Although slightly nervous (fearful?), I’ve taken my writers’ group urgings to heart and have decided to share more of my poetry both new and old. Previously published poems posted here are from my book, Dreamtime unless otherwise noted. They are copyrighted and used by permission–grin, because I can.

Here will be reserved a space

for giving my verses their own place.

                                            * * * *

Announcing a new posting of an older poem! Hooray…

It reflects much frustration and disillusionment, but I just love the parting shot. I hope you feel it like I did.

No Trace 

 

Searching for the joy you stole away from me,

I’m hunting for those pieces of my lost serenity.

Missing, vanished, gone—I have looked everywhere

For that stolen bliss, but it just isn’t there.

 

So artfully removed, so skillfully cut away-

I only bled a drop at first, then a little more each day.

Subtle, clever, cunning, you eased my dreams from me,

Erased them bit by bit, til there was nothing left to see.

 

I failed to note them gone from the gardens of my delight

Altogether nowhere—not a bud of joy in sight.

 

I should have seen, but I, I was blinded by romance.

Sweet words, caresses, laughter? They never had a chance.

I didn’t miss the happiness, nor glimpse what was absent there,

Until all at once I realized–my life was barren everywhere!

 

Impassive, aloof, indifferent, a thief without remorse;

Remote and so detached, that’s the way you are, of course.

Never looking back, you took, then cast it to the winds—

My empty, broken husk of dreams on which so much depends.

 

Bloodied, and left for dead: [I didn’t know this was a war!]

I pulled myself together, knowing I can’t take much more.

 

It’s pointless to pursue this search, but Hope dies harder than the pain.

There must be joy somewhere… do I truly seek in vain?

Forlorn, forgotten, and alone, I struggled with my empty heart.

Hearing echoes of the past; they ripped my dreams apart.

 

Fleeing from the loneliness, seeking solace, I ran blind

Searching, looking, ever on–I tried to leave what’s gone–behind.

 

Maybe in another time I’ll see a million shards of light.

The distant colors, shades, and hues will be such comfort to my sight.

Perhaps my God will pity me–might give fresh dreams to cherish.

Now, I try hard to look away, and ignore those dreams that perish.

 

One quick glance around, one final look, that’s all,

I admit defeat, the end, and out of love—

I fall.

 

July 1, 2012

 

Here’s a brand new piece prompted by a friend’s casual remark.

Make the Call…

 

No, no! I can’t. You don’t understand. You don’t know what you’re asking of me.

His voice in my ear is a sensual caress, and the yearning–it won’t set me free.

 

Such sweetness flows from his silvery tongue; his words are seductive and sweet.

The fluttery trembling starts deep in my heart and travels down to the soles of my feet—

No, no! I can’t stand it, my heart will just shatter—never again can we meet.

 

Ahhh, the timbre of his melodic voice entrances me, suspends me in space.

Transfixed in a singular moment—I begin to imagine his face–

No, no—I can’t take it. I won’t hear him again. Let these echoes in my head die away.

I thought I was free, but now I see that his voice could ensnare me today.

 

There’s a crack in my heart; it grows wider each day,

but I’m cautious and treat it with care.

So don’t ask me to call or anything at all, for that pain is much greater to bear…

But–soft murmurs I hear of his words in my ear, that silky whisper of his breath—

Oh, no! It won’t do. I dare not listen to you; to do so could mean my own death.

 

This danger’s too real, and I know how I feel,

so don’t tempt me cause my will’s so unsteady.

If I fall and give in, it’s a much greater sin,

and I will not. I cannot. I’m not ready

to go there again. To be discarded once more?

Cast off and left on my own?

No, no! Please, I say—just let this pass away—

 

Kindly take my hand off of the phone.

July 8, 2012

* * * *

Sweet Dreams

 

You’ve given me more hours of joy and sorrow

than will any love or pain of any tomorrow.

 

I’ve known it all though loving you,

the agony, the ecstasy, and now the memories, too.

 

I close my eyes and feel faint flutters in my heart,

and dream, oh how I dream of kisses, my lips part.

 

The joy of all my fantasies is precious, though not true,

and Reality can’t measure up to my sweet dreams of you.

 

This poem was written in 1976–a memorable year as I delivered my first child, Katie Dawn, in November of that year. And Reality still doesn’t measure up.

Langley, Cherry D. “Sweet Dreams.” Dreamtime. Nahunta: Erawan Printing, 1979. 48. Print.

* * * *

For those I promised a “love poem”–this following is one, but is not mushy.

When Love Passes By

The nights were warm; the days full of sun,

And we drifted and drifted along

Happy in the single thought

that we were together for every one.

We lived and loved and dreamed our dreams

Never looking to coming days.

And now our dreams have grown apart

As our lives go separate ways.

Looking back, I try to see

Just where the parting first began,

But it’s hard to decide by looking back,

When and where you became a man.

Maybe a day or time will come

And I’ll waken wise to hopes gone by,

And I’ll know when in future plans

That our plans went awry.

We lived and loved and dreamed our dreams,

Never questioning how or why

When Love comes, it rushes in

But in leaving becomes so shy,

That we never know what is happening

Until Love has passed us by.

–April, 1973

Langley, Cherry D. Dreamtime. Nahunta: Erawan Printing, 1979. 44.

* * * * *

Locks

You need not look so sullen

Who stands there well annoyed with hair cascading down.

No curlers were employed to make those strands obey.

Perhaps that is the reason they fly around so gay!

 

The Sea

Angrily, I rushed to sea

Casting myself upon her foamy crest,

And was received as her honored guest.

 

Rosebud

Rosebuds bloom in the warm spring sun

And display their lovely hue.

Oh, that I were a rosebud sweet

And the one who plucked me, you.

Langley, Cherry D. Dreamtime. Nahunta: Erawan Printing, 1979. 42.

These three shorts were written in 1972, 1973, and 1975 respectively.

In “Locks,” I was having fun with “bad hair days”; had this image of an angry young lady with misbehaving hair.

“The Sea” was my poor response to a lovely Japanese haiku titled “Silent Rebuke” by Ryota–my dad taught me to appreciate the brevity of haiku; we enjoyed poets such as Issa and Basho. A Net of Fireflies is an anthology containing 320 haiku translated by Harold Stewart. I highly recommend it.

“Rosebud” is perhaps a whimsical bit of fluff, but I like it. If you enjoyed these, I will be very pleased to hear from you (only if you liked–just KIDDING!). Comments are always welcome.

* * * *

Seagull

Oh, Seagull, Seagull flying high

how I wish that I were you;

that I could spread my wings and glide

through misty skies of blue.

 

What see you Seagull, in that sky

so happy and so free?

Have you ever wondered how ‘twould feel

to be a man like me?

 

I’ve watched you Seagull, in your flight

as you banked and dipped up there,

and I could almost feel the wind as you

plunged down through the air.

 

What say you Seagull, to this man

who stands here every day

watching you fly and glide about,

envying you as you play…

 

Is it true that you have your own Heaven up there

to be visited by everyone?

Each gull paying homage to his god

in the form of J. Livingston?

 

Oh, Seagull, Seagull teach me to fly;

let me come up there with you.

Let me glide and dip and slice through air

and live in your Heaven so blue.

 

Let me touch the stars and brush the clouds

and break these bonds that tie.

Let me be like you oh Seagull–

let me fly…Let Me Fly…LET ME FLY!

 

First published in Georgia’s Coastal Illustrated magazine in the late 70s and later published in Dreamtime copyright 1979

I was living on St. Simons Island, GA when I wrote “Seagull”–hmmm–island, ocean, beaches–seagulls!

* * * * *

So here is one of my personal favorites written October 30, 1974

A Man Among Men

He was not so remarkable, and yet he had a way of filling days with pleasure with the little things he’d say.

His smile was more a sneer and he humbugged everything, and he wasn’t all that handsome, but oh, the laughter he could bring.

His hair was always windblown and his eyes were always blue, and he had a way with words; there was always something new.

He was fond of rusty nails and books that no one read, and he couldn’t say “I love you,” but there were other things he said.

He was always playing cowboy, pretending that or this, and he had a love for animals and parties that he’d miss.

He had a funny little lisp that made his Ss cute, and he didn’t have much money, but he didn’t give a hoot.

Of a life’s dream, he had none, unless it could have been that he wanted to be remembered as a man, among men.

–for Rick S.

Langley, Cherry D. “A Man Among Men.” Dreamtime. Nahunta: Erawan Printing, 1979. 3. Print.

* * * *

The next piece is a bit of a ballad and was written right after a visit with my aunt; I still hear her voice in the last line…

What the Gypsy Said

 

“I haven’t had an easy life,”

She said, with sorrow in her eyes.

And as I listened, I could see

The years had made her wise.

 

“I’ve had such bad times; good ones, too,”

She paused, and raised her glass to drink.

“But all in all it’s balanced out—

At least sometimes, I think.”

 

“You know, the gypsy told me things

About my future life.

I’ll live too many years

And three times I’ll be a wife.”

 

She laughed, as if to scoff,

And filled her glass anew.

“I’m almost 60, two husbands old;

Do you think it could be true?”

 

We sat there by the fire that night,

And I listened while she spoke.

“No, the gypsy wasn’t fooling,

But Lord, what an awful joke.”

 

As I rose to leave her,

I saw her bow her head,

And heard her murmur to herself,

“That’s what the gypsy said.”

 

Langley, Cherry D. “What the Gypsy Said.” Dreamtime. Nahunta: Erawan Printing, 1979. 50. Print.

 * * * * *

Here comes my latest posting from Dreamtime–one of those odd “love” poems.

Wondering

 

Do you think of me

when nights are long–

of days gone by,

when you’re alone?

Do you wonder if I

think of you, and what I think,

if I do?

 

Often times I ponder on

the years we loved when we were young.

Then, still curious, I ask  anew:

Do you think of me as I do you?

 

Why did we stop

that love we had?

I ask aloud–was it so bad

that life with you

could not have been as happy

as it was back then?

 

…but mainly I just wonder if

you ever wonder too.

 

Langley, Cherry D. “Wondering.” Dreamtime. Nahunta: Erawan Printing, 1979. 37. Print. [edited]

* * * *

Previously unpublished, this next poem was written in Texas way back in Nov. of 1983. I think of loved ones who need to be reminded to “take care.”

NOT LOST!

 

Here’s a piece of love I found.

You lost it several months before.

Maybe you thought it was gone for good–

But then I found it behind the door.

 

Such a simple thing is easily lost–

so small, it slips quickly away–

You must take better care of it.

Keep it safe for another day.

 

I’m quite surprised this piece is still alive!

It had been missing for so long;

I almost swept it out with the trash,

but I saw it breathe and thought it strong.

 

Perhaps it would be wise to put it

secretly away–

but love needs to be held close

and looked at every day.

 

I do wish you would try

to take better care of the love I give.

Because, as you well know, without you-

my love cannot live.

 

So I won’t fuss anymore.

I’ll just hope that you take note

of this little piece of love I found,

and of the poem that I wrote!