BUT, DO YOU LOVE ME

[Poetry]

By Richard E. Noble

But, do you love me?
And how would I know?
I look into your eyes, but the love doesn’t show.
So how ... how would I know?
Days and nights, weeks and years …
moments of laughter, and a lifetime of tears.
But, do you love me?
And how would I know?
Nothing I see would tell me it’s so.
We touch, we love, we laugh, we smile,
we cherish the memories, mile after mile.
But, do you love me?
And how would I know ... unless once in a while …
you’d tell me so.

BOYS AND GIRLS

Poetry

By Richard E. Noble

It all begins with little girls who giggle and chide,
and little boys who twiddle and hide.

Then pink bows give way to rosy breasts,
and baseball gloves to hairy chests.

And then it’s ... Would you like to dance?
and breathless moments we call romance

filled with starry nights and tear filled eyes,
and tender moments bathed in love’s sighs.

It’s Christmas and candy, and everyone’s dream.
It’s lipstick and kisses ... it’s roses ... it’s strawberries
and cream;

followed by golden slippers, and silken vails,
a blushing bride and tuxedo tails.

It’s two by two and all that’s due,
to a boy and girl in love their whole life through.

Then with hardly a notice, it’s bubbly eyes and goo-goo cries,
it’s ‘Mommy’ ... ‘Daddy’ runny noses and teary eyes.

Before you know it, it’s swimming meets, P.T.A. and cookie jars,
payment books, baiting hooks, and second hand cars.

Then what do you know were closing the show,
and all our thoughts are back to rosy breasts with little pink bows,

and memories of sweet little girls who giggle and chide,
and bashful boys who twiddle and hide.

So squeeze your tickets and hold on tight
to the fleeting moments,
the hugs and kisses,
and those sweet smelling seconds of romantic flight
through the smiles and tears of life’s pale moon light.

BOMBS ARE DROPPING

By Richard E. Noble

Bombs are dropping, but I can’t hear a thing.
Bombs are dropping, I can feel them ring.
BOOM! ... BOOM! ... BOOM! ... see everything crumble.
Buildings tumble, the grounds a rumble.

Bombs are dropping, but I can’t hear a thing.
BOOM! ... BOOM! ... BOOM!
Bombs are dropping, I can feel them ring.
I can hear them whistle. I can hear them sing.
But yet, but yet ... I can’t hear a thing.

Buildings are falling and crashing to the ground.
Children are screaming and running around.
But I’m all right in my suit and tie.
I’ve got my briefcase, and can’t seem to cry.

Bombs are dropping ... BOOM! ... BOOM! ... BOOM!
I’m cleaning up destruction with my little whisk-broom.
Hear them whistle ... hear them sing.
Bombs are dropping, but I can’t hear a thing.

BOMBS ARE DROPPING! ... BOMBS ARE DROPPING!
BOOM! … BOOM! … BOOM!

But I can’t hear a thing.

“BIG JIM”

Poetry

By Richard E. Noble

Big Jim was his name, and plumbing his game.
When it came to a leak, a pipe or brass fixture,
he was the man with the torch and lead mixture.
There wasn’t a joint that Big Jim couldn’t sweat,
be it horizontal or vertical.
He knew his stuff, you bet,
when it came to things metallurgical.

But I say with a sigh, and this no lie,
our Big Jim was a Mister Five by Five.
And as he grew older,
his waist far surpassed his broad shoulder.
He was quite a guy, Big Jim Sheehy, Mister Five by Five.

One night when Big Jim was on his way home from Cain and Bernard,
He stumbled into a cruiser that had jumped in the path to his yard.

By way of explanation,
Big Jim began to recite, in expletive, the American Declaration.
Then, with intention beguiling,
he burst into stanza …
the theme from Bonanza
and a chorus or two of ‘When Irish Eyes Are Smiling’.

Big Jim thought it quite appropriate,
but the cops thought that he should go to-the-poke-for-it.
So one by one, they leapt from the cruiser,
thinking that they would subdue the five by five bruiser.

They wailed with their clubs and grabbed for his thumbs,
while Big Jim just laughed and dropped to his buns.
“I give, I give ... I’m a peaceable fellow,”
Big Jim, from the ground, he did bellow.

“Well you’re disturbin’ the peace, and we’re the police,
and we’re here to entail and cart your butt down to the jail.”

“Well you go right ahead, and I’d never resist,
but I’m afraid I’m too tipsy to help or assist.”

So with effort of perspiration and sweat,
It was something to see,
as Mister Pee and Wee
struggled ‘till soaking wet.

They swore and they cussed,
as they tumbled and fussed
and tugged at Big Jim’s anchor.
But he was broad a’ beam
and jellyroll mean,
and too laughable to cause any rancor.

So they gave him a stay,
as on the ground he lay,
then wagged their fingers in warnin’.

“We’re gonna let ya go,
though you darn well know,
that we’re the police
and you’re disturbin’ the peace,
One wise peep and we’ll be back with recruits,
pulleys and shoots
and cart ya off to the jail house in the mornin’.

BARROOM BUDDIES

[Poetry]

By Richard E. Noble

“Jerry ... ah ... I don’t say things like this too often ...
... Hey Ernie?! Another round over here ... Now, where was I?”

“You don’t say things like this too often ...”

“Oh yeah … well I’m not the kind of guy who forgets things.
I appreciate you, my friend.
Put ‘er there. I mean it, Buddy.
I wanna shake your hand.
A guy don’t have too many real friends in this life,
and you are one, pal. I mean it...
Hey, talk about real friends!
Look across the bar over there.
You see that guy all dressed up in that fancy suit.
That man and I have really been through some times together.
I mean, I grew up with that guy.
We lived on the same street.
I’ve known that guy since we were this high.
I mean, I knew him when he didn’t have a nickel.
And look at him now! Dressed to kill.
He must of hit the jack pot.
And I’ll bet he don’t even recognize me.
I mean, I haven’t seen him since we got out of the Service together.
HEY, you old rascal! Where the hell you been?
Look at you! You look like a million bucks.”

“Hey, don’t I wish. Don’t let these duds fool you.
I’m about as flat as a pancake.
Lost every damn cent I ever had.
I’m wearin’ this suit because it’s all I got left.
I mean things have gone really sour for me, Bob.
I’ll tell you how bad it really is.
I don’t even have enough money to buy another drink.
You wouldn’t buy an old fightin’ buddy a drink, would ya Bob?
I’d really appreciate it.
You just don’t know how thirsty a guy can get, old friend.
It’s like a desert out here.”

“Ah, gee Georgie, I really wish I could, but I’m flat broke ...
[Bob leaned forward, and with his elbows,
covered the bills and change lying in front of him on the bar.]

“Oh come on, Bob ... for old time sake?
We were two of a kind, we two.
Just one for old time sake?
And I swear to god, I won’t bother you again.”

“I really wish I could, Pal, but I’m out ... flat out, Buddy.
[Bob’s well dressed friend across the bar,
raises from his stool, shakes his head in anguish at the floor,
then heads for the barroom door.]

“I thought he was you’re old time friend?
Your bosom Buddy?
Your best pal? You went through thick and thin together?
Old Army Buddies ... Lived on the same street? ...
Never forget the time you and he did so and so??”

“That’s true.”

“And you wouldn’t even buy the poor slob a drink?”

“Hey, he’ll find another sucker ... besides,
once a drunk, always a drunk ...
you know what I mean?

AND THE RIVER FLOWS

[Poetry]

By Richard E. Noble

A child is standing behind a closed, abandoned, department store that backs up to the Spicket River.
He tries to toss broken chips of concrete from his side of the river over to the other.
He tries to hit and break discarded soda bottles laying along the opposite bank.
A man is watching the boy from the second storey window of the textile mill.
He’s smoking a cigarette.
He’s on his break.
Beneath him the purple water from the textile mill dye, tumbles from a giant pipe.
It tumbles from the pipe, and it foams and bubbles, as it splashes into the river below.
It forms a purple, yellow, greenish cloud of bubbling foam on the surface of the river,
and it floats off down stream, a patchwork of multi-colored bubbles.
A scalloped damn has been formed from floating debris,
and they both watch as a discarded box-spring is freed from the back and into the river’s flow.
The river is shallow. It flows around exposed rocks and rubble and rubber tires ... and truck axles ... and rusted, metal bicycle rims.
There are boards, and sticks, and parts of fallen trees.
The box-spring gets hung up on a boulder, and a partially submerged stump.
The boy rushes around the bank. He picks up a long, somewhat bent piece of iron pipe.
He walks out onto the river, stepping from one pile of hung up debris to the next, until finally he reaches the box-spring.
He pries at it with his piece of pipe.
He pushes and shoves, he wants to set it free.
He wants to see it roll with the current, and rush along with the river.
He has one foot on a huge, soggy cardboard box, and the other on a two foot splinter of broken plywood.
He almost has the box-spring free.
He pushes and stretches with his pipe.
One last shove … oomph! … and it’s free!
But the boy tumbles into the rushing water.
He screams! ... He fumbles and rolls onto his back.
The man on his break throws the window up.
He whistles through his fingers ... then yells
“Stand up, kid! ... STAND UP!”
The boy hears the man.
He rolls and scrambles to his feet.
The water rushes between his legs.
It is not deep enough to rise above his knees.
He feels dumb.
He was really scared.
He thought that he was going to drown.
He looks up at the man in the window, and smiles.
His smile has a tooth missing on one side, and one of his front teeth is chipped.
The man in the window shakes his head, and flips his cigarette out and into the quiet, gray wind.
It tumbles and tosses in the air.
Then it rolls, lightly, onto the river top, and immediately it dances off with the splashing twisting current.
The boy watches the river rush between his legs.
It plasters his pants to his shins.
He forms the palms of his hands into a cup, and dips them into the stream.
He lifts the water up, and splashes it onto his face.
“Hey! … What are you nuts?” the man from the mill window yells.
“Don’t put that onto your face. Get the hell out of that river and go home.”
The boy looks up at the man. He cups his hands again and dips them back into the water.
He lifts them to his face. He slurps the water up and into his mouth.
Then he squirts it out between his lips.
He spits it up towards the man in the mill window.
When the boy finishes spitting the water up at the man, he grins.
The man shakes his head, disapprovingly, then waves his fist at the boy.
The boy scoops up more water ... slurps it into his mouth, and again,
spits it towards the man in the window.
“Go ahead, drink it. Kill yourself. It would be good enough for you. Drink it! I dare ya, drink it.”
The boy bends at the waist, and scoops up more water. He stops momentarily.
The boy drops the water and laughs.
“What’s the matter ... you chicken? ... Drink it ... Drink it!”
And the man bends and braces himself on the window sill, then shoves his head out the window and laughs.
The boy stares up at the man.
“What? Do you think I’m stupid?” he yells.
“You look pretty stupid to me,” the man yells back.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah!”
“Well, I might be stupid, but I’m not dumb enough to work in that stinkin’ mill.”
The man stares down at the boy. He pauses;
shakes his head in disgust;
then draws himself back inside and slams the window shut.
From the inside he continues to stare down at the boy through the dust and dirt-stained window pane.
And the river flows
and so ... and so
the river
flows.

AFTER WE’VE GONE OUR SEPARATE WAYS

[Poetry]

By Richard E. Noble

When we’ve gone our separate ways, and the years are all yesterdays
Will you see a pair of loving eyes and then remember mine?
When we’ve gone our separate ways, and the tomorrows that were once ours are all just lost todays,
Will you awake from a warm dream of love, then sit alone in the
darkness and remember me in your arms?

When we’ve gone our separate ways, and the years are all yesterdays
And the tomorrows that once were ours are all lost todays
Will you remember that I really did love you, that you were all my dreams come true?
Will you think kind thoughts and spare me a smile or two?
Will you love me for just a second because I will always be in love
with you,
Even after we’ve gone our separate ways.

I’ll remember the feel of your lips, and the smell of your hair.
I’ll remember the tone of your voice when you still loved me and you still cared.
But for now I want us to go our separate ways before the coolness in your eyes kills me, And turns all my loving sighs into wishful good-byes.

But when we’ve gone our separate ways if you see me walking,
Don’t cross the street or drop your hat over your eyes and pretend that we never met.
Let’s be nice, and remember that a million years ago we looked into each others eyes and breathed each other’s sighs.

So when we’ve gone our separate ways and all our memories are yesterdays,
Let’s remember the plans that we once made.
Let’s remember the loving moments in the cool green shade.

When we’ve gone our separate ways and all our years are yesterdays,
And the tomorrows that once were ours are all lost todays,
Remember that I really did love you.
You were all my dreams come true
Think kind thoughts …
spare me a smile or two …
Love me for just a second …
Because I will always be in love with you,

Even after we’ve gone our separate ways.

A CHILD OF NIGHT

[Poetry]

By Richard E. Noble

The rain rushes and sparkles, in streaks past the bright, white street light globe.
Within its light, all is bright, and knowing and clean.
But beyond its gleam, all is dead, and black and red, and nothing is what it seems.

It wouldn’t be so bad, and he wouldn’t be so sad,
if it weren’t for the night, and the fright of the Devil by night.
Beyond every crack, and below every track,
it’s the Devil, THE DEVIL! the Devil ... He’s back.
And God doesn’t care because He’s combing His hair and fixing His gowns,
and counting the jewels that the angels have found.
So what can be done, but to run and to run, to cry and to scream
and to hide in the light of each street light beam.

If he had a friend, or maybe a dog, who would bark and would bite,
and maybe grab onto the tail of the Devil by night;
and fight, and bite, and grab onto the tail of the Devil by night,
he could make his way from beam to beam,
and run in the shade
that the rain drops made,
and get to the bakery for the bread and the buns, and the rolls with the creams,
and escape the evil of his devilish dreams.
But instead, he would have to go it alone, and deal with the dread
and the black and the red
and the bodies of all those who have ever been dead.

He longed as he ran and leaped from fright
over cracks and potholes in the street that night,
to see the ovens and the heat and the glow from the baker’s light;
like a halo at night, shining bright,
what a wondrous sight all powdery white,
with sugars and creams
and all the love and warmth of the street light beams.
Under his jacket, he would put his bread,
and with his hat he’d cover his head.
Then off he would go, into the rain and the snow
pushing and shoving for that street light glow,
and when he’d get home, he’d be safe and sound,
and all the Devils would be back in the ground,
and the cracks and the trees, and the shadows and the breeze,
and the rain and the fright,
and the hooting owls of night,
and the tears and the cold,
and the demons so bold,
with their braces of gold,
and their teeth of mold,
and the gurgling pipes,
and the sewers and snipes,
and the black and the red,
and all that's been dead,
and the buildings that sway,
and the noises that prey,
and the shadows that grow,
and the heels that click,
and the boots that clomp,
and the doors that bang,
and the signs that rattle,
and the night that fights against all that is right
… will be gone,
And he’ll be home and ready for bed.
And dear God, he’ll say, I made this day,
and I hope You’ll remember, the tears and the fears
and the years upon years, that you howled in my ears,
and that you won’t delight,
in the ghoul and the horror, and the evil of might
to take pleasure in the tears and the fright of a child of night.