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What Happens When You Lose Your Soul?
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Worldly Reflections
Small Town Life.....
In a small town world,
conformity is the standard.
Sunday morning church is the rule.
You look to marriage, work, and life.
PTA mothers,and Boy Scout leader fathers,
who march to the factory grind beat.
If your name isn’t of the town aristocracy,
then white trash you are.
If you are too friendly with the boys,
a slut you are called .
If you aren’t friendly enough,
a prude you are labeled.
If you are judged to be too different,
amusement for the small town bullies you become.
Don’t be too smart, Don’t dream too much,
just do enough to belong to the “IN” crowd.
Live enough to meet the status quo....
In my small town, alienation becomes my right,
Loneliness, is my dwelling place.
The library is my place, my friends are books.
The creek behind Callaway Park,
is my secret garden.
I find my dreams in my writing.
My fortune was a forced move to the big city....
Several years later, I return to my small town.
Gone is Hooks, IGA, JCPenny’s, Friendly’s, Leeson’s, and Tams...
Gallatin's, becomes Ceal’s,
Mercy hospital becomes St. Vincent’s.
Downtown is an empty shell, only Moser’s is left.
I miss the iridescent, blue glass,
of St. Clair Glass.
My old junior high is replaced by the YMCA,
and a new state of art library.
I see old friends, those bullies,
and the popular;
who now struggle to make ends meat,
raising their children.
Now, they are PTA mothers, and Boy Scout fathers,
marching to the factory beat.
I visit the local cemetery,
and the names on the tombstones.
are of those who I remember most in my youth..
When I try to talk to them of blazing city lights,
of museums, Blues music,
dance clubs, and poetry;
or I talk of living single in a big city world.
I am looked at, as if I’m talking,
in a foreign language.
They say, the more things change,
the more things stay the same.
So, in my alienation, I remain.
My loneliness, I dwell..
I will always be on the outside, looking inside.
Finding Poetry...
In the cascading rains,
and the cool night air,
the damp earthy smell permeates.
While dark, shadowy clouds
hang low in the night sky.
Poetry is calling to me.
Standing close to him,
his warmth chases away the night chill.
City lights blaze from a distant skyline.
Sirens shatter the night's silence.
Eternity perfumes the foul city air,
and all I can notice is his brilliant blue eyes.
Poetry is in motion....
Wandering through forest,
squirrels scamper across fallen trees.
Wind moving through the leaves;
relaxing music to my ears.
Cool water creek, wading in bare feet;
savoring sand through toes.
There must be a poem in this...
In the homeless person,
begging for spare change;
finding a meal in a garbage bin.
In the halls of a mental institution,
where children fight demons of mind.
The sounds of poetry echo...
In my dreams, in my nightmares,
through love and hate,
creations of mind, inner voices,
and worldy observations.
I find my soul, I find my poetry....
In Defense of Poetry.....
Taking my seat, at the Fletcher Cafe;
listening to a discourse between two.
I am as quiet as a church mouse.
While one demands, “Defend your Poetry!”
I am unclear as to what should be defended?
Is it critique on content or form, you wish?
Are you critical of the sing-song lyrical Ginsberg format read?
Or are you looking for the reasons behind words?
Perhaps you fear, what others fear?
Our catharsis, our pursuit of happiness,
or the commentary of the world around us.
Is it the fact, that we come together,
in love and acceptance?
While you, stand as a lone observer.
In my observation, I notice that your
outer appearance is an artful expression.
Whether it is fad or fashion?
I cannot say.
I will venture that it is your passion.
A way to set yourself apart from the status quo.
Is it in your demand “to defend?”
You cannot take someone seriously;
who doesn’t wear body piercings or studs....
And doesn’t dress in 1970’s clothing,
or revel in punk or gothic fashion.
It is shocking, to find that such a person
has a voice, or can make a difference..
You asked us to defend our poetry.
Shouldn’t you be asked to defend your appearance?
Miss Sylvia....
Dressed in her fur stole and hat,
and a banana, yellow dress, a 1940's cut.
On a night, hotter than Georgia asphalt,
in the middle of July;
she sits in the City-County building lobby.
She yells out, "Hey Pretty Lady!"
I take a seat next to her,
and she tells me that she has been ill.
Now, she has lost her apartment.
I offer her, my last six bucks,
and she tells me no.
She notices my limp, tells me to see my doctor.
Here is a person, with nothing, worrying about me.
While, I have the luxury, of a hot meal;
and a place to lay my head--
The Bible says that the meek;
shall inherit the earth.
I think Miss Sylvia has earned more
than her share of inheritance....
Seasons and Love.....
When, in times of sadness,
my tears flow,
like the summer monsoon rains.
Never a constant, my persona ,
fickle and varying,
like the color of the fall leaves .
Soon, my attractiveness will wither,
lonely and dejected,will I be,
as a snowy December night.
Like a knight in shining armor,
with silken scarf,
my Liege dries a flood tears.
With strength of a thousand lions,
he tames,
the mighty storms of change.
Within his love, my beauty, he will behold;
I will emerge, snow-white,
like a springtime ewe....
The Blues....
In this crowded coffee house,
where misty-blue smoke swirls.
Samuel entertains with guitar and song.
Yet, I find my thoughts drifting to you,
and I cannot help feeling blue...
With spiteful words, the doghouse,
you were placed.
I can see you standing in blue;
reciting in perfect rhyme, soft pleas,
of forgiveness.
While my heart beats with a confused,
and perplexed rhythm.
So tonight, here I sit, warm;
sipping my café latte.
Pondering on the theme of blue,
and wishing for you........
Love Addiction...
In the pale moonlight glimmer,
my lover meets and greets.
With strong arms his embrace envelopes;
soft and gentle lips touch mine,
then move to the soft outline of a petite neck.
While his hands, caress the curves,
of my womanly shape ;
He whispers so softly, “It feels so good to have you in my arms.”
I feel his touch, hear his words; yet listen, with a doubting heart.
Is it me that tantalizes and excites,
I am left to wonder?
For my lover, I could be a million women that tease and please.
I have heard it all, the mid-life crisis, the seven year itch.
Even Marilyn Monroe, played in a movie about it.....
Is it to my siren song, does he truly beckon?
Am I like skin-popping heroin, his panacea,
his quick fix?
Perhaps, I am a symptom, but not his solution.
Christina Scholl copyright@2001
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My Favorite Poems
Nothing Gold Can Stay....
Nature's first green is gold
Her hardest hue to hold
Her early leaf's a flower
But only so an hour
Then leaf subsides to leaf
So eden sank to grief
So dawn goes down to day
Nothing gold can stay
Robert Frost
Not in Vain
If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain:
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.
Emily Dickinson
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Remembering September 11,2001
Where Was God's Voice? September 11,2001
With a glass of milk, a bowl of cereal,
starting my day, I turn on my television.
I can’t believe what I’m seeing,
It must be scenes from a new action movie.....
Planes crashing into buildings....
Fire, and more fire.
Black specks falling from windows,
Oh my God, they are people....
Falling and crashing buildings,
screams, and more screams.
Run, run, run, escape....from the explosion
of falling debris.
I recite the Lord’s prayer...for strength.
I hear a firefighter, tell a reporter,
to tell his wife Maria;
that he was okay....
but a voice in the background echoes,
“We can’t reach them,”
“They are all gone, they’ve all been wiped out..”
Then I knew....so many would be dead,
Hope is truly lost.
Where was God’s voice today?
I think of those who got up this morning,
to the smell of coffee, a bagel,
or full course breakfast;
with a kiss from loved ones.
They leave to be wage slaves of the tower;
only to be destroyed by fire, concrete and steel.
I am grieved to think of those who must carry-on.
Putting up the stiff upper lip,
yet survive without.....
Where was God’s voice today?
I pray for those men and women,
who wear a badge, and receive bad press;
for being asked to do an impossible job.
We scream outrage, for arresting our children,
hassling people, or committing police brutality...
Yet on this day, they sacrificed bravely,
serving and protecting,
giving of themselves selflessly;
only to meet an end with fire and brimstone.
Where was God’s voice today?
In my mind’s eye, I can only imagine,
what the end meant for those on the planes.
Did they realize the end was near?
From the cell phone calls from passengers,
their final thoughts were of family....
Love of family, a true virtue, true heroism...
Where was God’s voice today?
Is there a God, is there a heaven or hell,
I am left to wonder?
Are we in hell? Has the world come to an end?
I remember the Bible prophecies of Revelations.
Where is God’s voice today?
This poem is dedicated to all civilians, police officers, and firefighters who lost their lives on this day of terrorism. May God bless them all.....
Preparing for War.....
With crashing planes, and falling buildings,
our way of life is sure to change.
Now, they say that someone must pay...
We should expect to see limitations on freedoms...
more security, soldiers on planes, and streets.
Metal detectors, identification, and baggage checks.
Next, the outlawing of meetings for free idea exchange.
From Liberty to a police state, I fear.
President Bush says, we should be prepared,
for a long and bloody battle for our soil.
Grandfather, says that war is a place;
where one goes to see their friends die.
Death to bring more Death....
The dog days of war have arrived.....
Word Power...
Franklin Roosevelt, during his fireside chats
states, “That the only fear we have,
is fear itself.”
Words of comfort for a Depression,
and war weary nation.
After, September 11, 2001, new words were heard.
Long and short syllable words,
I do not understand:
Osama Bin Laden
Bioterrorism
Anthrax
Taliban
Afganistan
Islam
Al Queda
Terrorist, terrorism
President Bush, talks of America’s new war,
by design ,will stamp out terrorism in the world.
We must be vigilant, we will be victorious.
If you surrender freedoms, submit to more security,show your identification, and walk through metal detectors;
Safety will be ours.
Our interests will be secure .
NATO will send foreign troops and planes,
to keep us safe.
In words, spoken or written,
I do not find comfort.
I have seen the results of these words...
Biohazard teams called to businesses,
Governmental operations halted,
Mass delivery of antibotics.
Fear of resuming life activities,
Television shows cancelled,
Schools closed, and tears in children’s eyes,
Panic at gas stations, panic in the workplace.
Fear of even the most benign, receiving mail.
Most grievous of all, attacks of innocents
for their nationality, and religion..
What is in the power of these words?
Words,that make the world quake,
and tremble in fear.
Words, that inspire us to sacrifice,
our sons and daughters.
Words, that may prove to be America’s folly;
or our greatest light.
Avoidance.....
I want to scream and blot out the replayed images; of death, and war talk;
how much more can I take!
I don’t want to beat a war drum,
or sound the alarm.
Let, them choke on their talk, of my greater sense of responsibility...
I want to be an isolationist,
leave me to my escapism...
To my own island, I will dwell....
Dreaming in Kandinsky, Cézanne,
Gauguin, and van Gogh.
I will spin verse in 1-2-3 rhyme...
read of Kipling, and Frost.
There will always be lavender-mist sunsets,
and pink-rose sunrises..
Let me be an ostrich, with its proverbial
head in the sand...
Don’t make me face stone-cold reality, let me dwell in my own creation...
Personal Commentary....
I would encourage everyone to pray for our governmental leaders, Let them make decisions in accordance to God's law. Please pray and remember those who have passed, and those who morn. They need our prayers.
We must pray for our soldiers fighting in Afganistan. Please wear your Red, White, and Blue, Fly your Flags High. Say I am proud to be an American. I encourgage people if given the chance to write to a soldier, give blood, volunteer, donate to the Red Cross, and the various survivor and family funds...
Freedom is a very precious thing. I may not agree with every action of my government, but I am blessed to live in a country that allows me to disagree.
I encourage everyone to pray in these trying times. Please, make decisions based on wisdom and temperance, not due to media induced panic. We must resume our lives, keep living, otherwise, the terrorists win.
Christina Scholl copyright@2001
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Expressive Poetry Links
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