Tangerine Heart | JD DeHart
blossom at the core
of being,
radiant tropical center,
growing out,
expanding, becoming,
then sadly withered
in the summer heat.
More at http://truthaboutsnails.blogspot.com/.
blossom at the core
of being,
radiant tropical center,
growing out,
expanding, becoming,
then sadly withered
in the summer heat.
More at http://truthaboutsnails.blogspot.com/.
I am young – only 23
a German student
with a history
like all Germans
of a past
which many want to forget.
Turkish immigrants came to us
in the 60’s and 70’s.
Today second and third generations
feel they are Germans.
My best friend is both a Muslim
and German.
Together we watch as Syrian refugees
enter our country.
And we are proud as these
Seekers of asylum
from a merciless dictator
find refuge here.
Tolerance and acceptance of the “other”
makes us human again –
separating us
from a time
when we Germans forgot
our humanity.
My granddaughter
speaks to me
with phrases like
Whatevs,
a tiny sponge
for vernacular, my
only hope being
that I can still
translate as time
flies by.
Herringbone Harry never wanted to carry a gun, not even a toy one, not even for fun. Harry thought these things could hurt. Better run for cover, run home and tell my mother. Forget about “A Soldier’s Story,” and “Paths to Glory.” “Johnny Got His Gun” is the tale for everyone to learn.
The sergeant said, “Take this gun and fire it on anyone on the MGM lot for practice. Here are our orders, read’em. You’re headed for “Iraqi Freedom.” Rumsfeld anointing oil. Let the tanks run over the cradle of civilization, down by the Euphrates. Fighting terrrrrzm, making the world safe for Hell Burton.
Harry’s gig was a total drag. Harry’s gone home in a body bag. The West Point choir sang a poignant hymn, everyone’s spouting tears or opinions. The television crew is grateful for their safe jobs. Oxymorons invade the senses: holy crusade anti-terrorist offensives mission accomplished.
Not responsible for vehicles parked overnight. Not responsible for damage during shipping. Not responsible for items lost or stolen. Not responsible for clothes left over 30 days. Not responsible for what happened to Harry. Not responsible for anything we ever do or say. Amen.
In the summer of 1956,
any Saturday at midnight
when the moon was full
and the stars were bright,
you would see Grandma Groth
on her front-porch swing
waiting for her son, Clarence,
still a bachelor at 53,
to make it home
from the Blind Man’s Pub
after another evening quaffing
steins of Heineken’s.
Many times when I was young,
I’d be coming home at midnight
from another pub just steps behind
staggering Clarence.
I’d always let him walk ahead
and listen to him hum
“The Yellow Rose of Texas.”
But the last Saturday night
that Clarence and I came down the street,
I didn’t see Grandma on her swing.
She wasn’t waiting to berate him.
So far so good, I thought,
until, not far from his house,
Clarence fell into Mrs. Murphy’s hedge.
When I finally got him up,
I moved him like a fridge on a dolly
down the walk and into his house
only to see Grandma, a wraith
in a hazy nightgown, swoop
into the hallway, screaming
and thrashing Clarence with her broom,
pausing only to tell me,
“Go home to your mother now
so you won’t be late for Mass.
It’s almost Sunday morning!”
After that sad night in 1956,
I never saw Clarence again,
either marching to work in the morning,
his lunch pail gallantly swinging,
or staggering home at midnight
from the Blind Man’s Pub.
But many a midnight after that,
I’d be coming home
from the other pub,
lunch pail in hand,
and I’d see Grandma
reigning on her swing,
broom in hand,
waiting.
Tonight, however, many decades later,
as I stroll home at midnight,
I realize I’m older now than Clarence was
the night he disappeared
and even though Grandma’s dead,
I can still see her regal on that swing,
broom in hand, waiting,
and so I give her a big wave,
hoping to hear one more time,
“Go home to your mother now
so you won’t be late for Mass.
It’s almost Sunday morning!”
More at http://booksonblog12.blogspot.com.
Let me drown into your sea of feeling
Give me a new identity, a new being
Love me forever my dear
No longer see but you, I swear
Let me escape to your arms
Hide me of the wild world harms
Don’t ever forget me, please
Or all my heartbeats will cease
I promise to love you much more
Just give me the chance to prove how I adore
I hate the smell of being away from you
Terrible feelings inside me to flow
Don’t ever leave me alone
The sky can’t be deserted by its moon
I always dream of being close to your sigh
As this happens I have wings to fly
Oh, my dear feel my suffer
Which easily disappear when being together
A touch of your hand makes me a live again
Come closer, my love relieves my pain
In my heart I have your love and forever will exist
In a faithful mind and a sincere chest
Away from you, the rose will wither
Only for missing a loyal lover
When I feel you by my side
I forget my arrogance and pride
Together forever we will remain
To set an example of love that no words can explain
A heart which is full of captive emotions aspire to release
I only exist to cheer you up and please
I fell in love the very moment I saw you
You taught my hear how to blow
Don’t leave me lonely so desperate
After the wonderful world you create
Every moment together in my heart I keep
That’s the only harvest in my life to reap
Whenever you pass by my sight
My eyes keep holing you so tight
Stay in my life forever
Let’s grow old together
How they buzz and distract,
reminding us of the rotten
fruit we wasted money on,
the eventual decline of all,
and then unkindly whispering
to us the dim words of our own
mortality, laying somewhere
dormant under our busy skin.