time

To trade a home for home

 

 

 

© Gayle Force Press 2014