 April 2004 ~ Wayne Neighbors ~ April's featured poet was Wayne Neighbors -- aka the Websailor. Wayne hails from California, and his work is a marvellous, rollicking blend of the sea, love, humor and life in general. Wayne's Blog 34 Author's note: The poem is about USS Oriskany (CVA-34)....a ship I served aboard in 1967 - 1969. She is being cleaned and readied, as I write this, and will soon be sunk as a reef off the gulf coast. A call has come we can't ignore; the bells of glory chime... to gather on a distant shore a crew from out of time. We come to grieve the many dead; the shipmates lost back then. And as we hear the tributes read our thoughts return again... to ports of call in foreign lands a distant, brighter day; when life was held in younger hands, ashore and underway. We listen to the bugles call and wipe away the tears, as names and faces, we recall, across the many years. And as the circle draws an end, forgive the tears we weep to see our gray and weathered friend committed to the deep. © 2004 Wayne Neighbors Yestertime Dedicated to my granddaughter Nikki "Yestertime" -- a magic word she coined because she's four she uses to refer us to, generically, "before". "Pretend we are outside," she says, "and 'tend it's raining, kay?"... Articulated joy in her unique and special way. "Show me mad," I say to her, to make her strike a pose. I aim and snap a picture as her little spirit glows. "Woe is me" another pose, a hand across her brow... I take a second picture through the love and tears, somehow. The years will soon adjust her look, increasing age and size; she'll add a curl and curve or two to compliment her eyes. I'll save, of course, these pictures and this memory in rhyme, but Lord, if you would let me now, I'd put a stop to time. © 2003 Wayne Neighbors The Gibson Weeps In memory of my Father-in-law, Bob Blake... In gentle tones, you sang the blues... with working hands, caressed a chord... and no request would you refuse for nothing more could you afford. You lived within a country song with words and rhythms ill defined. The only tune that wasn't wrong was playing softly in your mind. But near the end, in sweetest voice, the music filled your soul it seems and in the end, as if by choice, you left the music in our dreams. And now the mournful music sleeps. In other hands... the Gibson weeps. © 2002 Wayne Neighbors The Snail and the Sports Car A tiny sports car sputtered in, a snail was at the wheel. The gas attendant, with a grin, said, "Snail, are you for real? I 'preciate your right to cruise and that red color's swell... and naturally I can't refuse to serve you here at 'Shell'... but, I must say it's odd enough now, snail, you must confess... for such as you to drive and stuff... say, why'd you paint that 'S' there on the door, the driver's side, in glowing shades of blue?" The snail rose up with stately pride and said, "Hey you would too... I'm tired of hearing people say 'there goes that lowly snail'... and night by night and sunny day you know, they'd never fail... to laugh at me, my lack of speed, until I bought this car, but, see me now, my soul's been freed, I'm pretty near a star! They teased and snorted; mocked my pace, my life was filled with woe... but now, they shout, as by I race... look at that S car go!!!" © 2004 Wayne Neighbors The Lady of the Night Her face is of another world, the lady of the night, her beauty framed by Heaven's glow of alabaster light. So shyly as she passes by, behind a veil she slips. Eternity won't make a face her beauty can't eclipse. She smiles at her companion as she slowly turns away, as if she were a lover lost with nothing more to say. She peers into the depths of space in darkness unafraid, then turns to face the world again, her monthly penance paid. © 2003 Wayne Neighbors |
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