You are not here.

Flat granite marks the place.

Your smile, your grace

Permeates this space.

Flowers and prayers, I bring

To ease my suffering.

Silently, inwardly, I weep.

My pain runs deep.

Time and space do not erase

The memories of time and place.

You were my universe.

(Tom Fenning)

04/30/2000

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Mispah.

And soon after his next birthday, her old mansion would be sold,

Since she died, and he would miss them both, as nine years changed the date.

He completed school, did two years work, and started college late.

(2)At the end of his first Uni year, he used semester break,

To get on his pushbike, ride ten miles, and use the street to take

Some new photographs of that old house, that stood in Memory Lane.

Then a lady pulled up in the drive, and Tom had to explain.

(3)So he told her how he’d visited his great aunt, and she’d died.

She invited him to take more pictures of the house inside.

They exchanged their names, and hers was Angel. She had long blond hair,

And she wore a dark blue dress, which caught his eyes and made him stare.

(4)Angel showed him in, and chatted, as the camera’s shutters moved

More than those beside the windows, and he noticed she approved

Of his dedicated efforts to preserve the life he’d known.

He used up his roll of film, while she was talking on the phone.

(5)He soon asked her if he could come back, when he had bought some more.

She took out an unused roll of film she’d kept in her desk drawer.

“You can have this as a gift, if you could stay for lunch as well,”

Angel told him, and he found himself enchanted by her spell.

(6)With her wedding ring to think of, he stayed focused on the shots

That he took of her interiors, while Angel warmed some pots.

She prepared a tasty pasta, which they ate, while she detailed

How she’d married, bought the house, and then her husband’s health had failed.

(7)For two years she’d been a widow, and the house was now a shrine,

And the memories of their lost loved ones would start to intertwine,

As a thirty year old widow, and a boy were growing fond

Of each other, with that mansion as a setting for a bond.

(8)He told stories of old visits there, and picnics on the lawn.

Then the sunlight shone upon her face, as Angel had to yawn.

She proposed that they might have the next day’s lunch out on the grass,

And he thought of Angel married, when those years had had to pass.

(9)Now they shared the common ground, specifically that block of land,

And the ghosts they knew that no-one else could ever understand.

He accepted her proposal, and soon bought a “Thank you” card,

And some chocolates, which he handed her, as they walked through her yard.

(10)They enjoyed the picnic lunch, and she invited him to stay,

For a chat up on the balcony, and let him lead the way.

She was thrilled by how he knew his way around each nook and cranny,

And he told her how he’d used the cellar once, to hide from Nanny.

(11)They walked out onto the balcony, and Tom said, “When I came,

I was glad to see the garden and the house looked just the same.

It feels just like fifteen years ago, on days when my great aunt

And I both looked out at every creeper vine and growing plant.”

(12)”Tom, you’re sweet to buy me chocolates,” Angel candidly responded,

“And it’s nice the way we’ve shared the stories of this house and bonded.

For the first time, I’ve met someone who has helped me break the seal,

Of the lonely widow syndrome, but I don’t know how you feel.”

(13)”I feel nice,” said Tom, “It’s special to be spending two days here.”

Angel thanked him and then asked, “But have I got the wrong idea?
What I mean, is: Do you like me, or do you just like this place?”

He had never had a girlfriend. Now this doll was giving chase.

(14)”Yes, I really like you, Angel. I’m just scared to mix my past

With a future that could hurt me, if your feelings might not last.”

Her mouth opened in surprise, and she said, “You’re the younger man.

But you’ve thought this out so deeply, since your visits here began.

(15)I have turned away proposals from each Dick, and every Harry,

But not every Tom, because you’re one, whom I would love to carry

Me across the threshold in the future, once we two have dated

For the next two years, until such time as you have graduated.”

(16)Tom said, “When I first met you, I was unnerved about one thing,

As I came to take the pictures, and I saw your wedding ring.

I still thought it would be wrong to interrupt your right to grieve.

With my photographs all taken, I decided I should leave.”

(17)”You don’t have to leave,” said Angel, “With your help, my grief has gone.

If you’d like to see some more of me, I’m ready to move on.”

“I sure would,” said Tom, “if I don’t disappoint you. Being new

To this dating thing, I guess you’ll have to teach me what to do.”

(18)Summer sun lit up the garden, but the balcony was shady,

As she smiled and moved towards him. “Have you ever kissed a lady?”

Angel asked. He said, “I’ve never had a girlfriend, so to speak. ”

Then she smiled, and put one hand behind his neck, and kissed his cheek.

(19)Then she placed her other arm around his back, and took the lead,

As she taught him every kissing move, until they both agreed,

That the time had come to move inside and use the couch instead.

They were both too clean in mind, to jump the gun, and use the bed.

(20)They sat on the couch, and felt the cushions underneath them dip,

And he ran each finger slowly over her soft lower lip.

They embraced, and felt their touching cheeks was unity assured,

As Tom realized this vacation would leave no time to be bored.

(21)She’d inherited a chain of fashion stores, that dealt in flowers

As a sideline to enhance the atmosphere in business hours.

As the owner, she could take time off, to coincide with his,

Angel told him, as she poured some lemonade that kept its fizz.

(22)With the daylight saving sunlight still to last for quite a while,

Angel’s bicycle and his went wheeling round, until a mile

Of her suburb had been covered, and he hazarded a guess

That her own department store supplied her flowery white long dress.

(23)”I designed this one myself,” she said, “with flowers in pale red.

They’re the same as those that grow around the mansion’s old back shed.

Then the “tailor made” department had it made in several days.

Will you let me read your college work: those stories, and the plays?”

(24)She was lost in everything he wrote; and used her drawing skill

To make illustrations for the novels he worked on, until

One book publisher, who’d previously turned his books away,

Had a change of heart, and knew that now the customers would pay.

(25)When his college course was finished, and he didn’t have to cram,

Putting dates with her on hold, the night before his last exam,

He rode out of university, a bachelor of study

Up to Angel’s suburb, skidding on some road that rain made muddy.

(26)He fell off the bike, and hit his head, and passed out on the road,

Where his girlfriend lived, while clouds above went into downpour mode.

Then eventually her car pulled up, when she came driving by,

And she thought that he was dead, and stroked his head, and had to cry.

(27)”Tom, I loved you more than even my old husband. It’s not fair,”

Angel wept, as he woke up, and felt her fingers on his hair.

“It’s alright. I skidded off the road, fell down, and then I must

Have collapsed, once I had hit my head, and ended up concussed.

(28)Roadside grass has saved me from a bruise. I’m glad you came and found

Me down here, and kept me safe, since there was no-one else around.”

She secured the car, and left it, and they walked the pushbike in,

And she bandaged his right hand with rolls of something soft and thin.

(29)Angel gently held his hands and said, “I thought I’d lost another,

And before we could get married.” Then she used her lips to smother

Him with countless lovely kisses. Tom said, “Does this really mean,

That you’re seriously willing to get married? I’m still keen.

(30)And in fact, that’s why I cycled up. I hope this isn’t rash.

Could you help me open this? My hands are clumsy from the crash.”

He took out a small container, and she lifted up the lid,

And she saw a wedding ring, and said, “Of course I’m still keen, kid.

(31)Now I guess it’s time to take this old ring off, and start anew.”

“You don’t need to take it off,” said Tom, “I’m sure there’s room for two,

Your first ring is on your right hand, as a memory and a token,

And this new one tells the world the sleeping widow has awoken.”

(32)”I can’t believe how sweet you are,” said Angel, “I’ll do what you’ve said,

Now I think you should lie down, since you just hurt your handsome head.

I’ll still stay and keep you company, and make some wedding plans.”

They discussed things, and her sports car soon drove westward, dragging cans.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at THE MANSION IN MEMORY LANE.

(From when optimism shined, and felt no need for second sight);

And contain it in the formula, that I’m preparing now,

I can climb the trees in modern woods, and never break a bough.

Should I snatch a scrap of Paris, clasping firmly with my grip

(So the fancy streets and shining lights would validate the trip);

And include that with more images collated in this art,

Then the collage of experiences needs no counterpart.

When I borrow just a tune from one musician’s repertoire

(Such that self-expression of another touches my radar);

And it’s added to the inspirations daydreams might compile,

I can move on, with a melody to motivate my smile.

I might revel in a chapter of the nicest story told

(Where the narrative has reached its peak, and calls for semibold);

And incorporate that into memories, gathered up, to date.

Its invigorating influence might prompt what I’ll create.

If I use a pinch of this, a dab of that, and shape the clay,

(I’ll unite my favourites into what I’m mixing up today).

Such a cocktail of connections would mean I’d be nine tenths there.

But that ten percent is vital; since it’s: knowing that you’d care.

Und du hörst das Wort ich sage; aber du verstehst mir nicht.

Ob in English oder Deutsch, ich doch vertraue mein Gedicht.

Gehst du Osten, Westen, Norden, Süden (Flugzeug oder Floss),

Wirdst du finden was du suchst, wenn du besuchst an meinem Schloss?††

Translations:

† Collective in the Castle

††And you hear the word I say, but you don’t understand me.

Whether in English or German, I still believe my poem.

If you go East, West North or South (by plane or raft),

Will you find what you’re seeking, if you visit my castle?

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Pieces of Where and When (Sammelwort in dem Schloss†).

Past yesterday’s townhouses.

In each nostalgic molecule

Is something, which arouses.

Old lessons learned so long ago

(Viola, drums or trigon)

Resurface, just enough to know:

Those tunes aren’t fully bygone.

A new sound crashes near the bay,

And shakes the stone rotunda.
The sky shows nature’s cabaret,

With sudden roaring thunder.

Brief moments pass, and summer heat

(Which caused the town to swelter))

Gives way to frantic dampening feet,

Which find a tunnel’s shelter.

Some recent wounds are laundered clean;

But past lives’ recollection

Remains, where tables and caffeine

Accompany retrospection.

The railway tracks are drowned in rain,

Up on the bridge, forestalling

The movement of the peak hour train;

As time froze memories falling.

An hour of this would irk some folk;

But nature gives a quarter,

So ferns and flowers can quickly soak
Themselves in purest water.

Then skies, which were extremely dark

(To back-project on lightning)

Conclude their cloud-to-cloud skylark,

With sunshine slowly brightening.

Those footsteps cling to water drops,

When they resume their movement:

Brief souvenirs of how life stops,

And starts with cleansed improvement.

Should company find its calling here,

The call would be for cuddles,

And sharing views of boats and pier,

With boots in smaller puddles.

Return to Top

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at CABARET OF THE CLOUDS.

Fantasize

Let your thoughts go wild

Bring back your memories,

Your thoughts as a child.

Ride the range on a bucking bronc’

Drive a race car at Daytona Park.

Climb snow covered mount Kilimanjaro.

Fly high aloft in a gas filled balloon

Going higher and higher almost touching the moon.

Sail the seas in a four mast schooner

Circling the earth, catching large tuna.

Ride a motorcycle, jump over high dunes

Hearing the motor moaning zoom zoom.

These are the pleasures of youth

Before growing older

And

Discovering the truth.

Tom Fenning Friday,

July 17, 2009

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Fantasize.

Of all the beautiful pictures
That hand on memories wall-
The one of the autumn twilight
Seems to be best of all-
Wife says its “Minnesota”-
For thats where she used to be-
To me it is only “Dreaming”-
Down lanes of melody.

The fields have turned to silver
Over the shinging wheat-
Ready to turn to waves of gold
Where winds of summer meet!
But over me a shadow
Drifts like the winds today-
Tho over my house the leaning trees
Sing their heart away.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Lifes Highway.

When I leave the world, behind!

I’ll leave the moonlight, for the dreamers,
I’ll leave the great ships for the seas-
And for the “Old Folks” I’ll leave the memory
Of a baby upon their knees!

Ill leave the grainfields for the harvest-
ill leave the rows of russeling corn!
ill leave the skies of drifting rain-
ill leave the old daus for your memories,
When I leave the world behind!

Ill leave a path for you to follow,
In these little songs of mine-
Ill leave the golden leaves of autumn-
When I leave the world behind!

Ohmother laughs an mother chaffs, but mother dont know thin-
How aweful dirty Fritize was when he began to sing!

Ill leave the sunshine for the flowers-
Ill leave the roses for the dew-
Ill leave the moonlight on the water-
When I leave the world to you!

Ill leave thses songs, Ill leave my fiddles,
Ill leave the old magnolia tree-
Ill leave the sighing winds of summer
When I leave the world to thee!

When I leave the world behind!

When the summer days are fading
And the gold hangs in the tree
When the prairie sunsets gleaming-
And the wind sings, longingly-
When the work is finally over-
And happy days are gone-
And you look across the grainfields-
Then you’ll remember me!

When the shades of twilight linger-
And the evening shadows long-
When the heart sings of the summer
When the golden years are gone-
When there can be no more dreaming-
And the golden years are gone-
In the last long days of summer-
Then you’ll remember me!

When the evening twilight lingers-
And the far off cattle bawl-
When its night time in Dakota-
In a dreary moonlit sky-
hen you sing the old songs over
From days that used to be-
When its nighttime on the prairie-
Then youll remember me!

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at When I Leave This World Behind.

John had been out here at HOME, in Dakota, and head seen the bundle-stacks,
and the HOBOS pitching them in the machine, and these bundles were the
“MEMORIES OF SUMMER”……

My heart, O it’s not in the city…..
With its crowds, moving where, no one knows!
It is out on the plains….that are pretty………
With their winds….and their storms……and their snows!

Its out where the sunsets are gleaming!
In purple, and russet, and gold!
And the freedom is great as is told in
The tales of the VIKINGS of old!

Its out where “THE MEMORIES OF SUMMER”
DO STAND IN THE TRAIL OF THE BO-
Who comes with his pitchfork, and “hummer”- (little tune he hums)
AND STAYS TILL THE NORTHERNERS blow! (NORTHERLIES)

THE PRAIRIES…..THE PRAIRIES ARE CALLING!
Me back to my horse and my plow-
AND IT’S THERE THAT MY BUNK I’LL BE HAULING
AS…..SOON…..AS….THE….FATES….WILL….ALLOW!

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Memories of Summer.

Without the contemplation of my endurance.

Endless tears gush, yet, strong to conceal from the world.

Worse dawn and unkind dust, but still, memories are at its finest.

Staying alone, want to shriek and sob what would I have to do, flipside the worst?

Life, isn’t a bliss without you, waiting in wish, like I do?

Hope seems to die, lost the sport of love and life.

Still alive yet dead.

Out of globe need to know, what fun had deity?

Making his own child, depart life in despair for love.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Devoid of Love.

Its out where the stacks of the harvest
Once stood in the trail of the “Boo”-
Who came humming along with his PITCHFORK;
And….stayed till the NORTHERLEES BLOW!

Its out where the SUNSETS ARE GLEAMING-
In purple and russet and GOLD!
And I’m THERE, tho I know I am dreaming-
ONLY DREAMS, OF THE GLAD DAYS OF OLD!

Its a WIDE PRAIRIE LAND, and its calling-
Me back to my TRACTOR and PLOW;
And I know it will ALWAYS BE MY LAND…..
THE HOME OF MY HEART, IN THE HILLS.

Where the wild flowers bloom, in the Springtime-
And the “thunder heads” roll in the WEST;
And the moonlight comes stealing and stealing
Through the night, from those old SKIES OF DREAM!

YOU may think I was “making a poem”-
I am NOT…..I AM WEAVING A SONG-
Like the songs that the wind sang in summer,
To the heart of a child…. ALL DAY LONG!

The roses still bloom in the wheatfield-
And the WEST is a bright sea of gold-
Tho I try, Oh I know I can’t tell you-
ALL THESE STORIES…My Memories Told!

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Home of the Hills.