911 Ceremony

9-11_evacuees_2
9/11/01 New York City WORLD TRADE CENTER TERRORIST BOMBING PARK ROW AFTER 2ND BUILDING COLLAPSE © TRICIA MEADOWS/GLOBE PHOTOS, INC. © 2001 K31459

Our face denies emotion with our stance
though years of suffered loss bring no relief.
Today we view the gas mask with a glance
as firemen-stunned among the Tower’s grief.
Our calm defies the hurt within recalled
that day we ran through dust as panic stings.
Our hair turns white remembering their fall
that day when ashes flew our feet had wings.

“The End of Love”

credit: Dreamstime.com

“The End of Love”

That end to our emotions mixed with doubt.
That chill is in the air and she’s a thief.
Her danse macabre comes with September’s rout
when green things turn and wither with relief.

When colors drunk with abnormality
cry out; their bloody cost then tossed to ground.
Their voices hushed. Dry, crackled brevity.
Plain-parted things, their dust cannot be found.

Forgotten now.  Dead thought without a trace.
And no one may recall our summer bloom.
That part of us inflamed with our embrace
now cold; dispersed to darker, solemn gloom.

Oh, dance, dear heart, before our final year;
before our fateful day brings winter’s sere.

 

 

jacquelinecaseypoetry

stamen“The Meeting”

If we should meet another time, my heart

when we depart this world and travel far,

remember how the looks between us start

us to another place among the stars.

Our love a pensive gaze; a sparkling shower

of light where we embrace the need of each.

Like shiv`ring tendrils of some stamen’s flower,

we cherish all such warmth within our reach.

Departed from this place, we may be hurled

into a starless night beyond belief.

Love’s consciousness then absent from that world

where caring has no sense to cause us grief.

Still, in that deeper night, our souls set free

I will be searching yet, for thee…for thee.

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Fake News

AmericaFlag“Fake News”

The educated voter hears both sides.
Unfortunate, our citizen can’t split
his time or work to find where Truth resides;
where Nervous Nancy’s lying Left might sit.

The Left has left our borders open wide
yet still need magic pill to beat our Trump.
Let Tyranny’s Majority decide
and give beloved nation final slump?

Our Citizens, as listeners, less intent
to hear the newsy pieces of their ‘act’.
Our babies must come first and then the rent
and so we miss a part of all their ‘fact’.

Ah, longing for the good old days of news
when all we had was simple radio.
Let Orson Welles warn, cause a panic, too
who shows us evil winds about to blow!

The proof, they say, found in the final taste.
Lies found in politics, a dangerous place!

For All The Beautiful, Young Men

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“For All the Beautiful, Young Men”

I see the courage in their brave-lit eyes

as Omaha becomes their shining hour.

The camera’s caught the morning’s gray, dull skies.

Men wait; committed with the bravest power.

The ramp now opens; there’s the glint of morn.

There is no turning back; no time to pause.

Momentum made and like a muscle torn_ 

yanked from its place_ they move for raging cause.

“Oh, captain! we’ve been born across the sea.

We’ve given you our soul and then our heart. 

We’ve nothing more to offer in this hell.

As water takes our forces, we depart.”

Our beautiful young men with bravest smile;

our heroes lost in such a little while.

 

(4,000 lost at Omaha landing that day!)

The Flowers of the Field

Photo by Priceless Times PhotographySiyah with Dad

“The Flowers of the Field”

The reach within your baby hands so sweet

make father want to hold back ticking time

but even you, my child , are forced to meet

a different kind of father in this rhyme.

He’s called old Time and steals your innocence

Allows your golden play be thrown away.

You’ll not recall this moment with your Dad.

Time’s jealousy will steal and cause decay.

For now, a trust and love for father’s grace.

For now, your world is safe within his arms.

Within this moment is the safest place.

A moment, stilled, with all its poignant charm.

Yet, all the flowers of the field we know

must yet begin to stretch and then to grow.

For Johnny

 

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(Photo by Jacqueline Casey)

“For Johnny”


When silver leaves sigh, trembling to the ground
a brilliant gold is sprinkled everywhere.
Sure, then I hear your laughter mid the sound
of steps that shuffle up abandoned stair.


When scarlet leaves dance, hesitant to part


lay deep in dusty shadows, they intone


and whisper “I have been here where my heart
knows sad farewell to memories we’ve known”.


When days grow short with bitterness of soul,


among the frost and starry branches bare,

remember warm your humor I still hold
before the light grows dull to dark despair.
 

Once more I sense your autumn presence where,
among the jeweled leaves, you’re smiling there.

. .

 

.

 

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.

 

 

 

When Love is Gone

A world abandoned,  nature now attends.

She grows her roving vines; surrounds the door.

The sound of children’s play is heard no more.

Around the gnarled roots that grow and stray

she grabs at windows once held curtain’s sway.

No human voices echo through her halls

No more the roaming Jasmine odor calls.

What mystery escapes her stucco walls?

What place is this once held such loveliness?

Mad roots now rave and overrun her past.

They strangle unknown cause so long forgot.

When love is gone, then covered is the heart.

overgrown house

The View From My Back Door

Snow
Photo by Jacqueline Casey

The glow of silver trees against blue sky
against a deeper royal blue ally
as snow now blankets each and every limb
with loving care, their mother covers them.

The trees so loved by nature’s wintry blast
it seems some artist covers to contrast.
Her richest blue encircles icy trim
with loving care, their mother covers them!

To some, a dark and deadly, frozen fear;
to others, it’s a message that they hear:
Such honor sent to each not as some whim.
With loving care, their mother covers them.

The trees bejeweled still with breathless hue;
their branches blaze against an endless blue.
They bow in adoration for her hymn;
with loving care, their mother covers them.

Form: Kyrielle: AA;BB;CC;bB;DD;bB;EE;bB
(from my kitchen door in Murphy, NC)