Mask – A Poem by Sravani Singampalli
That man wears a mask every day
Don’t think he’s a clown
He does so for his little children
Now, can we say that
A mask is sometimes better than reality?
poems
June 1978 – A Poem by Roy Pullam
Four o’clock on a Florida morning
The car alone on a four lane
Finding its way home
Having heard heartbreaking news
The shock so great
The guilt
Of being gone
When I was needed
Rolled through my mind
Boyhood memories
Out of context
Played in a loop
In the silence
I wanted to holler out
To shout
My anger and anguish
Grief and sleeplessness
Mixed like oil and water
Grief over fatigue
The anchor
That held me
In a surreal world
The thought
Of what next?
How can I go on?
Death happens to others
But not to my mother
The woman
Who bottled her illness
Never allowing
It to keep her
From so many tasks
Milk of magnesia
Each morning
A stomach so raw
I could see her wince
When she thought
No one was looking
Knuckles that swelled
But did not keep
Her hands
From cold water
On her job
As a chore woman
She was invincible
My iron lady
But now dead
And all the gravity
Of this world
Bore down on me
Blue, Blue Christmas – A Poem by Roy Pullam
Christmas and heartbreak
Came in the
Same misery package
Our Christmas tree
Fresh from the spoil banks
Of the pit
Great gaps
Reminding us all
That like the tree
Much was missing
From the season
I heard the exciting talk
Of classmates
Dwellers
On the Sears catalogue
Dog-eared reminders
That jarred Santa’s attention
I knew
Santa had stopped
At each house
But mine
On the block
That on the 26th
New bikes
Would ride my street
Gene Autry cowboy suits
And cap guns
Made my friends
Gene’s posse
And I
Would have nothing
Nothing again
But the misery
That dogged
My parents
But the worst
Was yet to come
The first day
Of school
With the teacher
Spending the morning
Grilling each student
Each recounting
The joys
Under the tree
And I would lie
With everyone
Knowing the truth
And I would hate myself
For the lie
I felt
I had to tell
Velma – A Poem by Roy Pullam
My princess
Wears no tiara
Has no entourage
But makes my home
A palace
Any conversation
Feels like a royal audience
It takes no camera
To capture
Her tender heart
Her warm smile
The joy
Of her sparkling eyes
She is true
Without pretense
Without complications
And she reigns
In my heart
Providence 1945 – A Poem by Roy Pullam
A black cloud
Hung over my birth home
No doctor available
The skills of a neighbor woman
Spare but effective
Another mouth
Added to four
He had trouble feeding
A broken down miner
His back
In a corset
In the other bed
My birth cry
Matched by
The desperate longing
Of my mother
2:30 did not provide
The only darkness
Lack of hope
Draped like crepe
Over the little house
On Lexington Avenue
Dad turned his head
Recognizing
His youngest son
Whose promise
For a future
Seemed no more
Than the son
He buried
But poverty
Breeds survivor skills
Ambition only
For the day
While tomorrow
Come with its own challenges
And so it was
An incubator of want
Devoid of pleasure
But somewhere
In the despair
We all
Found our way
The First Death – A Poem by Roy Pullam
I did not know cancer
The mystery
More than my 6 year old mind
Could grasp
Just that my playmate
My cousin
Was in a little white coffin
In the middle
Of the living room
Of her house
My mother
Held my hand
As I saw Mary last
Her little white dress
Her hair in pigtails
Her eyes closed tight
But I knew
She was not sleeping
The low moan
Of her mother
The streaming tears
Of her father
As we sat
In a semi-circle
During the funeral
I heard the preacher
Speak of heaven
A place
Where Mary was
A place as alien
As death to me
Mary was gone
And I
Did not understand
The Last Unanswered Question – A Poem by Roy Pullam
It is not sanitary
The endless loop of memory
The engine running
In the garage
He slumped over the wheel
The exhaust choking
The gray hanging
Like a veil
Between life and death
She killed the engine
Opening the garage
Calling his name
Slapping his face
Her voice husky
The gas burning her throat
Placing her finger
On his neck
Vainly seeking a pulse
Dragging him to the garage floor
Screaming for help
Compressing his chest
Imploring him to come back
To give us
Another chance
Gone, cold, lost
His reason a mystery
No note
No hint of hurt
How she turns it
The twist
She cannot straighten
No answer
The road so long
The few year remaining
As she travels alone
Salvation for a Buck – A Poem by Roy Pullam
He walks the stage
Each move; each gesture
Practiced for effect
He holds the microphone
Like a lover
Raising his voice
Then lowering it
Caressing the crowd
With promises
God will return your gift
Tenfold
He will give you health
Bless your family
Only believe
Countless sinners
Await the message
An organ plays softly
With tears
Running the course
Of his face
The accomplice awaits
If generous souls
Do not thwart the devil
The final pitch
Leaving reminders
In the hearts
Of the poor
So many envelopes
One dollar, five dollars
Sacrifices
His prayer partners
Can ill afford
How they add up
Dollars become millions
Fuel for his private jet
A paved road
To his mansion
What a privilege
To serve the Lord
Henderson – A Poem by Roy Pullam
My heart rests
In this valley
The flowing water
Of the Ohio
Whispers
From its depth
Of the mysteries
Around the bend
But my feet
Find their place
As if in concrete
Here by choice
Among the cypress
Hugging the banks
Here when the flatboats
Brought settlers
Down the river
Climbing the red bank bluffs
To build their homes
Special people
Welcoming people
My neighbors
Sharing the good life
With me
Lost Boy – A Poem by Roy Pullam
The machine hummed
Forcing the air
In his tired lungs
I looked at him
The mask
Covering his face
His eyes closed tightly
The constant beep
Reminding me
He did not breathe
On his own
This was my brother
My childhood friend
And often my rival
As we competed
For every advantage
As I alternately
Fought and championed him
Drawing a family circle
Around him
Even when the circle
Became a ring
He was my blood
The child of my parents
They’re gone now
My heart to break
Without their succor
Hope faded
That all intercession
Had failed
That the end
Would come
With the turn
Of a switch
And there was nothing
I could do
But let him go