Copyright © 2015 Karen C Webb
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SHADOW KEY
Like Alice in Wonderland—locked doors everywhere
Why can’t I find the key—life is so unfair
My mind is searching everywhere. Searching, searching for the key
To unlock the hidden thoughts buried deep inside of me
Darkness holds the key. Midnight has the answer
It’s locked away inside my head—like a shadow dancer
There’s a door to the past—memories long since buried
I open it to a flood of thoughts—under this weight I’ve carried
I find the key, I open the door. Inside I see, my dreams are there
Strange ideas and thoughts. Like nothing I’ve seen before
The words await me beyond the door—new ideas for me to see
Poems and stories, ideas so strange. Always there, but locked away inside of me
I see the past as it was and what is yet to come
Rooms full of memories—other rooms with none
I see half-formed thoughts and scrambled words
Untold stories with nouns, but no verbs
The words are behind another door
Locked away there, lying on the floor
If only I could find the key
The darkness in my mind—filled with shadows so sublime
Wouldn’t be such a mystery
The key lies in the darkness—hidden in my thoughts
Shadows dance across my mind—memories I have sought
Dark recesses of my mind are still a mystery
Dreams unlock a door at night—by day, you need a key
The shadow key is there—I see it become free
Although it’s dark and scary—I’ve unlocked a piece of me
As I walk through the shadows I see hallways unwind
Pushing cobwebs to the side, exploring my own mind
The hallway stretches for eternity—locked doors, I plainly see
Through a door, into my thoughts—is where I long to be
I turn the key, I open the door—the darkness so complete
But through the door, the other side—words aren’t such a feat
I see the valley of the shadow—death is everywhere
If I’m locked inside my mind—who will even care?
The door creaks open slowly—hinges long unused
Leave the past behind me—the part of me that’s bruised
A whole new space, an empty room—it sits there quietly waiting
For my thoughts, for my words—for new ideas to bloom
The future is unlocked—scary, but oh so bright
The words unlocked the door—and ahead I see the light
One room after another—I explore each cavity
Opening doors inside my head—dreading what I’ll see
One room full of memories—spirits come to life
One room inside my mind—filled with so much strife
One room holds the future—babies yet to come
I hope I’m there to hold them—as my mother would have done
One room filled with demons—I slam the door shut fast
Out of the room comes darkness—I hear a trumpet’s blast
Satan’s breath and Hellfire—a future I don’t want to see
I lock that door forever and throw away the key
I try to run, I cannot hide—the floor moves like a thrill ride
The walls close in, the dark recedes
But alas—I’m still trapped in me
As visions become clear, the pain like a knife
I see my thoughts more clearly, looking back on life
An edge like a sword—a cross for me to bear
As I wander through my mind—I fear I’ve gone nowhere
I’m lost in a hallway—a hallway through my mind
Locked doors of a corridor—locked for all time
Midnight Visit
A translucent being of willowy form
Midnight spirits not yet born
A churchyard asleep under a blood-red moon
A wraith-like figure begins to bloom
Out of the darkness, between headstones and plaques
Arises the figure, come up from the black
Her hair is the palest, golden and long
She shimmers and wavers, she hums like a song
Her dress is long and oh, so white
It billows around her as she floats through the night
She floats through town on Angels wings
A beautiful apparition as if from a dream
She floats through a door and on up the stairs
Leaving no trace that she ever was there
She enters a room where her children just might—
Be dreaming about her as she bids them goodnight
She kisses them softly amidst their cries—
Of joy and happiness as she fades from their eyes.
As we drove through the winter of 2013/2014, there was upon us what was known as a Polar Vortex. Temperatures day after day were in the negative 40’s with ice winds howling across I80. Chicago was jokingly known as Chiberia that winter. There were as much as 100 car and truck accidents a day across Illinois, Indiana and Ohio, often 100 car pileups at once. Cars crashed in front of us as we drove on the ice and snow. Highway patrol rescued the drivers and left crashed vehicles on the shoulders and in the ditches. I80 began to look like a junkyard of wrecked vehicles and it seemed as if the unbearable conditions would never end. Through March, with the unending winter still upon us, I began thinking, what if it never ended? Thank God, for us, it did end.
Forever Winter
The flakes float down around
The stillness so complete
A wonderland surrounds
Until the spring the winter meets
Icicles hang and sleigh bells ring
Sledding fun, no thought of spring
Christmas caroling for all to hear
Resolutions promised and a new year
Then Easter comes without a thaw
A world still white, throughout it all
No leaf of tree, they’ll bear no fruit
No blade of grass from a frozen root
No bushes, no flowers can possibly bloom
No bees nor birds in the frozen gloom
Stores are empty, but still we try
As June appears—spring passed us by.
No summer fun, no barbeques
No thunderstorms, no rainbow hues
A lightning flash on a wintry day
Thunder booms, then goes away
No summer sun, no cloudless day
No poolside fun, no time for play
End of August and still no sun
Lakes still frozen, rivers don’t run
World of white and winds never tamed
It’s clear to us—summer never came
September comes, and winter’s still around
Corpses of cattle frozen to the ground
As autumn approaches, no rain com
es down
Ice and snow and trees still brown
No autumn harvest, no corn or wheat
No sign of a thaw and nothing to eat
We burn our roof, no firewood left
It snows inside, where we sit, bereft
As winter settles in and life looks bleak
Like the hibernating bear, we sleep the big sleep
A truckers view of America. I remember looking at one house near Kansas City, day after day and week after week, seeing the lights come on as we passed in the evenings, a family most likely sitting down to dinner, and wishing we saw our own house half as often.
Highways of Time
It seems like only yesterday
It was all so fresh and new
We were exploring the country
We didn’t know what to do
Across the Great Plains
The desert southwest
Wherever the wind blows us
One city or the next
Through rain and fog
Through ice and snow
On and on we must go
Through sleet and hail
Through dangerous winds
No matter the weather
The drive never ends
As darkness settles in
And the lights come on
On we must drive
The road has no end
Through the Heartland and the Rockies
Down steep grades and inclines
Sometimes we have to ask
Is it your shift or mine?
Our life on the road
Is a mile at a time
Not knowing where we’re going
Or even where we’ve been
The road gets in your blood
With no beginning and no end
Our life on the road
Has gone by in a flash
But looking back across the miles
We’ve made memories that will last
Always on the road
Time slips away
A year goes by
Like a month and a day
But when the long drive is over
And we’re safely at home
A few days at idle
And you feel the urge to roam
With America as an office window
From sea to shining sea
We’ll keep on truckin’
Just you and me.
Funeral
A mourning family circling a grave
I lift my hand as if to wave
The rain pours down around
A huge and muddy mound
They ignore me as they mourn and cry
I can do nothing but try and try
They break apart, they turn away
I don’t know what to say
Their tear streaked faces solemn
I move slowly toward the coffin
I Lift the lid so tenderly
And inside what do I see?
My God, I think that’s me
This poem actually goes with the book: Dream of Echoes. I envisioned John and Kate writing this together, scribbling it on the logs of their cabin with pieces of charcoal from their fire. Then, I didn’t have the guts to include it in the book. I have no idea if my poems are any good or just some third graders idea of poetry. If it is third-grade, then by God, hang it on your fridge with a magnet.
ECHOES OF STARLIGHT
Of times long past
A promise of destiny
Of a tiny pioneer
To bring out the best in me
Echoes of starlight
Off a river clear and bright
Of dancing by the firelight
On a cold winter’s night
Of illness and death
Our lives in God’s hands
'til you take your last breath
Whatever his plans
Of forests and wild things
And what the day brings
Of ideas and dreams
Nothing as it seems
Of providence and fate or futures past
Of hearts entwined at any rate
Of what’s to come, a love that lasts
Hand in hand at the Pearly Gate
I have nothing to say about this piece. Stop talking long enough and listen; the desert will speak for itself.
Southwest Sonata
To see a desert willow
Or an ocotillo in bloom
Thunderheads over the mountain
Throughout the month of June
The darkness is unequaled
The stars so bright
Then a full moon rises
And casts its silvery light
The silence is incredible
It hums in your ears
A peace and beauty so unique
It lasts throughout the years
The mountains are like monoliths
Rising from the sand
Like the great Egyptian pyramids
Without the touch of man
There are burros and coyotes
Wild horses running free
The desert is not empty
If you just know what to see
Morning sun on sagebrush
The colors blue and green
The smell of Pinon and juniper
Wildflowers in the spring
Deep canyons and washes
And cliffs made of stone
I thank God every day
To call this place my home
I have no clue where this poem came from. Perhaps there was a history show on in the background. Whatever the case may be, I clearly remember grabbing a piece of paper and scribbling this down. No changes, no editing. This is how it came out. Ask the muse, she knows.
A WARRIORS CRY
Sands of Normandy quake of death
An uphill battle, no pause to rest
A warrior’s cry, a Mustang’s roar
Sands of red—a life no more
A chamber hums—a cross to bear
Under the feet, a madman’s lair
A midnight whistle, a siren’s wail
Cries of children, a glimpse of Hell
An attic room—a family lost
Bars and cages—convictions tossed
A fortress on air or so it seems
A sky of orange, as if in dreams
A city tortured—a wall still stands
A long lost echo of the horrors of man
A POET'S POEM
It comes bubbling up from deep inside
Strange thoughts and words you cannot hide
It can’t be taught, a professor doesn’t know
It comes from the heart, from the heart it must flow
It strings together, much like a song
There is no right, it can never be wrong
Like a mist it comes whistling throughout the mind
You see the fog clear with the passage of time
You feel it—you see it—you know it’s true
It leaves you exhausted as it flows out of you
The lyrical effect of poetry and verse
A sonnet, a poem, a prose so terse
A world of desires deep in your heart
To be inspired, your words to impart
An expression of the soul, it’s what you must do
You must get it down, while it’s still fresh and new
House of Dreams
A nightmare becomes reality
the walls absorb the dreams
And release them back onto me
This house, it holds my dreams
It holds each nightmare, or so it seems
I know it can't be true
How can a nightmare, once so new—
haunt me in this house I love
shadows creeping from up above
I dreamt my death the other night
waking suddenly, before the fright—
can kill me as I lay asleep
Now it's real and I should weep
; the death I dreamed so vividly
alive and here now, it's come for me
Through this old house, whose walls contain
Dreams I've had, of being slain
In my dream, a burglar entered
He killed me in my sleep—his aim, dead center
I fear it's real now, this dream I had
I'll die tonight, and the house is glad
THE MUSE
A muse waits in line, a shadowy form
Not male, nor female, it awaits it's turn
For a creative mind, to open and bend
A blond girl's thoughts, to let it in
The muse, it leaps and lands on the brain
Like a butterfly on a rose, in a midsummers rain
The muse lands softly, arms loaded with words
Stories and poetry, as yet unheard
The blond girl writes, as fast as she can
Wondering where it comes from, words with no plan
She knows the muse is there, she's sees the shadow on her mind
Never wondering how it got there, but thanking it in kind
The blond girl is the outlet, the muse channels through
Spilling out the stories, old as well as new
The muse unleashes dozens, into blond girl's head
Stories yet untold, waking from the dead
The blond girl reads through them, occasionally, from time to time
Words she doesn't remember, stories from a different mind
THE NIGHT BELONGS TO US
We travel with the creatures that move through the dark
Lost in a desert, no roads or landmarks
Our fate lies in darkness and do it we must
But at least now we know, it belongs to us
Strange things move within the gloom
Unseen shadows and threat of doom
With limited sight, our ears we trust
Knowing the night belongs to us