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Friday, November 2, 2018


Handprints on the mirror;
the windows and the door
Tiny little fingerprints
Where there were none before

Spaghetti stains on carpet;
crayon marks on walls
Small books and toys and clothing
lie scattered down the hall

We keep the window cleaner
Locked...tight in a cabinet
Which little hands have not discerned
Quite how to open yet

The toys will be picked up;
the laundry, put away
But imprints left upon our lives
Are clearly here to stay

It hurts to wash the windows
And the mirror down the hall;
To see the marks of childhood
Removed from paneled walls

While ammonia and magic eraser
Earnestly do their parts
There is no eraser known to man
To take handprints from our hearts

Wednesday, May 30, 2018

Into the Dream

Endless horizon
Stretching blue and bright;
Underneath our feet, the clouds
Ethereal and white

Beyond the beyond
Boundless as stars
We walk arm in arm
Down myriad corridors

Each tunnel, a vision
Mixing time and space
Poured into a funnel
As ourselves are erased

Pulled apart and reformed
To begin again
Where we walk arm in arm
And I call you my friend

Paths not chosen
Love unspoken
Are merely fragments
Of past hearts broken

Here they converge
And complete a scheme
Out of the blue
And into the dream

Wednesday, May 23, 2018

Resurrection Rose

There has been much written
About roses and their thorns;
How their wine color matches
The blood they so often draw

And if one has been smitten
In love by pangs therein borne
It is the gift that catches
And encapsulates the fall

Yet, another trait of the rose;
And one less frequented by poets,
Is that in death they are reborn
Yes, and thus multiplied in buds

Overlooked in poetry and prose
So many might not know it
Prepossessed as they are with thorns
And haunted by the spill of blood

But as the first of roses bloom
The flowers begin to droop and die
Withered and brown they become;
Beauties that once stilled our breath

To live, the flowers must make room
Heads must be plucked, brittle and dry
For the circle of life to resume
In truth, youth resurrected from death

But as long as death is kept at bay
Beauty continues unabated
New buds form and flower again
So the rose continues to thrive

Perhaps the rose has something to say
Something, so far, underrated
When first flowers of youth are slain
The rose shall rise again, alive

Saturday, May 19, 2018

Through the Magnolias

In his backyard
There was an old car
A '54 Buick I think
It was faded black
And the guy who owned it
Used to sit in there and drink

It smelled like ancient upholstery;
springs busting through the seats
and a musty melting plastic odor;
the thing grown up in weeds

Under giant magnolia trees
Part sun and partly shaded
I wandered there on July days
To a young boy's secret haven

The sweltering summer sun
Baked the enamel
The tires were rotting away
But it wasn't driven anywhere
It was parked and parked to stay

There were clear pint bottles
In the floorboard;
the headliner hanging down
He used to let me sit in it
and pretend I was driving around

He was a friendly man
But gaunt and old
He never caused any hurt
With bristled whiskers
And sweat stains
Soaking through his shirt

My daddy said, "He's just a drunk."
But, "He doesn't mean any harm."
And I'd sneak out to look in the trunk
near the barn behind his farm

One hot day in August
I climbed in there to play
And was promptly chased out by hornets
I barely got away
The old guy was watching
On the porch out of the sun
"Be careful boy, them bees is mean.
Watch out you don't get stung."

I later learned the old car
Had once belonged to his wife
But she had suddenly passed away
And he never learned to drive
So he'd sit inside and sip whiskey
Remembering her that way
To me it was all a mystery
Just a young boy wanting to play

Years later I reflected
How he had always seemed alone
But took the time to share with me
the grandest thing he owned
I never went back to the old car
Afraid as I was of the bees
But I still remember the summer sun
Through the magnolia trees

Monday, May 14, 2018

Dancing in the Light

A single shaft of light
Penetrated the Venetian blind
Upon it danced a thousand motes of dust
The particles in celebration
Seemed to cling
To an arrow of the sun's bright offering

The room, behind dark velvet curtains
Had been sanctuary for the night
In darkness all things become uncertain
Void of will and subject to suggestions
Scattering like quicksilver in the light

The black fades into purple brown
Shadows creep away to secret corners
Were I to rise and pull the curtain down
No doubt the dark would burst with morning
But I sit perplexed and ponder
A mystery that makes me wonder

A shadow in a crevice holds no fear
It only lies in wait for discovery
What is this shaft of light doing here?
Did it come to rob the night of something lovely?
But look! How the darkness flees!
Even from a single pin so bright
What does it mean; perhaps or might?

Only a bit of day has changed the darkness
It wakened in me a thirst for all things bright
For where once I found comfort and solace
Behold! I saw weakness and cowardice!
I became determined to catch the sun
And so, into the east, I began to run.

But as I traveled and ran and did my best
The great star rose above me
The noon poured heat upon my brow
And now, the turning of the earth has
Sent me west.

We can not catch the sun except on our skin
Or perhaps we may harness a bit in our hearts
But there are things, that if pursued
Will only turn to leave us in the dark
Still, there will be smaller stars there

They will be there to remind us
There is always light
No matter how fast we travel
Or how far we put the past behind us

So I begin to cling, like some other earthly thing
Like a most of dust, not knowing what to trust
But looking forever forward to the light
And I begin to dance, if only on the chance
That I may, in some small way
Help to make the wrong things right

Wednesday, January 10, 2018

When the Rains Came

When the rains came they washed
Windows and asphalt
With pebbles on the beach

They exploded on lakes and rivers
Like fingers on piano keys
In a flurry and haste of abandon

Cascading down red brick chimneys
Onto black tar shingles
Swooshing through metal gutters

Spewing from drainage pipes
Roaring through culverts
And all the while, glistening

For days the incessant drip
Echoed through rooms
Muffled by music on the radio

Sounds of a thirsty dog
Lapping from a sloshing bowl
Waves and sheets breathed and shushed

At night droplets tap danced
Like water color blues
Tambourine puddles in the soul

It sang an endless lullaby
Soothing the world with whispers
Making the earth remember

Primordial floods and deluge
Leaving behind the clean-swept
Rock faces of canyons to drain

All the colors were brighter
Grass became green and moist
Trees stood more erect

While roots rushed downward
Retrieving what was lost
In subterranean pools

The monsoon returns again
In dry seasons we recall
Wet footprints on the floor

And now the cane grows tall
Rice grows in flooded fields
Because the rains came

Tuesday, January 2, 2018


Looking back to a railroad track
I walked in late July
In the summer of nineteen seventy six
And how the time flew by

I worked a job and paid my way
Walked home all through September
Before a good friend took me in
And I was thankful in November

Rain would soak right through my coat
Or the days were hot and dust blew
With honeysuckle and creosote
A man does what he must do

We rode in a nineteen forty coupe
A candy apple Chevrolet
Winter evenings we'd have soup
At his mother's house along the way

Through the years, friends and miles
I've seen along with autumn gold
Summer days and warmer smiles
Turning gray... as I grow old

Lost many lovers and best of friends
But still I cling to this;
Every heart on trust depends
And not some fleeting goodbye kiss

To the friends that honored me
With friendship through the years
And to the ones that have passed away
And left my heart in tears

I wrote a bit of poetry
And this, for the world to see
I've cherished you as you cherish me
Though some, I cherish in memory

Through the years I've kept some things
From friendship that are tokens
Some bits and baubles, beads and strings
That remember love unspoken

Thank you for the good times;
The swimming in the creek
The long days filled with sunshine
The kisses on my cheek

Thank you for the memories
Like children being born
Thank you for being there for me
When I was feeling lost and torn

Thank you for sharing in my work
To make my burdens light
And allowing me to help with yours
And thank you for the nights

You put me up on a cot or bed
And wouldn't let me drive
Or you offered me your sofa
So I could make it home alive

Thank you for sharing my laughter
And thank you for sharing my tears
Thank you for being there after
All these years and years

It is said a man knows not
What will come or how life ends
But my life was made from your love
And I owe my life to friends

So if I've forgotten some trinket
Given to me in youth
Remember my years and don't think it
Ungrateful of me for in truth

It was those very same memories
Of which I have not spoken
That are the treasures kept in me
Like promises, never broken

When my years fulfill in me
The time that brings my death
Please remember in certainty
That until my dying breath

I treasure mementos of friendship
And I treasure our memories
For the best of love and life are made
From tokens such as these

About Me

My photo
Poet and musician Fabian G. Franklin invites you to join him on a poetic journey through the soul and nature.