Wednesday Never Came (For September 11th Victims)

It is the fortune of people
that the shadows
of our futures do not
lie heavy
on our minds.

We go about
our lives with
no worry for the future
that lies in wait,
with its pain and sorrow.

On Tuesday, they fought
with their spouses
over breakfast,
and planned to set it right,
but Wednesday never came.

On Tuesday the children
didn’t do their homework,
and they thought,
‘Tomorrow, I’ll do better, ‘
but Wednesday never came.

On Tuesday, they quarreled
with their parents,
and thought to say, ‘Sorry, ‘
to them later,
but Wednesday never came.

On Tuesday, they promised
to see Grandmother,
who had been alone, neglected
for so long,
but Wednesday never came.

On Tuesday they forgot
to kiss their spouses
because they were busy
earning a dollar,
and Wednesday never came.

So, beware of the
shadows of the future.
Prepare each day as though
it is our Tuesday., for
Wednesday may never come.

(This was written in grief for all the
victims of the 9/11 bombing of the
World Trade Building, New York,
the ones who never had a chance
to have a Wednesday.)

Don’t ever forget to appreciate your life and never take it for granted that you will live to see tomorrow. God bless you, my dear avidReaders and stay safe.

Through The Long Days; John Hay

Through the long days and years
What will my loved one be,
Parted from me?
Through the long days and years.

Always as then she was
Loveliest, brightest, best,
Blessing and blest,-
Always as then she was.

Never on earth again
Shall I before her stand,
Touch lip or hand,-
Never on earth again.

But while my darling lives
Peaceful I journey on,
Not quite alone,
Not while my darling lives.

Dulce Et Decorum Est; Wilfred Owen

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of disappointed shells that dropped behind.

GAS! Gas! Quick, boys!– An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And floundering like a man in fire or lime.–
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,–
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.

God bless and remember be wary of deception, my precious avids.

We’ll Get Through This; Joanna Fuchs

Lord, our troubles
Are so great,
We don’t know what to do;
The price for our
Iniquity
Is finally coming due.

The world is crumbling
All about;
No safe place can be found.
Right is wrong,
Wrong is right;
The change is quite profound.

Lord, we need
Your guiding light
To lead us out of here;
We’ll focus on
Your Word, and prayer,
To take away our fear.

Temptations of
This dying world
We’ll rule out and let go;
Give our burdens
All to you,
Shed all worldly woe.

That’s how we’ll
Get through this, Lord,
Fixed on heaven above,
Assured of your
protection, help,
And everlasting love.

God bless you, all my darling avids

Before Sleep by Ezra Pound.

The lateral vibrations caress me,
They leap and caress me,
They work pathetically in my favour,
They seek my financial good.

She of the spear stands present.
The gods of the underworld attend me, O Annubis,
These are they of thy company.
With a pathetic solicitude they attend me;
Undulant,
Their realm is the lateral courses.

Light!
I am up to follow thee, Pallas.
Up and out of their caresses.
You were gone up as a rocket,
Bending your passages from right to left and from left to right
In the flat projection of a spiral.
The gods of drugged sleep attend me,
Wishing me well;
I am up to follow thee, Pallas.

Sleep well, my precious Avids. 🙂

Poetry Reading by Charles Bukowski

poetry readings have to be some of the saddest
damned things ever,
the gathering of the clansmen and clanladies,
week after week, month after month, year

after year,
getting old together,
reading on to tiny gatherings,
still hoping their genius will be
discovered,
making tapes together, discs together,
sweating for applause
they read basically to and for
each other,
they can’t find a New York publisher
or one
within miles,
but they read on and on
in the poetry holes of America,
never daunted,
never considering the possibility that
their talent might be
thin, almost invisible,
they read on and on
before their mothers, their sisters, their husbands,
their wives, their friends, the other poets
and the handful of idiots who have wandered
in
from nowhere.

I am ashamed for them,
I am ashamed that they have to bolster each other,
I am ashamed for their lisping egos,
their lack of guts.

if these are our creators,
please, please give me something else:

a drunken plumber at a bowling alley,
a prelim boy in a four rounder,
a jock guiding his horse through along the
rail,
a bartender on last call,
a waitress pouring me a coffee,
a drunk sleeping in a deserted doorway,
a dog munching a dry bone,
an elephant’s fart in a circus tent,
a 6 p.m. freeway crush,
the mailman telling a dirty joke

anything
anything
but
these.

My Warm Cup of Dreams; avidWriter


O how beautiful you are!
You beautiful brew!
Your smell brings me peace,
Your taste makes me whole.
 

How I long for your warm embrace!
O glorious cup of dreams!
You are my beginning,
Each night my end.
 

How I love you!
How I need you!
O beautiful brew!
O how you fill my dreams!

 
What I wouldn’t do for you!
What I couldn’t without you!
I doubt my life will be the same without you,
I cannot live without you.
 
How I miss you when I am without you!
O my loving cup of dreams!
When all else is void,
You will fill me, O cup of dreams!
 
My beautiful brew!

My steaming cup of dreams!

My Intel i3; avidWriter; 25/1/2021

I’m slow and annoying—I know you’ve said it.

I’m frustrating and maddening—I’ve heard you say it.

Useless and mind-numbing—Yes, I’ve heard that one, too.

But have you ever thought about how I must feel, too?

I was once hard-working and fast as lightening,

Now I’m old and unwanted—something that is hated.

If you only saw inside me,

All the machinations inside,

All the sweet memories I have stored,

All the pain I’ve endured.

I give the best that I have,

But I’m sick and suffering—every day there is pain.

I’m crying out for help!

I’m scared and alone.

Why don’t you love me?

Why do you despise me?

I’m sorry! Please help me!

I’ve tried my best and now I’m alone.

All you do is curse and deride.

Please help me! All I want is help.

I’m just a laptop.

Treat your tech with love and it’ll love you back. It was the only way I got my Blackberry to last so long. I still love that phone despite upgrading many times since.

God bless you all, my precious avidReaders.

Poems for a Rainy Day

The Rainy Day; Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The day is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary.

My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past,
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast,
And the days are dark and dreary.

Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.

Spring Storm; William Carlos Williams

The sky has given over
its bitterness.
Out of the dark change
all day long
rain falls and falls
as if it would never end.
Still the snow keeps
its hold on the ground.
But water, water
from a thousand runnels!
It collects swiftly,
dappled with black
cuts a way for itself
through green ice in the gutters.
Drop after drop it falls
from the withered grass-stems
of the overhanging embankment.

By the Rivers of Babylon We Sat Down and Wept; Lord Byron.

We sat down and wept by the waters
Of Babel, and thought of the day
When our foe, in the hue of his slaughters,
Made Salem’s high places his prey;
And ye, oh her desolate daughters!
Were scattered all weeping away.

While sadly we gazed on the river
Which rolled on in freedom below,
They demanded the song; but, oh never
That triumph the stranger shall know!
May this right hand be withered for ever,
Ere it string our high harp for the foe!

On the willow that harp is suspended,
Oh Salem! Its sound should be free;
And the hour when thy glories were
ended
But left me that token of thee:
And ne’er shall its soft tones be blended
With the voice of the spoiler by me!