NaPM April 18 2015

[rayheinrich]

8th of August 

My trip is short--
up two streets to George Clem
the former colored school,
a shell now for storage
surrounded by a beautiful park.

My load is heavy, though,
dragging a cooler behind me
with hands sore from peeling potatoes.
I slip through the alley to save steps--
usually I would have to avoid
syringes littering the path
but they've all been picked up today.
Children will be dancing here later.

I deliver my famous potato salad
and am met with all smiles.
I will make another journey
before the day draws to an end
for the other batch in my fridge.
Running out is not an option.

Off in the distance
drowning out all the music and laughter
comes a thundering rumble of the Motorcycle Club,
arriving from Detroit.

Their trip was longer,
but this celebration isn't about the miles traveled--
but rather how far we've come. 

The solid straight-forward description the subject merits (no poetic tom-foolery).
The visuals are particularly good. You show the celebration, not some somber ceremony.
The potato salad is a perfect tie to real people, not abstraction (maybe you could send me
the recipe).

So, uh, well, I guess I just said I liked it.


_______________________________________________________________________________________

Information you may or may not know:  The 8th of August is the celebration of the Emancipation Proclamation here in East Tenn.  Although it went into effect on Jan. 1st, most slaves didn't know how to read so the news traveled very slowly by world of mouth.  It is said it reached Greeneville on Aug. 8th, and therefore the celebration is that day. 

If you are curious about the celebration, a few years back a local musician made a video during it...you can see what I'm on about--and my step son is the rapper.


[Video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uWxn46hiXiQ]


music starts at :30

Sighs...why didn't that work....this site hates me.

I tried it, it works fine. Maybe its your computer that doesn't like you.

[bena]

^^ I meant trying to "insert" video, sometimes it works, others it doesn't no idea why. But hey thanks!

[rayheinrich]

^^ I meant trying to "insert" video, sometimes it works, others it doesn't no idea why.  But hey thanks!

Maybe you're inserting it in the wrong place.

[bena]

That's what she said....

[rayheinrich]

That's what she said....

Ah, yes, I remember that phrase from my days of youth.
I'd answer, "Well where the fucks the right one, damn, do I have to do this all by myself?"
(Which, most of the time, is what happened.)

[ellajam]

The GPS Needs a Destination


I take a trip through warmer climes
courtesy of home sales sites:
the move-in ready paradigms,
disaster handyman's delights.
A farmhouse set against a field
with barns and sheds of weathered planks
sits empty, gold and coal concealed,
just waiting for us dreaming yanks
with pick-ups full of last year's goods
that northern buyers throw away
because they're not of trendy woods,
the stone too grained or light parquet.
Let's take the leap and hope to know
a second paradise sans snow.

[milo]

The GPS Needs a Destination


I take a trip through warmer climes
courtesy of home sales sites:
the move-in ready paradigms,
disaster handyman's delights.
A farmhouse set against a field
with barns and sheds of weathered planks
sits empty, gold and coal concealed,
just waiting for us dreaming yanks
with pick-ups full of last year's goods
that northern buyers throw away
because they're not of trendy woods,
the stone too grained or light parquet.
Let's take the leap and hope to know
a second paradise sans snow.

Some very clever rhymes through here.
I get a sense that you are trying to destroy my list poem now . . .

[ellajam]

The GPS Needs a Destination


I take a trip through warmer climes
courtesy of home sales sites:
the move-in ready paradigms,
disaster handyman's delights.
A farmhouse set against a field
with barns and sheds of weathered planks
sits empty, gold and coal concealed,
just waiting for us dreaming yanks
with pick-ups full of last year's goods
that northern buyers throw away
because they're not of trendy woods,
the stone too grained or light parquet.
Let's take the leap and hope to know
a second paradise sans snow.

Some very clever rhymes through here.
I get a sense that you are trying to destroy my list poem now . . .

Didn't I tell you I was due to take a trip?
And destroy is a strong word, maybe singe the edges a bit.

[Keith]

Jamaica Inn

Five years difference
and sharing a bedroom.
I stare at the blue and white
wave patterns
in his candlewick bedspread
they seemed to move
in the half-light.
Go on, please tell me the story again.
Piss off and go to sleep,
it's two in the fucking morning
and we are leaving at four
you little fucker.

Keith, wake up, time to go.

Dad had turned off
the heating and the water.
I wrote the note
for the milk man
and drew a small Kilroy
was here in the corner.
It was still dark outside
as I climbed into the car
in my Kevin Keegan slippers
and flannelette jarmies.
I slipped inside the sleeping bag
and positioned my pillow,
allowing my teeth to chatter
into a laugh.

All the trees and fields
look the same as they roll
by, cold, lonely sheep look like bushes
in the gloom of daybreak,
the mist gases me
to sleep again.
By the time we reach the Cliffton
suspension bridged,
the sun is up and on me
as I hold my breath for the crossing,
my brother tries to make me laugh.
Somerset smells of cider
and we cheer as the sign passes,
the heat puts me to sleep again.

Down into the clotted cream
coast of Devon,
we stop at Barnstaple
for breakfast, a milky flask of coffee
and marmalade on toast.
We keep quiet listening to dad snore,
he needs the rest
or he could kill us all.
I can see the sea,
I can see the sea,
I can see the sea,
shouts my brother,
beating me for the third year running
as we pass the view point.

Welcome to Combe Martin,
just another four hours
to wait in the car
until the caravan's ready.
Mum did you pack my trunks ?
Shhh your dad's trying to sleep.
I lower my voice to a whisper.
Hey Chris, tell me the story again.
Shut up, we're here now,
who needs stories.

[rayheinrich]

Jamaica Inn

Five years difference
and sharing a bedroom.
I stared at the blue and white
wave patterns
in his candlewick bedspread
they seemed to move
in the half-light.
Go on, please tell me the story again.
Piss off and go to sleep,
its two in the fucking morning
and we are leaving at four
you little fucker.

Keith, wake up, time to go.

Dad had had turned off
the heating and the water
I wrote the note
for the milk man
and drew a small Kilroy
was ere in the corner.
It was still dark outside
as I climbed into the car
in my Kevin Keegan slippers
and flannelette jarmies,
slipping inside the sleeping bag
and positioning my pillow.

All the trees and fields that roll
by, cold in the mists of July
look the same, asleep again.
Stop at Barnstaple for breakfast,
flask coffee and marmalade on toast,
keep quiet listening to dad snore,
he needs the rest
or he'll kill us all.

By the time we reach Cliffton
suspension bridged the sun is on me
and I hold my breath for the crossing
as my brother tries to make me laugh.

Somerset smells of cider
and we cheer as the sign passes,
the heat makes me sleep again.
I can see the sea, I can see the sea,
shouts my brother,
beating me for the third year running
as we pass the view point.
Welcome to Combe Martin,
just another four hours
to wait in the car
until the caravans ready.
Mum did you pack my trunks ?
Shhh your dads trying to sleep.
I lower my voice to a whisper.
Hey Chris, tell me the story again.
Shut up, were here now,
who needs stories.

April in December It's never too late.
Love your reminisce poems. Having to translate from brit is part of the fun.
But emotions, trips with family; they're a universal language, you speak it well.

Typo's, blank lines counted:
16 two had's when one would do
21 "ere" means "before" to me, confused
53 caravan's, 55 dad's, 58 we're

[Keith]

Jamaica Inn

Five years difference
and sharing a bedroom.
I stared at the blue and white
wave patterns
in his candlewick bedspread
they seemed to move
in the half-light.
Go on, please tell me the story again.
Piss off and go to sleep,
its two in the fucking morning
and we are leaving at four
you little fucker.

Keith, wake up, time to go.

Dad had had turned off
the heating and the water
I wrote the note
for the milk man
and drew a small Kilroy
was ere in the corner.
It was still dark outside
as I climbed into the car
in my Kevin Keegan slippers
and flannelette jarmies,
slipping inside the sleeping bag
and positioning my pillow.

All the trees and fields that roll
by, cold in the mists of July
look the same, asleep again.
Stop at Barnstaple for breakfast,
flask coffee and marmalade on toast,
keep quiet listening to dad snore,
he needs the rest
or he'll kill us all.

By the time we reach Cliffton
suspension bridged the sun is on me
and I hold my breath for the crossing
as my brother tries to make me laugh.

Somerset smells of cider
and we cheer as the sign passes,
the heat makes me sleep again.
I can see the sea, I can see the sea,
shouts my brother,
beating me for the third year running
as we pass the view point.
Welcome to Combe Martin,
just another four hours
to wait in the car
until the caravans ready.
Mum did you pack my trunks ?
Shhh your dads trying to sleep.
I lower my voice to a whisper.
Hey Chris, tell me the story again.
Shut up, were here now,
who needs stories.

April in December It's never too late.
Love your reminisce poems. Having to translate from brit is part of the fun.
But emotions, trips with family; they're a universal language, you speak it well.

Typo's, blank lines counted:
16 two had's when one would do
21 "ere" means "before" to me, confused
53 caravan's, 55 dad's, 58 we're

Thanks for all the help Ray, I have had a tidy up and a small re-route, ere=here typo and jarmies =pajamas very happy you enjoyed the journey. Best Keith