Poems (1990s)

she saw heaven

9-13-94

Here's another poem from 1994. This time I had the music of U2s Lemon in my head. I originally wrote in all-caps, so I'll stick with that. I remember sitting in my bedroom with my word processor typing this in less than twenty minutes. It was most likely done at the last minute for my creative writing course. I haven't done any editing other than give it a title. I was once proud of these poems years and years ago, but rather embarrassed now. I like the imagery though. 

SHE SAW HEAVEN
SHE HAD THE SPARKLE IN HER EYE
SHE TOUCHED THE CLOUDS
AND THE MOUNTAIN JUST ROLLED BY
SHE SAW ANGELS
THEY GAVE HER THEIR WINGS
NO MORE QUESTIONS WHY

AND SHE WAS STRUCK AND TORTURED BY HER PAST
SHE HAD NOTHING BUT MEMORIES BURIED IN THE WATERS SANDY FLOOR

SHE SAW JESUS
SHE DIDN'T KNOW HOW TO SAY
HE SAID TIME IS NOW STANDING ALONE
I WILL LISTEN TO YOUR WORD
HEAVEN IS ON YOUR SIDE

AND THE SOUNDS OF TRUMPETS SHOUTED OUT TO HER
HIS BRIGHT LIGHT WAS AS COMFORTABLE AS DREAMS ALONG SEASHORES

DREAMING IS WHERE SHE LIVES
DREAMING ESCAPES YOU FROM THE CLAWS OF REALITY
DREAMING IS A NEW LIFE BEGINNING
DREAMING IS WHERE THE TRASH CANS ARE CLEAN
DREAMING IS NOT LIVING NEXT DOOR

WHEN SHE AWAKENS
SHE WILL SEE PEOPLE IN THAT OLD POSITION
AND SHE WILL NOT HELP
HER FEAR IS TOO STRONG           TOO HEAVY FOR HER WINGS TO CARRY
HER HEAD IS SPINNING                 THE MOUNTAINS ARE NOT MOVING
SHE DOES NOT SLEEP                     HER DREAMS DO NOT EXIST

SHE SEES THE FIGURE
HE WALKS THROUGH BRIGHT LIGHT
SHE SEES VISIONS (her wings are spread)
HE TELLS HER HOW TO DREAM
PUT YOUR FEAR INTO ME
I WILL EVAPORATE THE SORROW

SHE FEELS NOTHING BUT SEES EVERYTHING
DROWNING ARE HER  FEAR AND SUFFERING
SHE FEELS THE WARMTH FROM THE GUIDED LIGHT         SHE IS GONNA DREAM

DREAMIN' IS WHERE SHE BLOOMS
DREAMIN' IS WHERE THE MUSIC STOPS BUT THE MELODY KEEPS ON GOING
DREAMIN' IS WHERE BEAUTY HAS NO SHAPE

SHE IS IN HEAVEN
SHE IS NOT DREAMING
SHE'S IN HEAVEN                               DARKNESS IS A GLOWING SHADE
SHE'S NOT DREAMING                      SHE HAS HER OWN PICKET FENCE
                                                                                          TO RUN ALONG

R.S.GRAYBILL

Dawn's Angel

This is a poem I wrote on May 27th 1995. I had a U2 song in my head from The Joshua Tree. If you were to take a listen it would take you long to figure it out. My buddies Chris and Mike from college had started to turn this into a song on their acoustic guitars. If we had had iphones back then it would have been easy to record it and still have today. I wrote it for Angie - Angela Dawn - who at the time was just my girlfriend - seven years away from being my wife.

Desert dreams
 oceans flow through my desert dreams
  deserted by a faithless kiss
   our secrets will dream tonight

Liberty
 my soul stands free
  no longer imprisoned by sightless eyes
   that cover woven truth

Sunlit train
 we will ride the sunlit train
  toward tangled array
   diseases ended by a spiritual hand
    that is what I want to give

Kiss her hand
 bruised and battered I will kiss her hand
  we will make a golden shadow
   covering the Almighty's land

Ocean floor
 we will watch the stars from the ocean floor
  sands will circle
   and greet the sky's nightlights

Fall within
 within her I will fall
  lead her through the valley of shadows
   no darkness will shine tonight

Underneath
 I will save her wing under my pillow
  if she feels the same for me
   we will be covered by faithful memories

By the shore
 the moon will
  saying it's alright

She's dawn's angel
 Beside me she sleeps under midnight's light
  Riding and searching for the dust from the stars

Dreamless and dusk
 Her lips are as sweet as my whispers
  That hold our night
    Need not I dream
     She's another angel's dream

If I fall
  Where will I land
    On my pillow full of dreams
      I am bruised and battered
       Will she kiss my hand
         Am I the other angel who she seeks tonight

R.
  S.
    Graybill

Poem: Untitled

This is a poem written a couple of months before my high school graduation. It's told from the perspective of a tree reminding me of course of, The Giving Tree, by Shel Silverstein. I can honestly say I had never read that book before then, but so glad I have discovered it since. Reading through this poem for the first time in twenty years makes me wonder if it has potential for a picture book. 

April 6, 1994

Its future is now buried in soft soil of the earth
planted by working hands of the older generation
the sunlight the falling rain put to growth this little plant
looked on by hopeful eyes for weeks of months to come
voices helped it grow and they show and tell with the
neighbors were always good for an extra inch
a little one with no clear voice would sit and touch it
with its tender fingertips

the plant felt loved and after the first white fall
it was ready to go
the tenderness is still there but it has grown
the plant as well, is now up to the palms
the little one now seems to have the only hopeful eye
but she is so fun to watch, the beauty in her eye
before the night, overtakes the day she tells me goodnight
and in the morning she asks how was your nap
she pats me on the head and leaves with her pack

the hot days are over the cool winds are coming
another few inches I have grown, I'm gaining a little
the love never stops

she walks home she is a little upset she sits down
and tells me of her day
the call from the house comes through my peers
the little girl leaves with a grin
the white begins to take control
I still see the girl no quite as often
but she sends her love as she sails by on the snow
with rosy cheeks she runs inside doesn't forget
to turn back and wave good-bye

Part II

April 8, 1994

I'm a little cold but it doesn't bother me
the little princess has come and nested a fire by my place
I don't quite understand but she has knowledge
she shows me these gifts that I saw being snuck in at night
the fire has gone out so has her little mind

I drop a leaf to awaken her to protect her from the cold
she leaves she says goodbye I know it will
not be long for another Hi.

I haven't seen any people for awhile  I begin to feel depressed
as my first branch begins making its way into the world
my friend is getting bigger now she spends time
with other cheerful people of  the same kind
familiar hands have given me new friends
but my best one is still the one with tender hands

my branches are very strong and now that the hot weather
has come I get to see my friend from morning until who knows when
there are strings attached not to my visits but to my branch
my friend swings back and forth singing the whole time
I sing along she pretends she can hear me
her and her father sleep out beside me

she tells him about me he said friends are great
I started to like that man who first gave me life
he often came out and talked to himself
it was a weird trait that this family has I thought
he talked to me but I have to admit I was upset
so I didn't listen real deep
for awhile anyway then I heard him weep
when he talked through he had a strange smell
every time he left he didn't wave just fell
now he seemed sturdy talking to his little love
I felt them become close together despite their problems at home

I cannot remember if this is the end of the poem or not.

r.s. graybill

From the Files 1

I wrote this poem on April 17, 1998. Back then I wrote a lot more poems and I remember that I never liked to go back and edit. I thought they should stay raw as if what came out the first time said what it needed to say. Tonight, thinking about what else I could add to my blog, I remembered I had a folder of poems and ideas for ones in the filing cabinet downstairs which I haven't looked at in many, many years. So get ready for  a lot of poetry.

Untitled

who swallowed whose sorrow?
another night
she'd drown in her pillow
the outside world seems closed in
harder to breathe than to be seen
we're just ghosts crossing the scene
tired of sleeping
half of your eyes stay awake
in fear of what you will dream
In your life outside this world
I'm dropped from behind
left there to turn to dust
until worlds change because of
rules you cannot change
The finger seems branded by
the weather you can't explain
the house untidy, your way to
rebel, hoping the dust is
where I fell
the outside world deceives the steps
as soon as you're here again
eyes staying open
waiting for mine to shut
where life is not getting through
when your tongue pierces what is said to you
I can only dream of sleeping
until your ghosts have come clean
the images you shout at
won't let themselves out
I'll lay here wide awake
feeling the uneasiness of
your breath
In my eyes all you see
are sorrow's colors
refusing to look beyond
But my colors are
a reflection of you
where you stare long enough
at something you love
you begin to see
the thoughts they borrow
I know your breath is not of sleeping
waiting for me to drift
so you can leave
but when you leave something
you cannot see
it stays with you until
you notice the image in
the eyes that struggle
to get inside
where your world chokes
on your sorrow
I'll fast myself
if you need someone
to swallow sorrow

r.s. graybill