DAYS OF DESPONDENCY: Poetry by Larry Eugene Meredith

POETRY WRITTEN  1969-1976

Ode to My Grandmother Upon her 75th Birthday

She taught me reading of words upon her knee

At four twenty and four Washington Ave,

In the kitchen she made crust pies for me

I’ve never had better than those I’d have.

You know, in eighteen hundred ninety nine

This country was a dissimilar place,

Lacking conveniences from in our time!

Automobile excursion, not outer space.

States were not all states; borders not yet strung.

Through History she stayed forever young.

When somebody has been there all your life

They can be simply taken for granted.

Through the moments of joy, hard times and strife,

She was there with love given openhanded.

It’s art to be a grandmother; science too.

Some are artisans. Mine was a master.

How can you show what someone means to you?

Carve their statute in white alabaster?

I count it a blessing I’m her grandson.

I’ll survey her and stay forever young.

Eleventh, June, nineteen seventy four,

Happy Birthday, mam-mam, at seventy-five.

You gave the future to me, and much more,

You made the past glow vivid and alive.

Today ev’rybody sings you a song.

I want you to know in my heart will sing

Ev’ry visit where you took me along,

Each story told, ev’ry toy you would bring,

And this paean will forever be sung.

For being so hip and forever young!
















Written for my maternal; grandmother on her 75th birthday.


The photos are of her in her youth and on her last birthday celebrating with her great grand children.


Esther 1899-1978

SPRINGS

March Daze

Smoke lazily strays

In turns and dances.

It drifts

Throughout March daze. Seasons stubbornly stay.

Neither the snow nor the sun will lift.

Smoke lazily strays

To the west.

Warm rays cook the clouds.

The red glow sifts throughout the March daze.

Wind huffs spring our way

And bleak winter stirs to shift.

Smoke lazily strays,

Like high water ‘cross bays.

Pregnant trees adorn the cliffs

Throughout the March daze.

Progeny of May’s

Is conceived by airy whiffs

As smoke lazily strays throughout the March daze.

Companions

At the side of March

Steps April, dressed in green.

Collar stiff with starch.

Secret Girl

Shallow gal, deep-down girl,

M.A.D. eyes so tricky light.

Doors shut, windows up,

Secret day, open night.

Secret girl with morning

Frown; twilight laugh. Cute. Chic.

Be with me a secret;

Be indiscreet.

Secret girl whispering,

Philadelphia Street.

Dance, prance the barroom floor.

Yell and shout when we’re fleet.

Secret girl, deep-down girl,

Mystique. What other name?

Who are you? Blue? Purple?

Or are you both the same?

Stay cloaked; hid away.

Come out into my world.

Hide and seek. Be insane,

Sane girl, M.A.D. girl.

SIimple Song

A simple song

Of lyric true

To simply say

I love you.

No messages

Or mystery of

The way I feel.

You I love.

It is not art

That I strive for.

It’s your heart.

A simple song

Of melody

That captures the

Simple me.

Come sing with me

My simple song

That begs you to

Sing along.

It’s no hall

I wish to fill.

It’s my soul.

Two Josephs

Joseph came and took Him in hand.

Carefully he laid Jesus down.

Breath held, the earth gathered around

In worship. Silence held the land.

Side by side stood the low and grand

To touch the hem of the baby’s gown.

Joseph came and took Him in hand.

Carefully he laid Jesus down.

Stepping from his place he came to stand,

Risking his position and renown,

Under the cross. He reached a hand

To take the body of the Son of Man.

Joseph came and took Him in hand.

Carefully he laid Jesus down.

Walk by the White Watergate: [Same-old-same-old lessons from history] Part I

You could not see a plane, because

No plane was fueled to fly.

No cars were driving on the road,

There was no gas to buy.

The Walrus and the Carpenter,

The latter head of state;

They wept like anything to see,

The fruits of Watergate.

“I’ll not wallow in this mess,”

Said one. “Don’t,” said his mate.

“If senators with seven tapes

Searched for all the year,

Do you suppose,” asked Carpenter,

“That we could get off clear?”

“I doubt it, boss,” said the Walrus,

And shed a bitter tear.

The Walrus and the Carpenter

Walked on a mile ahead

When inspiration came. “Sir,

There’s something you should know,”

The Walrus said, “I wish to stay,

But I think that I should go.”

The Carpenter was all alone

As the ocean roared,

And the timid, tiny oysters

Formed an inquiry board.

So he called a lobster to his side,

‘Twas the best he could afford.

O woeful, weeping Carpenter, your

Tears are all a sham.

Why don’t you do like Walrus did

And take it on the lam?

Too late to shut the Watergate

Or the bursting dam.

“The time has come,” said Carpenter,

“To talk of many things.

Of China and of income tax,

Of prisoners and kings,

And what detante is or is not,

And does Kissinger have wings?”

“But wait a bit,” the oysters cried,

“Before going on with that.

We think that’s just a cover-up,

Like your paper hat,

And if you don’t come clean,

We’re going to toss you out.”

“Toss me out,” said the Carpenter.

“Don’t you realize

The tales you’ve been told

Are only lobster lies

And exaggerations made up

By newspaper spies?

“First they kicked my dog about

And then my Walrus friend.

It’s a left wing conspiracy

To bring me to an end,

And if you don’t cease right now,

I shan’t speak to you again.”

Walk by the White Watergate: [Same-old-same-old lessons from history] Part II

Just when the water seems safe

Here came a strange new twosome.

Dancing in perfect harmony

Was Hilly-dee and Billy-dum.

They pranced about with deeds undone

And left behind words designed to numb.

“The time has come,” said Dee and Dum,

“To talk of many things.

Of China and of income tax,

Of councils and kings,

And what intercourse is or is not,

And does Monica have wings?”

“Starrs come out,” said Dum and Dee.

“But don’t you realize

The tales you’ve been told

Are only lobster lies

And exaggerations made up

By newspaper spies?

“We read your case, long gone Carpenter,

And we mean you no malice,

But it’s a right-wing conspiracy

That surrounds this palace.”

                          “Don’t tell the talking heads,

                          But I’ve been dating Alice.”

                                           “What’s that you say,” asked Hilly-dee

                                           “Would you risk us being jailed?”

                        “Now, never fret my faithful pet,

                        You know I’ve never failed.

                         I’ve blown smoke about adultery,

                        But I ne’er inhaled.”

Illustration: Novelty items of the Clintons

This poems was written 23 years after Part I and 22 years after this collection was originally put together, but this seemed the proper place to include it.

SUMMERS

Notice From a Member of the In-Crowd

If people

passing

Are

Peeking

 in,

They will find me

Peeking

out at

them.

Kisses

Kisses are the blossoms

Fallen to the river

Touching with calm softness

Yet strong as the tide can make them

Rippling in the currents

Of the rushing river

They are mine forever

Taken from their giver

Smooth to worldly roughness

Placid on the stormy lake then

Floating like a flower

On a rushing river

Kisses are the breezes

Blowing on the river

Brimming with refreshness

Touching early evening darkness

Given unto blossom

These blooms of the giver

Kisses are the blossoms

Fallen from the giver

Pressing gentle softness

On the lips pursing to take them

Burning on the surface

Of my rushing river

Behind the Rain

Behind tonight’s rain a

Coldness drops upon me.

The highway lights glisten;

Traffic’s wet symphony.

It reminds me of that one,

When the days were good.

One had unruly tresses,

When the days were good.

It reminds me of this one,

When the days were good.

It reminds me of one’s passion,

When the days were good,

When nights were caresses,

When the days were good.

Behind tonight’s moon,

Stars’ dark side to me.

Some corner hooker

Will pretend sympathy.

Behind tomorrow’s sun,

Roads ahead of me.

Highway surfaces flood,

With traffic like a sea.

Reminds me of another one

Once a summer long,

That one’s coolly flashing eyes,

Once a summer long.

Once a summer long

When the days were good.

Rhyme Royal to Jazz

Alone at evening dusk, myself and jazz,

Our chords both soft and sad. Alone we test

The scale for new expression. Our impasse?

Imagination fails. Our notes but jest.

The mind of man is not up to the test.

      How terrible are these limits of mind

      That at the end of thought our actions bind.

Joe

who went reluctant

protesting his draft

but fought well

was officially heroic

more times than once

became a leader

served honorably

winning

bronze star

three oak leaf clusters

battalion presidential citation

five air metals

vietnam national metals

purple heart

loves family

loves america

loves god

came back alive not loving unreason

To Lois

Old hills glow in soft eve light on leaf shine,

Where we step as we find our way to love.

The wind song in the trees sounded above

Our heads when we came close, when you were mine.

Sunlit spring noon ablaze that youthful time.

Middays each spent in walks with hand in tow,

Lingering morning dews gave grass a glow,

Then you up rose to touch this soul of mine.

The hour has come to see us home again,

Dark clouds are black and wet across the wood.

Let us go run between the time it could

And time it would pool its moisture and rain.

At length we laugh to see raindrops go by

Not hitting us, me and you, you and I.

Love Song Without Lyric

I love you,

Though I never say it.

In saying it,

You lose the substance.

Can you say “ocean”

And touch what you mean?

Does the word express

Sea depth and strength?

Does it crash like white wave

Or dart like a fish?

Do you feel the moon tug

In voicing the word?

Can you sift the sand

Or breathe the salt spray

In speaking the sound?

You lose the feel of life,

Of strength, of mystery.

To say “ocean”

Is to say nothing.

To say “I love you”

                                                 Is but little more

Walker's Question

As I go out walking

In the crispness of eve,

I think of my living

And what I believe.

I see my own sins

In the clouds of the sky,

And brings me to ask,

Why Jesus did die?

I know I’m not worth it,

Not the man I have been,

For all my good works

Cannot cover my sin.

So I ask for God’s grace,

For this gift He will give.

There is the answer,

Why Jesus does live.

FALLS

People in the Doorway Afraid to Come Out

Many years ago these people died

And it’s been down hill since then.

Cloaks of conformity, where souls can hide,

Tugged a little tighter against the wind

And it’s shielding out the fear

The chance to be alive

Might come tearing down their street

And park across their drive.

Many years these minds have been asleep

And having nightmares all along.

The pillows silencing those who might weep

Have also smothered out the living’s song,

That sings forget the fear

To stand up and be alive

Come swim across the world pool

And splash us with a dive.

Many days of dust have clung to these

And it keeps catching in their eyes.

It’s the excess of the life long roles

It takes to hide away the life long lies,

And it’s chanting that the fear

That those still alive

Might come across their secrets

And show them to the tribe.

Trails That You Talk

I don’t want to walk

In the trails that you talk.

Not while I can feel.

Don’t tell me of love,

You who speak hatred.

Don’t tell me that peace,

Never justifies war.

Don’t ask me to kneel

At some gilded pew

To monetary gods

When there are the poor.

You talk of working

Only for yourself.

Patriotism

Is Sunday drink clubs.

You speak of duties,

But for someone else.

You are not seeking ways,

You’re looking for cause.

Don’t teach me to blanch

At a colorful skin.

Don’t ask me to fight

In your party wars.

Don’t cloak me in cloth

To pretend your faith.

Don’t say your marriage is

Always free from whores.

As you slowly fade

I will climb a hill.

When your TV blinks

I’ll hold out a hand.

There is contentment

For your kind of mind,

But what makes you think you’re

The voice of my land?

Don’t tell me of love,

You who speak hatred.

Don’t tell me that peace,

Never justifies war.

Don’t call me a dropout

With your apathy.

Don’t try to sell me

On you anymore.

I don’t want to walk

In the trails that you talk.

Not while I am real.

Touching

I have walked the winter

In great distances of snow,

Where the waterfalls stood mute

And were turned to crystal

And I have touched it.

I have stood at autumn

In the mountains far away

And seen the sunsets of Heaven

Blazing like candied fruit

And I have touched it.

I have walked ocean shores

With the waters cold and warm

And seen the cotton tufts of waves

That know the entire world

And I have touched it.

I have worked the fields

Where food is bending down the vine

And shared the sweating of the faces

That stirred the dust of work

And I have touched it.

And I have seen some darker times

When I heard the sound of empty.

I have shared the echo of my footfalls

With the depth of loneliness

And I have touched it.

Trails That You Talk

Poem Symphonic 1st Movement: Sonata-Allegro

The face I saw one full winter ago,

Today still haunts the air of spring and fall;

A wind image of frost, of ice, of snow.

The rustling summer trees harken the call.

Her name escapes my oft-fragile tongue.

My thoughts go back to find Decembering.

I knew only the girl was frothy young,

That blur is all that comes remembering.

The rest goes hasteningly away again,

Like melting snows in March that greet the spring.

The memory melts to torrents of rain,

It washes wild and floods everything.

In spring, before the blossom-buds can break,

The empty fields, so barren-bleak they ache.

The face I saw one Fall Winter ago

Is blown icy with time’s blue, pale, cool breath.

And once this soul floated high, to and fro.

Then winter came full blast; the depth of death

Had come. In February she left.

I wail silent for fading memory

To bring some lingering image to me.

Face of past winter, I know you, don’t I?

Haunt of spring, of air and memory still,

Will the snow and ice again bring you by?

Must I live as best as can be until

Time turns me to rusting brittlely, too?

Decembering must I go always more

Seeking images of fading fog blue?

Frothy youth, I knew in days long before.

Time was when I could have known so well this

Lost image, but carelessly she escaped.

Love was brief, a candle flame and quick kiss.

Blossom-buds may break in spring before long.

Birds may come home, hear me, share in my song.

The buds may soon break.

The face I saw last winter

Will be in bird song.

Winter is the season to lose;

Feel it seventy-seven times greater.

Blue windy moods, white empty snows,

Each a dawn of emotional weather.

The face that I knew last winter

Is in the ashes underneath the logs.

It is in the smoke and splinters.

It is in the ember glow that is gone.

All faces, like the fireplace flames,

Are fragile, made of burning features.

They cannot be constructed the same

Way out of the cinders.

The face I knew last winter;

Ashes to ashes and dust to dust.

But she is not dead as cinders.

The face is just far from us.

There must not be emotion.

It must be told from reason.

Calm, with no quaking voice,

All in order in its season.

If my voice shakes at the end,

It is only that it is tired.

It has not been by my choice

That I tell the tale over again.