Collecting memories is inevitable. As human beings, each one of us goes through life experiencing events, feelings, and sometimes tragedies. Some of the poems in this collection express the emotion felt at such times by the author. Some pieces convey whimsy and fun, whereas others travel to mundane places, such as garage sales, childhood memories, scary nights, and days gone by. Altogether this collection offers the reader time to unwind and enjoy.
Echoes:
A Collection of Free Verse PoemsBy Rebeca FreesAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2010 Rebeca Frees
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4490-8757-9Contents
Duality.....................................................1Final Balance...............................................2On War......................................................3Regretfully Simple..........................................4Midnight Companion..........................................5"Irrevocably Yours".........................................6Conclusion..................................................7According to Carl Sagan ....................................8Conundrum...................................................9A History Lesson Remembered.................................10Word: Thou Art Sound........................................12The USS Bunker Hill CV-17...................................13Twofold.....................................................14Love Seat...................................................15Redeeming Rain..............................................16Solemn......................................................17Readiness...................................................18Intersection................................................20My Family...................................................21Search......................................................22Traveler....................................................23Destiny.....................................................24Subtle Glimpse..............................................25La Muerte...................................................26In Routing Out..............................................27Identity....................................................28Indignity...................................................29Puzzled.....................................................30Belated Surge...............................................31Tabby.......................................................32Reflection..................................................34Native American.............................................35Resurrection................................................36Urban Hunting...............................................37Reminiscence................................................38Pale Rider..................................................39Third Age...................................................40Winter......................................................41Unanticipated...............................................42Presentiment................................................43Nameless....................................................44Natural Progression.........................................45Missing Dad.................................................46Mirage......................................................47Before Dawn.................................................49Respectful Gesture to the Moors.............................50Waiting for the Flood.......................................51Chapter One, Verse Two......................................52Enemies Five................................................53Archangel...................................................54Culebra Cafe................................................55Elected Path................................................56Burnout.....................................................57Experience..................................................58Blindness...................................................59Finality....................................................60Cosmic Associate............................................61Anniversary.................................................62Time Was....................................................63Matter of Fact..............................................64Nephew......................................................65Euterpe.....................................................66Melancholy..................................................67Acceptance..................................................68For the New Year............................................69A Mercenary Thought.........................................70On Coping...................................................71Regrets.....................................................72My Plea.....................................................73Feelings....................................................74Surprise....................................................75A Compassionate Thought.....................................76Communion...................................................77A Personal View.............................................78Eventuality.................................................79Automobile..................................................80Baptist Medical Center at Dallas Street.....................81My Trinity..................................................82Uncertainty.................................................83Stubborn Heart..............................................84Haunted.....................................................85Brother-in-Law..............................................86Child of Passion............................................87Chimera.....................................................88Compact Revisited...........................................89Diecisis de Septiembre Parade..............................90La Lechuza..................................................91Elusive Rights..............................................92Forever Puzzling Questions..................................93Full Moon...................................................94Futile Monologue............................................95Hesitant....................................................96In Between..................................................97The Fifth...................................................98Yule Tidings................................................99Wanderers 1.................................................00I Want to Believe; In Retrospect............................101
Chapter One
Duality Not born to a language holding me captive, driven by poets dreaming in lands I never saw, I - composing verses - do not understand sometimes - Was it an unpardonable choice? How could logic explain to the mind what the spirit wants? I love Nervo, Neruda, Bcquer, and Paz, but Dickinson, Nimoy, and Wordsworth also bring joy to my heart. Was it an unpardonable choice? Sometimes, I must feel contrite. Genuflecting as a penitent, I pray, "Sancho Panza, tell Don Quixote I also strive for truth." Was it an unpardonable choice?
Final Balance Lately adding up my completed life - surprisingly I realized I wasn't finished. There were other things to accomplish, dreams to fulfill and places to explore. Even if my legs no longer moved as fast as long ago and slow blinding curtains in my eyes made writing and exploring difficult sometimes, I continued meeting people and places not seen before. My childish heart free of boundaries still kept wishing, wondering for new feelings to blossom. My spirit complied, giving the body strength to go on against insurmountable odds. Quietly, I considered Bookkeeping be left to better bean counters than I - the Balance Sheet -mere report of assets - not a bill of lading.
On War One by one the soldiers marched. One by one they waved good-bye. One by one they climbed the trucks, and on that day they went to war. One by one the soldiers fought. One by one victory they sought. One by one they thought of home, and on that day their courage shone. One by one the soldiers wept. One by one they felt alone. One by one they prayed for peace, and on that day they lost all hope. One by one the soldiers charged. One by one they engaged the foe. One by one they lost their lives, and on that day the heavens cried. One by one the soldiers marched. One by one they waved good-bye. One by one our children grow, and when of age they'll go to war.
Regretfully Simple It's useless to regret past actions. What's done has ended, cannot be redone, reshaped, or resurrected. How easy it would be to reshuffle life's playing deck of cards and take back bad deeds, words, or injuries. I am like those people who try to block the sun with the tip of their thumb and act surprised when life treats them badly. But I'd rather be called nave - stupid - than a bleak, dour pessimist - who always sees a half-empty glass - life. How disappointing it must be traveling forever - carrying a half-empty pack of hope and expectations as we struggle to fulfill our goals and dreams. Midnight Companion The wind - gently brushed against my face last night reminding me he's always been my friend. Closing my eyes and traveling back in time, I remembered when first we met. One night - in bed as a lonely, fearful four year old, I couldn't fall asleep, expecting midnight monsters of the dark to crawl from beneath the bed and pull me by the legs to them. Suddenly - I heard the wind orchestrating a symphony of gentle street sounds outside my dormitory windows. Fears subsided; sweet slumber encased my quivering, tired body - sleep triumphed. From then on - I wasn't afraid of sleeping alone at night. At bedtime the wind brought with him soothing musical sounds from the neighborhood - softly singing me to sleep. "Irrevocably Yours" Present at my birth, he stood alone. He almost whisked me away at four, but I playfully escaped. I went on with my life attached to him, ignoring his presence at my side. Ultimately, when exhaustion sets in, I'll purposely reunite with him on his own terms. My spirit will then be truly free. He'll linger by my empty shell without a soul - waiting for a woman to give birth. Conclusion
From the moment of their birth, how clear the future is for some. They seem to know exactly what to do to bring about what they are meant to be. Then, there are souls like me, who spend all waking time searching many roads for their proper place in life - succeeding only to do well and not excel. Constantly feeling like a rounded, mismatched peg, trying to fit into an oblong space, I always envied a well ordained conclusion: The end result of a perfectly planned life. Still - pondering the perfect moments of my life, the journeys were superb experiences, better than any one specific goal I envisioned. According to Carl Sagan ... I'm star stuff! I'm part of the order of nature and things. I had my beginnings in a cosmic fizz. I'm star stuff! A child of the stars I am. It's easy to see. I glisten and shimmer like reflecting stars on the seas. I'm star stuff! It feels just grand to be part of the cosmos in the Milky Way. I'm star stuff! Conundrum Do we truly get over an emotional injury, or do we merely survive in pieces? Every time we renew, we are not whole, but less than what we were before. As we lose essence, do we become damaged? Does the deficit show only to the afflicted and not to all? Is that the reason we are able to go on with a scarred soul and a heavy heart? If we recover from a sickness, shouldn't we be immune, in the future, to the same illness? How many times should spirit fight to keep human form afloat? What ferocious fire fuels melancholy, as it mysteriously helps inhibit delight and joy in others, turning intimate touch into dreaded fear? After appearing unexpectedly, selling self-imposed seclusion, heavy-heartedness disappears without warning, leaving in its wake renewed expectations. Fancy, clarity in uncertainty - a dogma. A History Lesson Remembered Watching my brother's daughters at play one afternoon, I suddenly noticed how different each looked. I remembered then a lesson I had studied long ago, about the native people of ancient Mexico. I could almost hear the teacher lecturing in history class, narrating the events that had established our past. She spoke of legends, telling the achievement of a race, of the temple they'd constructed in a pre-Hispanic age. Because I was a dreamer at the tender age of eight, I could see myself a princess of that most illustrious race. I imagined how it might have been if the conquerors had left the cities whole and standing, the inhabitants as they were. But the indgenas were enslaved by the Spaniards' conquering and were forced to forfeit all - their beliefs, their gods, their homes. Then the races mixed together, bringing forth a new race half indigenous, half Spanish, both embodied in one self. Some were criollos, some mestizos, and with the indgenas they became the beginning of a new people - the Mexican of today. That is how we came about. Sometimes called the Race of Bronze, we 're the Mexicans of now, of many faiths, of many tongues. We are a proud and gentle people, unselfish to a fault. We are idealistic dreamers. We are poets of the soul. Word: Thou Art Sound
I like the way some words sound and love the resonance of others. Words are to me what notes must have been to Beethoven. I place a few words in a special order, and they become somehow lines joining together to express a point, a feeling, or lyrics to a song. A word that caught my ear many years ago when in sixth grade - my first year out of ESL - was cacophony. I tried to use it in written compositions to no avail till I quit school in the tenth grade - Then I forgot the word. It visited me off and on. I never found a place to use it in conversation, other than repeating it in silence when alone. Now, as a member of the writing club, I finally found the right time and place to bring forth my elusive word. Cacophony, I'm in awe of your resonance and dissonance. ESL (English as a Second Language) The USS Bunker Hill CV-17 On duty standing by a welder, a fifteen-year-old replacement felt lucky, damn lucky. His assignment aboard the Flagship started in June. Walking the empty decks on the crippled carrier, images of war crept into his brain - the battle for Okinawa always present in mind and on ship. Like an old memory, the date drifted into his consciousness. On Mother's Day, May eleventh, nineteen hundred forty-five, the ship engaged the enemy. A horde of Japanese kamikaze bees stormed the noble flagship Bunker Hill. A Zero flier vertically diving into the flight deck ignited into liquid fire the valiant vessel and crew. On his cot in the catapult room, the young sailor remembered the loss: Three hundred ninety-six dead, two hundred sixty-three wounded, and forty-three missing at sea. Scanning the devastated surroundings, his last daily ritual before sleeping, the young sailor murmured, "It was a battle, just a battle she fought at sea." Twofold After completing a poem, I wonder each time if it's the last one I will ever write. I am a two-some - two entities in fact: The one people see - and the one who writes. I become the poet by breaking my mold when I have something to be aired to the world. When I am not the poet, I behave quite properly. I do what is called for; I am society's puppet. It is very exciting - to be two in one. If only I knew - how long it would last. Love Seat Gone were the days of splendor. The old lonely trooper standing in Limbo had seen better days. A dingy reddish background nearly gone divulged its weary tale. Coming into the parlor, family, friends, and guests evaded contact with the aged, faded soldier, sitting on the rug by its sides, snubbing the jaded uneven cushions. In my twenties, in love with love, expecting the world to bow at my feet, fulfilling the fancies of youth, we shared dreams together while it embraced me selflessly into its womb. Like an empty seashell abandoned on the shore once its duty is performed, my worn-out friend sat alone by the curb, waiting for the garbage truck to complete its fate. Morning traffic rushed through. Children from the nearby daycare center had recess. Three hours after noon, alone, my confidant departed. Redeeming Rain Cleansing tears erase the travesty of being, since my family is no longer here. How dare I stand alive full of wants and needs while those who cared for me no longer enjoy the things defining them? I asked myself - the purpose of my life. I found no cause or reason - only surviving guilt, pain for still inhabiting my space. I didn't labor to bring forth new life. There is no one to follow in my footsteps once my corporeal form returns to dust. No vestige of me will endure. Redeeming rain soothes my guilty pain.
Solemn Rapidly - the days go by. The older I am, the faster time passes. Suddenly, I am in earnest. Laboring to compose an insightful, ideal piece, I don't know how to begin. Time is fleeting. Whenever I hesitate - a week has passed. Still my head, filled with thoughts, cannot produce - the perfect verse - the proficient outline - the poignant piece of prose. I am in earnest - searching for my masterpiece before life passes me by. Readiness For someone prim and proper to die on Halloween must be the universe's way of saying, "I am the boss of everything that lives and breathes within the confines of my grasp." There is not a day I would be embarrassed to have related to my demise. On New Year's Day - a new adventure for my bewildered soul would start. On Valentine's Day - my secret lover, Death, would finally join me on his own terms. On April Fool's Day - the joke would be if people did not believe I was really dead. On Thanksgiving Day - a thankful event indeed would ensue - Uncle Sam could no longer tax my property and me! On Christmas Day - what a joyous date to expire - So many people celebrate the day - Would it matter the date or day I die? I would not have the opportunity to discuss or to object to the event - Why fuss? Other than being prepared, nothing matters. I know my body will be burned, turned into ashes, and scattered freely onto the earth. Last will and testament - thou art king and absolute ruler. Intersection Crackling noises, muscle spasms, and pain are constant companions of an aging woman with a timeworn human frame. Like rusted hinges that moan when opened, the aching joints proclaim constraints when set in motion. Slowly but purposefully advancing towards the curb, the pedestrian sees the amber light flashing, urging her to scurry. The restless drivers stare and fidget pondering the result. Will the three legged human reach safely the desired goal? Impatiently the traffic mob rudely gestures - while deafening her senses with their loud horns. Once in safety, she recalls her former intolerant youth - resenting elderly people finessing city traffic on foot. My Family Children of folly - my brother and I - connected for always by blood and deed. Forced to grow up on our own - we couldn't be children for long. We graduated quickly to leaders of the block. My brother fought like a warrior, winning every time, to stay on the streets and maintain our rank. No parental supervision guided our days - We faced dangers together alone, without help. Our nightly companions - the cool, hardened floor, a pillow, and a sheet - daily gathered us into their fold. Pieces of flying debris in the wind, we were to family adults. As children, we questioned the reason for having been born.
Search Come into my space, beloved. Touch my mournful soul with joy. Come tell me what it is like being a star in your heaven. Come to me; fill my cup. Come into my space, beloved. A temple to your faith I was meant to be. Come, worship at its altar, kept solely for your needs. Come into my space, beloved. Join with me; I'll give you warmth. Come, pray stay. I'll love you dearly each bright new day. Traveler Isolated by red blinking cautionary lights, railroad cars timidly travel through old city tracks. Fast approaching urban traffic ignores the out-of-the-way train. Multi-colored, happily winking neon signs say, "Welcome," with on and off again lights placed along either side of the road. Encountering as it nears not pleasant salutations, but cold repeated messages - paid advertisings - the train continues its forlorn journey. For boxcars, flat beds, and tankers, how lonely each voyage must be. Busy urbanite traffic and signs don't consider the stouthearted soul of the solitary iron horse tirelessly traveling the country's rails.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Echoes:by Rebeca Frees Copyright © 2010 by Rebeca Frees. Excerpted by permission.
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