4 Deadspace Poetry
The Tyler Chronicle Autumn, 2022 Worldwide Edition  Follow Your Dream, & Doors Will Open"...Lewis and Clark headed west. Isak Dinesen took off for Africa. We all have our Africas, those dark and romantic notions that call to our deepest selves. When we answer that call, when we commit to it, we set in motion the principle that C. G. Jung dubbed synchornicity, loosely defined as a fortuitous intermeshing of events. Back in the sixties, we called it serendipity. Whatever you choose to call it, once you begin your creative recovery you may be startled to find it cropping up everywhere....I have learned, as a rule of thumb, never to ask whether you can do something. Say instead, that you are doing it. Then fasten your seat belt. The most remarkable things follow. In my experience, the universe falls in with worthy plans and most especially with festive and expansive ones. I have seldom conceived a delicious plan without being given the means to accomplish it. Understand that the what must come before the how. First choose what you would do. The how usually falls into place of itself. ...We like to pretend it is hard to follow our heart's dreams. The truth is, it is difficult to avoid walking through the many doors that will open. Turn aside your dream and it will come back to you again. Get willing to follow it again and a second mysterious door will swing open. ...Take a small step in the direction of a dream and watch the synchronous doors flying open." THE ARTIST'S WAY Julia Cameron "Whatever you think you can do or believe you can do, begin it. Action has magic, grace, and power in it." W.H. Murray The Scottish Himalayan Expedition Dead Space Poetry SocietyHere is your opportunity to be a "published" poet. Just send your original work to The Tyler Chronicle's Dead Space Poetry Society, and we will publish it as space and time permit. And now, not only can your poem appear in the printed editions of the the Chronicle, but also in the web version you are reading now!Just think! Your poem can appear right alongside the likes of Keats, Shelley, Byron, and Shakespeare. Not only that, but if your poem is published we will send you a gen-u-ine certificate (suitable for framing) telling the world that you are indeed a member of this elite society. We suggest that you always copyright your works before releasing them. Send your original poems to: bmcntyler@yahoo.com.  Come, Little Leaves " Come, little leaves, " said the wind one day, If If you can keep your head when all about you If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, If you can dream - and not make dreams your master, If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken If you can make one heap of all your winnings If you can force your heart and nerve and sinue If you can walk with crowds and keep your virtue, If you can fill the unforgiving minute Who Am I? By Anonymous I am rich, but I am poor. I am lonely, but not alone I am smart, but very dumb. I am the son of Noah and Sam Bodie. I am Noah Bodie.  My Friend By Woodine Wiley My friend you are so very nice. To my life you have added spice. My heart is happy every day; Since you came along my way. God bless you for the things you do. Most of all just being you. A gentle word, and kindly smile; Make my life seem worthwhile. Keep on being the things you are. To me you are God's shining star. A shining light to lead the way. For songs to sing and music to play.  Love Poems from Ancient Egypt (Extract from a 3,000 year-old papyrus) She is one girl, there is no one like her. She is more beautiful than any other. Look, she is like a star goddess arising at the beginning of a happy new year; brilliantly white, bright skinned; with beautiful eyes for looking, with sweet lips for speaking; she has not one phrase too many. With a long neck and white breasts, her hair of genuine lapis lazuli; her arm more brilliant than gold; her fingers like lotus flowers, with heavy buttocks and girt waist. Her thighs offer her beauty, with a brisk step she treads on ground. She has captured my heart in her embrace. She makes all men turn their necks to look at her. One looks at her passing by, this one, the unique one. Untitled I wish I were your mirror so that you always looked at me. I wish I were your garment so that you would always wear me. I wish I were the water that washes your body. I wish I were the unguent, O woman, that I could annoit you. And the band around your breasts, and the beads around your neck. I wish I were your sandal that you would step on me! O my beautiful one, I wish I were part of your affairs, like a wife. With your hand in mine your love would be returned. I implore my heart: "If my true love stays away tonight, I shall be like someone already in the grave." Are you not my health and my life? How joyful is your good health for the heart that seeks you! The Young Man's Wish (An old copy, without printer's name; probably one from the Aldermary Church-yard press. Poems in triplets were very popular during the reign of Charles I., and are frequently to be met with during the Interregnum, and the reign of Charles II.) IF I could but attain my wish, I'd have each day one wholesome dish, Of plain meat, or fowl, or fish. A glass of port, with good old beer, In winter time a fire burnt clear, Tobacco, pipes, an easy chair. In some clean town a snug retreat, A little garden 'fore my gate, With thousand pounds a year estate. After my house expense was clear, Whatever I could have to spare, The neighbouring poor should freely share. To keep content and peace through life, I'd have a prudent cleanly wife, Stranger to noise, and eke to strife. Then I, when blest with such estate, With such a house, and such a mate, Would envy not the worldly great. Let them for noisy honours try, Let them seek worldly praise, while I Unnoticed would live and die. But since dame Fortune's not thought fit To place me in affluence, yet I'll be content with what I get. He's happiest far whose humble mind, Is unto Providence resigned, And thinketh fortune always kind. Then I will strive to bound my wish, And take, instead of fowl and fish, Whate'er is thrown into my dish. Instead of wealth and fortune great, Garden and house and loving mate, I'll rest content in servile state. I'll from each folly strive to fly, Each virtue to attain I'll try, And live as I would wish to die.  One Ticket Should Be Enough Author Unknown (Copied from a one cent post card postmarked March 22, 1941 and addressed to F.G. Swanson, Tyler, Texas.) How would you like to travel on a train, From Portland Oregon to Portland Maine, And stop at every station on the line To buy another ticket? I opine You would call that crack-brain, but anyhow It is the way we pay our taxes now. One cannot spend a nickel anywhere, But the Tax Eater is already there, Hiding behind a Price Tag to collect A rake-off very few of us suspect. He pickets every show place, every store, Where sight-unseen, he reaches out for more. ONE TICKET AT THE START SHOULD BE ENOUGH! And where all things must start from, in the rough Is Mother Earth. Those who have got control Are ticket-takers, and they charge a toll Which should provide the revenue. (Only when we are tax-free shall we become free men...) Horatio One Drop Original attributed to Lord Byron (Copied from a one cent post card postmarked March 22, 1941 and addressed to F.G. Swanson, Tyler, Texas.) Truth is contageous and a Drop of Ink May make a thousand --even millions-- think. Why then should I --Truth's custodian-- Shrink from spreading that one precious Drop of Ink When all the world is trembling on the brink Of Ruin's crater and about to sink.  Eighty YearsBy Woodine Wiley (September 2007) Eighty years old, that I AM; With spirits as frisky as a lamb. JOYS AND PLEASURES I have many. TROUBLES AND WOES; I don't have any. The Lord has blessed me with a family so dear; Adding three more "great grands" just this year. He brought a daughter-in-law who brings much joy. She has three children; all of them boys. So, if you think being eighty could be a drag; Look at all the things about which to brag. Look forward to being eighty years young. God will bless you with so much fun. (It is bad if your enemies are unfriendly-- and worse if they are your friends.) Leonardo da Vinci IT HAS BEEN A YEAR By Woodine Wiley My loved one passed away; it has been a year, One year with many a fear and many a tear. Days, weeks and months of loneliness and feeling blue; Wondering oft times "with my life, what should I do?" Just as in times past, as along life's path I did plod, My path and direction were relinquished to God. What a difference it made in life's troubled pathway; To seek His will, as I walked day by day. "Enlarge my territory, Lord" I prayed as Jabez did. Many events happened which I felt were spirit led. A Grief Support Group shared heartfelt pain; From each other, new courage we would gain. Attending church was lonely too; My love's place was empty in the pew. God provided neighbor children with me to go. You can't be lonely with children in tow. So life continues bringing joy and sorrow, Also hope with each new tomorrow. God will provide my needs I know; With Him to guide me, I will onward go!  Halloween, Betwixt, Between! By Bobby Moore (copyright 2007) It is the night of things unseen! Halloween, Betwixt, Between! Creepies, Ghoulies, Witches, Cats, Skulls and Mummies, Vampire Bats! Spiders, Toads, and Voodoo Charms, Zombies wait with open arms! Halloween, Halloween! Halloween! Betwixt, Between! The moon is full; the moon is red, This is the night of living dead! Monsters, chains, and screams of freight! The undead dance with keen delight! Halloween, Halloween! Life and death, betwixt, between! Graves and tombs, and castles stark, Werewolves prowling in the dark! Demons crawl beneath your skin, Nightmares beckon you, "Come in!" This is the night of Halloween! Life and death, betwixt, between! Owls and broomsticks, familiars fly, Across the moon and through the sky! Voices moan throughout the night, Jack 'O Lantern's eerie light! Halloween! Life and death, betwixt, between!  Outside My Front Door By Wanda Jennings (2006) The hummingbirds come dancing Outside my front door, The hummingbirds come dancing And leave me longing for more, They dash across one way and then back the other They fly up high and dive toward one another, They come dancing in the morning And then they're back close to noon, But they do their best dancing When the day is almost through, So small and yet so graceful They put on quite a show, The hummingbirds come dancing Outside my front door. Wanda Jennings, 8-4-2006 Kindness... Anonymous If you had a kindness shown Pass it on-- 'Twas not meant for you alone Pass it on-- Let it travel down the years Till in heaven, The deed appears-- Pass it on, pass it on. The Family... Anonymous The family is like a book-- The children are the leaves; The parents are the cover, that Protective beauty gives. At first the pages of the book Are blank and purely fair; But time soon writes memories, And paints pictures there. Love is the little golden clasp That bindeth up the trust; Oh, break it not lest all the leaves Shall scatter and be lost! The Builder... Submitted by the late Judge Harry Loftis I watched them tearing a building down A gang of men in a busy town, With a ho heave ho and a lusty yell They swung a beam and a sidewalk fell. I asked the Foreman, Are these men skilled And the men you'd hire if you had to build? He gave a laugh and said, "No indeed Just common labor is all I need. I can easily wreck in a day or two What builders have taken a year to do." And I thought to myself as I walked away Which of these roles have I tried to play? Am I a builder who walks with care Measuring life by the rule and square? Am I shaping my deeds to a well made plan Patiently doing the best I can? Or am I a wrecker who walks the town Content with the labor of tearing down?  "Tall Paul" Williams Ode to The Tyler Chronicle... By Paul WilliamsHow old was I when I first knowed Bobby Moore? Shucks, I can't remember when he weren't around. That ole boy did a heap of work... Sniffin' out news like an ole bloodhound. From the Whitehouse Journal, to the Tyler Star, to the Tyler Chronicle He's made his mark on East Texas journalism For about forty years And he's gettin' better every day. I rekon you heard about him finding K-DOK's "Tall Paul", "Wild Child" Williams? Took him a year, but he never gave up Until he found him Down Houston way. Well, I got a letter today from the folks back home in Tyler. Everybody's fine... Crops is dry. Down at the end, cousin Linda Jean said, "You knowed the Tyler Chronicle is 28 years old And ole Bobby Moore (Rupert's boy) Is still the "Head-Guy". You know, one of these days I'm gonna climb a mountain, Walk up there among them clouds, Where the cotton's high and the corn's a-growin' And there ain't no fields to plow. With the sun beatin' down ore the fields I'll see... That Tyler Chronicle, Bobby Moore, "Daddy Julz"... and me.  Whatever Happened?... By Bobby D. MooreWhatever happened to the dancing daffodils Who smiled in the springtime sun, Whatever happened to the forest Who surrounded them with arms of oak, Whatever happened? Whatever happened to the happy brook Who laughed on her way to the sea, Whatever happened to the meadow lark Who nested in the tall grass, Whatever happened? Whatever happened to the peaceful pond Who made a home for sunfish, Whatever happened to it's denizens Who nipped at my skin in it's warmth, Whatever happened? Whatever happened to the leaves of autumn Who painted the woodland floor, When did the warmth of Thanksgiving leave us, Whatever happened to Halloween, Whatever happened? Where is the warm smoke that wafted from chimneytops When winter's white cloaked the hills, Where are the friends and loves of my youth, How did I lose them?  Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep Author Unknown I am not there. I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow: I am the diamond glint on snow I am the sunlight on ripened grain: I am the gentle autumn rain. When you awaken in the morning hush, I am the swift, uplifting rush Of quiet birds in circling flight. I am the soft stars that shine at night. Do not stand by my bed and cry; I am not there; I did not die. (Contributed by Duffie Lee Sinclair in memory of his mother, Gladys Ella Sinclair, 1902-1979) MY HERO WHEN I LOOK BACK UPON MY LIFE, THE YEARS THAT I HAVE HAD; THE HERO OF MY YOUTH SHINES BRIGHT, IN THE FIGURE OF MY DAD. MY FATHER WAS A GENTLE MAN, AND FUNNY IN HIS WAY. HE SEEMED SO TALL WHEN I WAS YOUNG, HIS SMILE COULD LIGHT MY DAY. THERE SEEMED NOTHING THAT HE COULDN'T DO; HE GAVE MY LIFE SUCH JOY. HE COULD FIX A SCRAPED UP KNEE, OR MEND A BROKEN TOY. MY FAVORITE PLACE WAS IN HIS LAP, OR PERCHED UPON HIS KNEE. MY WORLD SEEMED SAFE WITHIN HIS ARMS; HE WAS THE WORLD TO ME. MY DAD'S BEEN GONE FOR SOME YEARS NOW; BUT HE LIVES ON IN MY HEART, AND WHAT I AM OR MAY BECOME HE MOLDED FROM THE START. HE SAID THE PRIZE WAS IN THE TRYING, NOT EVERYONE COULD WIN, AND IF YOU FAILED THE FIRST TIME, WELL, THE NEXT TIME TRY AGAIN. HE TAUGHT ME EVERYONE WAS SPECIAL, EACH HAD A JOB TO DO, AND THOUGH LIFE DEALT US LOUSY CARDS, THE LORD WOULD SEE US THROUGH. HE TAUGHT ME ALL OF US ARE EQUAL, IT'S WHAT'S INSIDE YOUR HEART, AND IN GOD'S GAME OF LIFE, YOU SEE, WE EACH PLAY A SPECIAL PART. HE TAUGHT ME HOW TO SMILE AT LIFE, WHEN ALL WAS LOOKING GRIM. I WANT TO BE THE BEST I CAN, I WANT TO BE LIKE HIM. NML
The Fever... By Karl Ries The sun went down, the sky's still red: Helpless I lie here on my bed. And as the evening light turns low, I watch the darkness subtly grow. There is a stillness all around, There's naught to see and not a sound. But nothing seems at rest or ease; I am in pain, I find no peace. My throat is parched, my head's aglow, My body aches from head to toe When, drifting from the darkest gloom, A swirling shadow shares my room. Now there are more, they're everywhere; Could that be just my fever's flare? Or am I suddenly aware Of things that have always been there? The things don't seem to threaten me, They are just there-- I let them be. I can't see clear, I try in vain, I watch as fever wracks my brain. I stress my eyes, the strain's enorm. Then slowly, some of them take form; And what I see then has the look Of something from a Lovecraft book. I won't describe them in detail, Some are quite massive, some seem frail. They differ all in size and shape; I sense we can't communicate. The air is thick, the silence deep. They linger as I fall asleep. As I awake again somehow, They are still there, but resting now. They crouch, some low and some up high. And are on guard as I pass by. They make no move, I walk real slow; Their eyes keep watching me, I know. The next night, as I wait for them I fail to sense their presence then. I wonder: Were they real last night, Or were they just my fever's sight? My fever's down, I take some food: I wonder: Are they gone for good?  KDOKBy Charles Wright (1959) KDOK the number one sound, It can be heard all over town, The one station that gives you a regular beat And makes you forget all about the heat. If you get lonely, just turn the dial 1330 hi-fi style. The time & temperature are kept up to date With the latest news from around the state The dejays are of the very best They swing the music out our way From sunrise to sunset -- Every hour of the day Bill Atkins is probably the oldest one there But who cares, if he has gray hair -- He does a swell job on his "Timekeeper Show" And that's what counts as you all know. Then comes the shyest one of them all Bouncing Bob Lloyd as you recall With slow moving rhythm and funny jokes, It's his pleasure to entertain the folks When four o'clock finally comes 'round Tall Paul Williams wears the crown, He is slated as the hi-fi king With his weird laugh and everything: Coca Cola is his faithful sponsor With prizes and gifts in store If you will stay tuned for awhile You'll surely want to hear more. So as time progresses Let's help in every way And try to always be faithful To the sound of KDOK.  DEMOCRATIC DIALOG “Father, Must I go to work?” No, my lucky son We're living on easy street On Dough from Washington “We’ve left it up to Uncle Sam So don’t get exercised Nobody has to give a damn But if Sam treats us all so well And feeds us milk and honey Please, Daddy, tell us what the hell He’s going to use for money “Don’t worry bub, there’s not a hitch In this here Noble Plan,--- He simply soaks the filthy rich And helps the common man “But father, won’t there come a time When they run out of cash And we have left them not a dime When things will go to smash? “My faith in you is shrinking, son You Nosey little Brat, You do too damn much thinking, son, TO BE A DECOCRAT!” Fable of the Nut Tree: The nut tree displayed its fruits. Everyone who passed beneath it cast stones at it. (Leonardo da Vinci) EFFICIENCY SUGGESTION! Too many Congressmen in Washington Just waste and waste the public revenues! They soak us poorer folks with taxes now— No nation ever paid, and then survived. Two thirds of congressmen in Washington could do a better job than all of them: Since cutting force is now in style again, We ought to fire at least one third of them. Some better men might add to pay they get, And still reduce our growing public debt: F.G. Swanson Tyler, Texas January 22, 1954 ALL SIRENS SHOULD RE-ARM! Cheer up! For here’s a Valentine! For you, we’ve worked it up in faulty rhyme. For Life is a problem, and a hard one—too, And Love is a traitor to all but a few. Perhaps, you may find, in Life’s mystery, Some hours are like pearls in a rosary; With sweetest of memories of fitful flames That flickered, went out; in it’s loosing games But vows of the past, by whomever uttered, Like castles of fairies are barred and shuttered So why should you worry, or possiblly fret Or waste any time, in any vain regret? Whatever has happened, whatever the reason, ALL SIRENS SHOULD ARM FOR ANOTHER SEASON! F.G. Swanson February 14, 1940  Tyler High's Last Class of "58"... By Paul WilliamsHow old was I when I first knowed about old Tyler High School? Shucks! I can't remember when it weren't around. That Old School did a heap of work... educating us silly clowns. She was built in 1882... 17 years after the Civil War bloodied America's ground. By 1945, the year World War II ended, the school was 63 years old. Most of us in this room were only 5. We were a long way from fulfilling our destinies that would include old Tyler High. None of us had any idea we would be gathered here tonight... still very much alive. Well, by the time 1958 rolled around, the high school was 76 years old... time to retire... and that it did, stepping aside for the youngsters: John Tyler and Robert E. Lee. This year, 1998 marks 40 years since we, the last seniors graduated and survived. We are the last that will honor that old school and hold it close to our hearts for the rest of our lives. Well sir... I got a letter today from the folks back home... crops is dry, everybody fine... Down at the end Aunt Grace said "Son, you knowed Old Tyler High School died... they turned it into a playschool and tore most of it down." Well, Uh... sittin' here now in this new plowed earth... tryin' to find me a little shade, with the sun beatin' down o'er the fields I see, that ole' school, the class of '58... and me. One of these days I'm gonna climb a mountain... walk up there among them clouds... where the cotton's high and the corn's a growin'... and there ain't no fields to plow... with the sun beatin' down o'er the fields I'll see... that old school, the class of '58 and me. And to the ones who've died and gone on before, we'll be lookin' forward to walkin' with them, up there among them clouds... for a joyous reunion for the last class of Tyler High... 1958 was a year to be proud!! Daily Devotion By Rod Smith For each and every new day My Lord and Savior paves the way Providing me hope Which will never fade away For without faith We may not make it through the day May I remember to live A single day by day For it is written That his love and charity Is the greatest of all Just how grateful I should be For this provides me A life filled with purpose And unconditional love For our prayers are answered From above For we will always be Friends now and forever With our Lord and Savior So long as we shall both believe Yielding to our Father we will find our destiny Each day remembering all of his humility As one-day We both bow down to our knees Finding His prosperity Living together Into ETERNITY When Earth's Last Picture Is Painted By Rudyard Kipling When Earth's last picture is painted and the tubes are twisted and dried,
(Do not count as riches anything that can be lost.) Leonardo da Vinci Have You Received Your "Deadspace" Certificate? If you have submitted a poem to our Deadspace Poetry Society which has been published... and you have not yet received your certificate, please write or email us. We came across several certificates the other day which had been signed and placed in envelopes, but never mailed. There may be more. We would like very much to establish an annual meeting time and place for everyone who has had poetry published in our column. A dinner together might be nice. So if you have any suggestions, send them along. Contact: The Tyler Chronicle, Deadspace Poetry Society. Email: editor@thetylerchronicle.com |
