Couplet: Some Eyes Can't View

In my long past neighborhood at the intersection where;
Narrow streets meet each other—sometimes—I want to be there.

Where bright yellow beams circle, forks in the road, after dark;
Where snowflakes slide down columns, of light rays, that curve and arc.

Where lamps perched on tall lampposts illumine black ice and snow;
Where bright lights cover corners setting slick and safe aglow.

’Neath those light beams I first heard the silence of falling snow;
There quiet—gets quieter—as air currents shift and blow.

That’s the somewhere calling me back to its someplace sublime;
It appears to beckon me back home near Thanksgiving time.

Oft I go there in thought when family bustles my heart;
With think back memories of streetlights, big brothers, and art.

Isn’t it strange how small things leave a lifetime impression;
Or odd—how a simple scene—effects minds eye direction?

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poem by Caryl Ramsdale
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Narrative: Look Toward Home For The Holiday

Everyone’s talking of brave warriors—
Like you and the place where you’re assigned.
They say you’re inspired—stand for love
Devoted to country and mankind.

You don’t leave my mind day or nighttime,
Belong to me even in my dreams;
I’m either praying or reliving us
In one way or another it seems.

Sometimes I see your lonesome shadow
Framed by the horizon’s afterglow;
You’re quite worthy of imitation
As the loyal peacekeeper I know.

Tonight I placed a praying angel
Near a flaming Christmas candlelight;
On the windowsill, to light your way,
To the place your heart lives ev’ry night.

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poem by Caryl Ramsdale
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