HAVE YOU COME TO TAKE ME HOME

[Poetry]

by Richard E. Noble

“Have you come to take me home?” she said.
And the old man began to cry.

“Have you come to take me home?” she said.
And inside he thought he’d die.

“Have you come to take me home?” she said.
She was sick, alone, and misty-eyed.

“Have you come to take me home?” she said.
“Not today, my love, but tomorrow, maybe,”
and so he lied.

“Have you come to take me home?” she said.
And then she fell apart.

“Have you come to take me home?” she said.
“My love, my soul, my heart,

the nights here are so long,
And the people cry in their sleep.
I can’t eat this food; it’s not like home,
and day by day I feel so weak.

Have you come to take me home, my love?
Have you come to take me home?
Have you come to take me home, my love,
or must I die alone?

We’ve lived this life, just you and I
and now you’ve put me here to die.
Have you come to take me home, my dear?
Have you come to take me home?

Move closer, closer. Won’t you come near, my dear?
I need your hand my love, to chase away this fear.
Help me … Help me ... You are my only hope.”

“I can’t bring you home, my dear.”
Beside her bed so near, he reached down and took her hand.

“I can’t bring you home, my love, though it would be so grand.
If only I could...” and he caressed and squeezed her hand.

“Have you come to take me home?” she said;
and the old man began to cry.

“Have you come to take me home?” she said;
and inside he thought he’d die.

“Then you’re not going to take me home,” she spoke.
“Then you’re not going to take me home.
You’re going to leave me here all by myself;
You’re going to leave me here to die alone.”

And as she cried, he thought he died
and she pulled her hand from his.
But he pulled it back and put on it a kiss.

She struggled and struggled as a weak one might,
but she was old, sick, and weary from fright.
He struggled with her, there, all night,
to keep her hand with his,
and stood beside her bed and cried,
until, at last, she finally died.

“Have you come to take me home, my love?
Have you come to take me home?”

“No, my dear, but I’ll be near
You’ll never be alone.

You’ll never be alone, my love,
You’ll never be alone.”

Hangin’ Out

[Poetry]

By R. E. Noble

It was a long, long time ... a long, long time
that we were all just one of the guys
just hangin’ out, sittin’ up on the wall.

Just hangin’ out ma, just hangin’ out!

Sometimes we were just there.
Sometimes it was a ball.
Now I’m older and that’s all the past.
Often I wonder if it’s my memory’s lapse,
Or did I really know any of those guys.
We’re they really pals, buddies, friends?
Their memory gets fuzzy.
I tell myself that there’s only today.
They never knew me, and I never knew them.
They’re just a bunch of ghosts in my memory’s way.
But then when I’m huddled in one of those lonely corners
with all the dark shadows, hard knuckles and calloused hearts,
I hear a sigh, a creek, a crack, a cry,
And then there’s a tear in my eye.
I see a laughing face, then feel a slap on my back.
It could be Tom, or Dutch, Chucky or Jack.
And all of a sudden,
I’m up on the Corner. I’m on the wall.

I’m hangin’ out ma, just hangin’ out.

I’m on the corner;
I’m in Costy’s yard.
I’m down at Nel’s;
or in Meachaou’s back seat.
I’m up Joe’s cellar;
or behind the Social - a little stick ball,
or down the beach.
I’m just standin’ on the Corner
or in the middle of Lawrence Street.

I’m hangin’ out ma.

I’m just hangin’ out with my friends, my buddies.
Up on the corner.

Hangin’ out ma, just hangin’ out.

I’m up the Corner.
I’m on that old bench.
Hangin’ Out.
I with my old buddies.

I’m hangin’ out ma, just hangin’ out ... I’m just hangin’ out.

EDITH

Poetry

By Richard E. Noble

I guess, I thought it would always be,
my life, my health ... my longevity.
I’d never need ... not me ... not I!
I was the kind that would survive.
I’d always be, like I used to be.
Filled with the spirit ... filled with me.

But now, despite myself, it’s all gone.
I exist like a rock …
the thought of a stone …
sleeping ... unknown.

I thought when I reached a point such as this,
I’d tip my hat, and with a shrug and a sigh,
I’d wave to the crowd ... blow a kiss,
and tell the world ... good-bye.

But here I sit as helpless as a child,
crying all night, and praying for a smile.
I hate to say it ... it makes my ego blush,
but I don’t wish for death,
be it from a bang, or a purr felt hush.

God forgive me, but I’m in no rush.
As bad as it may be
and in this sad state as you can see,
as helpless and dependent, as I may be,
I still long to look out my window and see;
a cat with a string,
a boy with a rope,
a bird with a worm,
a pear with a frost,
a tree with a leaf
a day with a sun,
or the raindrops, as down my window, they run.

I’m old and as useless as I can be
but I pray ... I honestly pray …
please God, can’t there just be, a tiny, tiny bit more ...
… for me?

So I Told Her

Poetry

By Richard E. Noble

So I told her once again
for the millionth time
how beautiful she was.

She smiled benignly
with that sad but bemused look in her eye
and said; Thank you, I know you do.

Which translates to; You’re so sweet
and I love you too
but please let’s not start lying to one another.

So I told her once again
what talents she possessed.
“You’re a true artist,” I told her.

And once again she smiled
a simple but bemused denial
… and I sighed.

I told her that she had a lovely voice
and danced like an angel.
She had such natural grace and poise.

It seems that pointing out her grace and poise
made her self-conscious and
she lost interest in these indulgences.

So I told her that I loved her truly
and that she meant more to me
than she could ever imagine.

She stared at me rather blankly.
She looked away and then nervously
looked back towards me once again.

A tear came to her eye.
I’m not entirely sure
But I think she may have believed me.

HAVE YOU COME TO TAKE ME HOME

[Poetry]

by Richard E. Noble

“Have you come to take me home?” she said.
And the old man began to cry.

“Have you come to take me home?” she said.
And inside he thought he’d die.

“Have you come to take me home?” she said.
She was sick, alone, and misty-eyed.

“Have you come to take me home?” she said.
“Not today, my love, but tomorrow, maybe.”
and so he lied.

“Have you come to take me home?” she said.
And then she fell apart.

“Have you come to take me home?” she said.
“My love, my soul, my heart,

the nights here are so long,
And the people cry in their sleep.
I can’t eat this food; it’s not like home,
and day by day I feel so weak.

Have you come to take me home, my love?
Have you come to take me home?
Have you come to take me home, my love,
or must I die alone?

We’ve lived this life, just you and I
and now you’ve put me here to die.
Have you come to take me home, my dear?
Have you come to take me home?

Move closer, closer. Won’t you come near, my dear?
I need your hand my love, to chase away this fear.
Help me … Help me ... You are my only hope.”

“I can’t bring you home, my dear.”
Beside her bed so near, he reached down and took her hand.

“I can’t bring you home, my love, though it would be so grand.
If only I could...” and he caressed and squeezed her hand.

“Have you come to take me home?” she said;
and the old man began to cry.

“Have you come to take me home?” she said;
and inside he thought he’d die.

“Then you’re not going to take me home,” she spoke.
“Then you’re not going to take me home.
You’re going to leave me here all by myself;
You’re going to leave me here to die alone.”

And as she cried, he thought he died
and she pulled her hand from his.
But he pulled it back and put on it a kiss.

She struggled and struggled as a weak one might,
but she was old, sick, and weary from fright.
He struggled with her, there, all night,
to keep her hand with his,
and stood beside her bed and cried,
until, at last, she finally died.

“Have you come to take me home, my love?
Have you come to take me home?”

“No, my dear, but I’ll be near
You’ll never be alone.

You’ll never be alone, my love,
You’ll never be alone.”

No, He Is Not Like He Used To Be

By Richard E. Noble

No he is not exactly like he used to be.
He often sits on the porch and stares vacantly
as the cars pass by.

Sometimes he appears to be confused
over the slightest interruption
to his daily routine.

He complains more than he ever had.
Now he seems to whine constantly
about nothing in particular.

His hair is always looking rough
and he seems to be losing a bit of it
more and more each day.

His appetite is good.
We can’t seem to stop him from nibbling
and poking at something.

He eats far too much chocolate.
He never used to eat cookies
and the ice cream is getting out of hand.

He seems to be limping
a little bit lately
and he has been stumbling.

He is not hearing well.
It is rather obvious.
You have to talk right at him.

He probably isn’t seeing all that well either.
But he hates going to see a Doctor
or a specialist of any kind.

The old boy is getting old.
He just ain’t what he used to be.
But I love him so.

He has always been so good to me.
He always did his best to make me happy.
I can’t really fault him for anything.

But this old age is a hard thing to deal with.
No more solo flights for this guy.
I’ve really got to watch him.

Especially when he tries to climb the cedar tree
next to the house
and get up onto the roof.

CALL OF THE DEAD

[Poetry]

By Richard E. Noble

As I pulled each foot, pace after pace, and drudged about the yard,
Hating, despising, but keeping my place, and finding it increasingly hard.
I pulled my bitterness up from the pace, and stared at the spacious sky.
The hate siphoned down to the tips of my toes, and fancies shrouded my head.
Though not in the least did it assuage my woes, for hatred is never dead.

“Follow the song of the dead,” They said.
“Follow the song of the dead.
The dead are the spirits who know, yes know...
The dead are the spirits who know.”

I just walked in rank while my spirit sank, and my head began to bob.
But as the pavement slipped, and the leather gripped, they were only doing their job.
Their job ... it was, to keep us in step ... step, upon step, upon step.
Step to the pace ... the pace of a race ... they’re only doing their job.

I turned from the thought which cruelty wrought and returned my head to the sky.
But upon this thought, my vision caught, the horror of those who die.
And now entwined with the song of the dead, an apparition before my eye...
All ragged, worn and weary souls were marching across the sky.

“Come join the ranks of the dead,” They said.
“Come ... join us rancorous dead.”

And on they marched, across the sky, a line which had no end,
Moaning, and groaning, with ghoulish cry, the rancorous song of the dead.

“The dead are the spirits who know, yes know ...
The dead are the spirits who know.”

I closed my eye to the specter nigh, and frantically shook my head.
But in my ears, yet, the lingering cry, in the raucous tone of the dead.

“Follow the song of the dead,” They said.
“Follow the song of the dead.”

With averted eye, I shunned their cry, as yet they marched over head.
I chained my pace, and firmed my step, fearing to loose the beat.
One and two ... one and two ... Conform you feet to the beat.

I walked and walked, it seemed like miles, avoiding their deathly smiles.
But then as I looked, aside of my foot, another was pacing the same.
With horror, I shook, as his hand he put, and cooled my sweating palm.
With a frigid flame, he called my name. He tugged and yanked at my arm.
I confused my step, then shuffled from harm and joined again with the real.
But with a voice that quelled, I heard him yell;

“You’re just a spoke in a wheel.
You may march away and avoid our song,
but shortly your heart will swell.
Never can you march away from the throng,
and pass by the flames of Hell.”

With a demon-faced fear, I remember his sneer, as he rejoined the ranks of the dead.
He was last in line ... then the skies turned clear, and my face from white to red.

Well, that was a day I won’t forget, and here I am marching again.
The sky is bright, and my spirits light. It’s the happiest day of the year.
Above my head, there’s a cloudy bed, and everything seems so dear.
A smile on my face, as I skip to the pace, mocking that ghoulish sneer.
With fences around, and the treacherous sound, flowing beyond the barbed wire,
I laugh at the race, and grin at the face, as marching we tramp by the mire
The soggy and snake ridden mire ... that offers no hope or desire.

But as I walk, I hear the clock, cracking away like fire.
But oh, not again! ... It can’t be again! ... And I turned my head to the clouds,
A huge mass of white, towering in height, sailing across the sky.
Like a desert of white, on a sea of night, it brings me a breathless sigh.
It’s motion aloft, so flowing and soft, beckons me to its choir.
My head, it spins, as my heart it wins, and I dance to the glorious choir.

But then a dull tick-tock, as I hear the clock, and my feet head for the mire.
The guard screams ... “Halt!.. .It isn’t my fault!” and now I’m before the barbed wire.
The clouds they beam like a cascade of dreams, as I watch them float up higher.
“HALT, OR I’LL SHOOT!” And the whistles, they toot... “HALT, OR I’LL BE FORCED TO FIRE!”
But my feet had no fault as they mocked the assault, and climbed the treacherous barbed wire.
“To freedom!” They sing. “We’ll fly you right over the mire.”

Well, as the clouds ... they dance, my feet ... they prance, and the guns begin to fire.
But with a few more steps ... just a few more steps, I’ll be slouching my way through the mire.
Then I heard a ringing, and angels singing. And as I followed the clouds ahead,
It seems the voice of Destiny’s choice, chanted to me and said;
“Turn yourself around, and see what you’ve found.” And there, I saw myself ... dead.
Floating in the mire, my body swept higher, as they lifted me from my bed.
The sky all red, in torrents it bled, like my body afloat on the mire.

Then, back through the gate enclosed by the wire, watching my body with dread
I heard the beat ... The beat ... of the feet ... of the dead ... and that same ghoulish voice ... it said;

“Come follow the song of the dead,” He said.
“Come follow the song of the dead.
The dead are the spirits who know, yes know.
The dead are the spirits who know.”

“You’ve joined the ranks of the dead,” They all said.
“You’ve joined the ranks of us ... dead.”