College Days

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In his college days he refused to be chained, but thought there was a God – somewhere. Having come out of the woods of his youth, his spirit found there was a world with other people, and it ran like a machine daily.

Anthropology taught him that farming was probably the best way to live. Natural food was just beginning. He found that night clubs were empty of love, but he was not adverse to women, in fact they were kind of cool.

He had not found his Queen yet, so he enjoyed running at night. Breathing in the street lights, his feet pounding, the sound of his heart racing. He was able to leave the earth, moving through space and time.

It would be a long time before he found her star, but he was a vessel ready, and waiting. And it would be a long time before stained glass meant anything more, than fine art.

He had a lot to learn yet, being just 21.

        

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2016, ancient skies

Peace and blessings to everyone.

“When we love people, we give them hope.”

My Grandfather

Oceans 212

In the summer we would water the lawn at night

early in the morning there would be hundreds of worms,

food for the fish, he loved fishing and boats

but he earned his free time from the factory.

The fire of the furnace, protective gear

a warrior every day, dressed and out

the door before dawn, a blast of cold

in the winter. He taught me

how to tie my shoes, how to change a tire

and about worms,

my first example of what a man should be

always fighting the war

for us, the family. A hero

and there was fishing.

They don’t make guys like him

anymore.

Rest in peace PopPop.

       

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2016, ancient skies

Peace and blessings to everyone.

“When we love people, we give them hope.”

My Baltimore

Vacation 895

I still carry pieces of the city around

echos of the alleys still linger, flowing through

my soul. We lived in those alleys as children

riding bikes, kick ball, baseball, a broken window

was the worst thing we ever did, an accident

in the winter sledding, snowball fights without rocks.

Row after row of brick houses, giving us stability

while Norman Wells played Johnny Cash

for about the hundredth time, I never knew Jimi Hendrix

until later. The smell of Polish sausages cooking

on Sundays, Mrs. Di Paulo slicing limburger cheese,

carrying Sicily no matter where she went,

while Janis Joplin sang her heart out, but at least

she was alive then. We were safe in the alleys

there was no broken glass back then,

no sign of knives or guns, it was the 1960’s.

It was still the early days, before

the world went completely insane.

               

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2016, ancient skies

Peace and blessings to everyone.

“When we love people, we give them hope.”

The Toy Trains

Canada and More 330

Sometimes a toy train set is all a guy needs

to take him back, to find his roots, that some history

was ok, not a wasteland. Memories of the firehouse

where factory workers made a world, trains down the track

and people were safe, sleeping at night soundly, wearing

strength and goodness, hoping for a better year.

We were never perfect then, but we knew who we were

chugging down the tracks, trying

to do better. Embracing the world,

full speed ahead.

         

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2015, ancient skies

Peace and blessings to everyone.

“If you love nature, you will love people.”

The 1970’s

from wallpaper-kid via google

A Prose Poem

The guitars were heavy then, with a lot of metal. The drums were a big brother, speaking with power, no whimpiness, never just coasting, only driving full speed. Chevys with mag wheels, spinning, fish-tailing, calling the grown-ups liars, because it was all about the anger. V8’s roaring. Anger of our youth, in the parking lot of McDonald’s with beer, hanging out. Quick hide it!

Dates at the movies, sometimes in the car, wondering who she really was, but not listening to her voice. She did have a beautiful….way. Searching the starlights, wanting to feel alive, maybe it’s in the Zen? She was on a different level, I was on the ground looking at the trees, breaking boards in Tae Kwon Do.

The answers were in the woods then. Never alone but solitude, comforting, calling like a silent snow falling on the trees. I discovered I had a spirit, but needed a job. Working, money, more car money, fixing the tail pipes.

And then there was college, an experiment really. Looking for the right one, but I would not meet My Love, until years later. I had some growing up to do. Thankfully, she understood me.

        

Writing © Copyright 2015, nicodemasplusthree

image from wallpaper-kid via google

Peace and blessings to everyone.

“If you love nature, you will love people.”

Searching for the Temple

cave temple

There was never any temple,

nothing substantial,

to grab a hold of,

no Advent,

no candles to light,

no prayer to grow into,

or rosaries to count on,

nothing.

So when tough times came,

we yelled a lot,

or cried,

there was nothing else,

and the church building,

was empty.

So I went into the deep woods,

a youngster,

and met Him there,

not knowing,

who He was,

but I felt He was real, substantial,

and alive.

I came out older,

years of learning, the language,

He is easier to talk to now,

the strength of love,

and people making me smile!

Still, I wish there had been a temple,

growing up, a faith,

something substantial,

to grab a hold of,

a place to learn,

how to live.

 praying

  Blessings to everyone and PEACE!

Poetry © Copyright 2015, nicodemasplusthree

images from google

Grandfather

Grandfather

My Grandfather had large hands,

from working in the factory,

and on his old cars,

but not for a hobby.

His hands taught me,

how to tie my shoes,

under and over,

go around the loop.

Changing a tire,

right to tight, left to loose,

lugnuts under the hubcap.

In the morning reaching,

for the metal lunchbox,

fixed the night before.

Up before the sun,

out the door with a blast of cold air,

old Chevy cranking over.

Suiting up at work,

hardhat for a helmet,

gloves, goggles, armor,

battling liquid metal,

at the furnace, firefight,

120 degrees, noise like a train,

deafening.

Earning his right to survive,

family, waiting.

Sunday dinners all together,

reward, treasure at home,

his hands passing the mashed potatoes,

a warrior.

A hero.

 

 

© Copyright 2014, nicodemasplusthree

Chevy

Chevy

Ratchet turning to the left

taking off the valve cover,

scraping off the gasket

with a putty knife.

Thinking of Tracy while

putting on the new.

Underneath the monolith,

draining the life blood – oil,

new filter.

Up top, adjusting the carburetor,

right mixture of fuel and air.

Where did I put her phone number?

Closing the hood, and wiping off smudges,

looking her over, and starting her up,

glass pacs on the exhaust roaring,

mag wheels jumping, ready to rumble.

Does she like me?

There was no time for peace,

too busy looking cool or trying,

it was all about power and speed.

Revving, pushing the clutch in,

taking it out of neutral, putting it in

first gear,

then stomping the gas pedal.

Wheels spinning with smoke,

incredible noise and power,

fishtailing, dragster.

Should I take her to the movies?

It was 1976.

 

 

 

 

© Copyright 2014, nicodemasplusthree

Peace Calling

Peace Calling

Peace started calling early,

when I was young,

but I still wanted the thrills.

My mini-bike was fast,

very fast, and I loved the sound,

of the engine roaring,

pulling back on the throttle,

and riding secretly down the street.

Then there was Jeannie Crawford,

I could not believe that girl,

was real. Awestruck.

Still, we had moved to the country,

and something there was real.

It faced me everyday –

as I looked out of my bedroom window,

fields, and woods, and further out

corn fields with deer. I felt it

tangible.

The trails and trees became my friends,

especially in the winter,

hiking,

enveloped by the whiteness,

and silence,

drifting to another world,

somewhere out there.

Was that a Cheyenne warrior?

He looked at me with questions,

in his eyes.

I said, “I do not know why”.

I thought of history with tears,

Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee.

Snow falling,

I was still – inwardly,

until searching made me cold.

Peace in the cold felt right though.

I headed back for some tomato soup,

and peace followed me for awhile,

until I saw Jeannie Crawford.

 

© Copyright 2014, nicodemasplusthree

The Tribesman

The Tribesman

When I was 14,

I joined a tribe in Central Asia.

I stayed briefly with the Turkmen,

traveled the area, but stayed

with the Kyrgyz.

Living together in the yurt, I loved

them, raising goats and horses, and family.

Flowing, traditional clothing,

language, and beautiful women.

I briefly considered the Berbers

in North Africa,

Bedouin, of the Middle East,

desert and tents, still raising goats.

But I loved living with the Kyrgyz,

until I was captured by Native Americans.

They took me to the Great Plains,

and great peace,

along the Rocky Mountains,

riding horses and hunting Buffalo,

I loved the lodges, painting symbols,

camp fires cooking meat.

The Cheyenne, Lakota,

Crow, Arapaho, and the Nez Perce.

Loving the people and their ways,

I studied the maps for hours,

sent to me,

from the National Geographic Society,

it was 1972.

 

 

© Copyright 2014, nicodemasplusthree