Westminster Abbey – by (c) anightowl

By on Dec 19, 2011 in Blog, Featured, Gallery, Poetry, Portfolio

Westminster Abbey

Here lies Mary, Queen of Scotts

On view for all to see

Cast in marble – cold as ice

Entombed for eternity

Behind iron fences capped with spikes

To keep away the throng

Only in death, can she forget

She was so very wronged.

Cut off her head – her cousin did

To keep her from the throne

Power crazed families – out of control

She haunts – her ghost still roams

Stone steps worn, with the weight of the world

Lead to the graves so old

The duchess, the duke, the earl, the priest

All equal – covered in mold.

Their bodies immortalized – marble and stone

But spirits are long gone

Forgotten works, good deeds and bad

Blurred – time marching on.

Status shown by gilt and stone

The poor in unmarked graves

Those in between lie underfoot

In death – they are all the same.

© g. abbey 

 

 

Excerpt from Book by (c)g. abbey

By on Dec 19, 2011 in Blog, Featured, Gallery, Poetry, Portfolio

It’s Not Dark Yet; duets.me.bob.recording146Hello to all of my readers.  As some of you know, I’ve been working on a book for  a long time, but , finally the time has come when I have finished the prep work and am sending it to the publisher.  Before he starts his own lengthly process, I want to print here an excerpt from the book.  I hope you enjoy the story, but please note, the book is a combination of stories, and poetry. All the stories and poetry are based on real life events, and all are copy right and may not be used without written permission.

 

The reason for the printing of this story is explained in the book.

 

What the Blind Man Saw

One bright day in the middle of the night

Two dead boys got up to fight

Back to back they faced each other

Drew their swords and shot each other

A deaf policeman heard the noise

He came and killed those two dead boys

One bright day in the middle of the night

As I was walkin’ up the stair

I saw a man who wasn’t there

He wasn’t there again today

Oh how I wish he’d go away

Jaybird sittin’ on a hickory limb

He winked at me and I winked at him

His eyes were red and his teeth were green

Sat there pickin’ on a tambourine

One bright day in the middle of the night

A monkey and a flea and three blind mice

Sat on a curbstone shootin’ dice

The monkey did a flip and fell on the flea

The flea said, “Whoops, there’s a monkey on me”

A Twinkie and a Tastykake knockin’ at the door

They just come from the mini-mart store

The lady went upstairs to get her gun

Should-a seen the Twinkie and the Tastykake run

One bright day in the middle of the night

As I was walkin’ down the street

Who do ya think I chanced to meet?

It was Godzilla and old King Kong

Stompin’ on buildings and singin’ a song

Red and blue and delicate green

The King can’t catch it ‘n’ neither can the Queen

Bring it in the house through the ‘lectric socket

Catch a rainbow and put it in your pocket

One bright day in the middle of the night

If you don’t believe these lies are true

Ask the blind man; He saw it too.

Folklore – no known author – many different versions found

***

A Change in Personality

By on Dec 19, 2011 in Blog, Featured, Gallery, Poetry, Portfolio

A Change in Personality

Change in Personality

A change in personality

I feel coming on

Like the storm in the distance

Of which we are warned.

Restlessness preceding

The gale lurking near

Heaviness in the air

Heightening my fear.

The changes that are wrought

In the path of the storm

Are not fully revealed

Until the coming of morn

They can be extreme

The destruction complete

The past obliterated

Only splinters in the street

Or the storm – on a whim

Can for no apparent reason

Leave one spot untouched

For one more season.

Unsure how the change will

Affect my life

I wait with mixed feelings

For the storm and the strife.

 

 

(c) g.abbey December 8, 2011

From Book of poetry by Abbey Nightowl “When the Night Falls, Run”  To be released.  

Death – Where is Thy Sting?

By on Dec 19, 2011 in Blog, Featured, Gallery, Poetry, Portfolio

Death – Where is Thy Sting?

If Mummies Could Talk

The shroud surrounds the body

Oh death where is thy sting?

The dead live on for centuries

Listen – hear them sing.

 

They cry for mercy – LET US GO

We’ve paid our debt to all

Encased in wooden coffins

Lined against the wall.

 

They carved our coffins with signs of gods

And birds with gilded gold

To protect us as we lay here

No knowing where we’d go.

 

This was SACRED – where we lay,

Please – don’t come so near

Not meant for you to stare and say

“What’s this, what’s that, look here.”

 

You see our bodies wrapped in cloth

Our skin preserved like clay

You cannot see what’s in our hearts’

Or know what made us grey.

 

And now two thousand years have past

You stare at us through guarded glass

Grant us I pray our dignity

Turn out the lights…..  & & AND GO AWAY!!!

 

(c)g.abbey. Standing in a room of mummies at the Egyptian Exhibit in London

Dreams

By on Dec 19, 2011 in Blog, Featured, Gallery, Poetry, Portfolio

Dreams

Because I am not young,
there are many things I have lost,
some good, some bad, none indifferent,
but all losses, for no loss is indifferent.

There are things I have lost that very few know about.
I lost a baby on Christmas day,
Christmas is a day I mourn, not celebrate.
Those who do not know or want to know about my past
do not understand why Christmas should be a day,
if not of mourning, at least a day of remembering,
if only for a moment, those that are gone,
rather than celebrations, but those who do not know me,
nor want to know my past are yet another loss.

There used to be people who wanted to know my past,
and what I had done and what I could do.
Those people are no longer here, or here
but no longer interested, not enough to ask or think.
I have lost a baby, a mother, a grandmother,
my best friend, a husband, and a son.
But the greatest of these is not the baby
as most would guess I had not time to know her
how can you lose what you have never known?
The thing I mourn the most is a companion who cares
enough to read my poetry, or want to know why -
-why I hate Christmas, or why I am sad..
These are dreams that every girl dreams.

I dreamed for many years of being a medical doctor,
dreams that always included children from another country.
That dream was lost in my early twenties, a choice to make,
a family I already had or a medical degree I didn’t.
The choice to have both was taken from me like a father
takes a toy for a child whom he finds bothersome.
I finally got that Dr. before my name, but not as I wished.
I fulfilled my dream of helping underprivileged children
in other countries with a gift for languages – and it is a gift
that gave me a PhD in international communications, unrecognized as real
by those in my life who are supposed to care about me and my well being.
Some dreams come true, in ways we don’t expect, but sometimes they are tainted.

I dreamed of helping the children in foreign countries,
teaching them a better life, a richer life,
a life without pain, but that was only a half filled dream.
A part of the dream that did come to me for which
I shall forever be grateful for the memories that remind me
That I helped some less fortunate than myself.
The loss here is that the memorabilia is not
any more welcome in my house than my art.
That is a loss I am beginning to speak of,
Gaining the courage to say, and say with anger
that I have a right to my memories,and to mourn my losses.

I want to end this missive with a few dreams that did come true.
I have a wonderful daughter who is lucky to be alive,
a grandson that I think of daily, who is learning to know me.
I learned to make another best friend, for which I’m so grateful,
though it took me years to do so. The baby is still a baby gone
but I love her as if she were still here.

My art dreams will come true as it seems I have no choice. It is who I am.

© g.abbey, rewritten, December, 2011

16 I’ve Got Dreams to Remember

The Purl

By on Dec 19, 2011 in Blog, Featured, Gallery, Poetry, Portfolio

The Purl

By way of explanation for those unfamiliar with this use of the term: definition of ”purl” =

”eddy, swirl of water, crochet stitch”, as you see here

The purl of the river babbled around her
As the purl of her hand knit sweater unraveled

Similar to the unraveling her life started
Those many years ago when her life traveled

The first broke the foundation of the marriage
With the litany of his disparage

 

Of the the lust in his heart, which first?
When he gave in or was it the thirst??

Who is to say? It says, ”to lust in your heart is
The same sin as to commit the sin” his

I wonder, has he learned the lessson, too?
For his life turned into a zoo.

The purl in the sweater that unraveled
Was the last purl she ever raveled

She put up her yarns and needles
And traded them for bugs and Beatles.

Something she had no interest in before
As she listened to hymns, it was no chore.

Worship of the God they had sworn to speak of
For the rest of their lives, broke, the 2nd vow of love

Now he’s gone – she’s gone
And the children didn’t keep

They fell apart in their own way
One up, one down, I wonder, do They sleep?

And this last Mother’s day once more
Was spent alone, no calls, such a bore.

Unrequited sleep, despite the efforts of the second
Who tried his best me to beckon

From a sleep begun, never to be undone,
For sleep, when gotten, covers the shun.

©g.abbey
2011