It Is Not Fair

By Richard E. Noble

It is not fair,
and you know it as well as I do.
Yet here we sit,
as if our hands were tied behind our backs.

It’s not fair,
and you know it as well as I.
So why do we try to justify it all?

It is not fair today;
it wasn’t fair yesterday;
and it won’t be fair tomorrow.

So what is the argument?
Unfair should remain unfair?
Right and wrong are inconsequential?
It is not anyone’s fault?
It is beyond rectification?
Justice should not be our standard;
Order - would be more appropriate?
It is just the way things are?
Don’t ask me,
bring your complaints to the Responsible Party?

If we all do what we must do,
then who is left to do what should be done?

I don’t have the time;
you don’t have the inclination;
together we don’t have the money nor the means?
So?
It doesn’t get solved.
It is never rectified.
It all continues as it always has.
It is the dust beneath our beds.

Are there any debts to be paid for this indifference?
Who is there righteous enough to demand payment?
No one knocks on my door.

Sad faces stare wide-eyed and bewildered.

Their tears say;

it isn’t fair.

JESUS AND THE STARS

Poetry

By Richard E. Noble

No Honey, I don’t write poems about Jesus and the stars.
I write more about concrete curbings and secondhand cars.
No Hun, I don’t write poems about Jesus and the stars.

I sing my songs about taverns and dimly lit bars.
I wonder about the planets, Serius and Mars,
but I do my singing about people, railroad tracks and iron bars.

No Hun, I no longer write about Jesus and the stars.
Though I often whisper my secrets to empty planets, rainbows
and distant stars,
I write more about home cooking, pony tails, pretty girls and mason jars.

But, no Hon, I no longer write my poems about Jesus and the stars.
Though we used to speak, and I’ve often gone to sleep hugging
Venus, Jupiter and Mars;
no Hun, today I don’t write poems about Jesus and the stars.

No, I don’t write poems about Jesus and the stars.
I write about love, and kindness, but more often, about things the way they are.
No, sweetheart, I no longer write poems about Jesus and the stars.

Though for me, it’s now a mist of cosmic dust and Milky Way,
I know for you, if you try really, really hard, one day,
you’ll be writing beautiful things about Jesus and the Stars
And Heaven, and the Angels, and Jesus and the Stars.
I know you can, and I’ll bet you will, one day,
be writing about the Lord up above,
and all the meanings of love.

I know you can, and I’ll bet you will, one day,
be writing songs about Jesus and the stars,
about moonbeams and Heaven’s golden bars,
about love,
and Jesus,
All about Jesus and the stars.

Yes, you’ll be singing about Jesus and the Stars,
about Jupiter and Mars,
about the Angels and Heaven,
and Jesus and the Stars.

When You live Your Life by the Side of the Road

Poetry

By Richard E. Noble

When you live your life by the side of the road,
you always know which way the traffic flows.

When you live your life by the side of the road,
you see their faces but not their toes.

You might catch a glint, a gleam, or a sparkle;
you might even think that you know who they are.

But when you live your life by the side of the road,
what you really know is which way the traffic goes.

You will see them talking and laughing inside,
and maybe children bouncing about on a back seat.

You see the mustaches, the braids, the balding heads.
You see them staring, lost in thought.

But from the side of the road, you can’t see their toes,
and all you know really, is which way the traffic flows.

From the side of the road you can watch the race;
you can dodge through the traffic when you know that it’s safe.

From the side of the road you don’t need a car;
you can walk on the shoulder or follow a star.

You can watch the lights and read the signs.
You can walk or don’t walk.

You can sleep under a bridge;
you can make your own mind.

But from the side of the road you can’t see their toes,
and all you know really, is which way the traffic flows.

From the side of the road the lights at night can get awfully bright
and the speeding traffic can buzz in your ears.

From the side of the road things can often get hazy, a blur, a maze;
one can get lost, and even go crazy.

From the side of the road, there is no place to go.
You never know the things that ‘they’ know.

Or where they come from, or where they go,
and you never see the tips of their toes.

And all you know really is the way the traffic flows.

WHO AM I?

Poetry

By Richard E. Noble

“What are you?” they ask.
I’m an open wound, I tell them.
I’m a pain that will never subside.
I’m the pity filled tear in the corner of your eye.
I’m the sorrow and the sadness.
I’m the horror and the shame.
I’m the child that never grew up.
I’m freedom in your cage.

“What are you” they ask?
I’m the weed in your garden.
I’m the flower growing in the rock.
I’m the truth that you are unwilling to face.
I’m reality in your face.

“Who are you,” they ask.
I’m the beaten and the abused.
I’m the worthless and the used.
I’m what you were...
before you became what you are.

“But, what are you,” they ask.
I’m death and dying.
I’m old and weary.
I’m all the things that you would like to hide or forget... but yet...
I’m all that makes existence worthwhile,
for without me...
even you could never be.

UNDER THE INFLUENCE

Poetry

By Richard E. Noble

“This dog-gone country is goin’ to the dogs!
All they can ever think of is makin’ a whole bunch a more laws!”

Then old Russell took a swig on his beer, for a pause.

“Yup, it’s just goin’ down hill ... goin’ to the dogs!
Take this drunkin’ drivin’ and all these darn new laws,
why a fella can’t even have a drink
before some cop is on top a him with one of them claws.
I mean, there I am ... they took away my license last year …”

Then old Russell took another slug of beer.

“I’m tryin’ to get home goin’ down one of them dark back roads
when all of a sudden one of them unmarked cars with the sirens unloads.
Jerked my heart ... nearly sent me into a ditch;
that gosh darn foolhardy son of a switch!
I’ll tell ya, I think a man drives better when he’s drunk.
He drives more careful, I mean, gosh-darn,
a man knows he’s drunk when he’s drunk!
He don’t race around slippin’ and slidin’.
Heck, he’s got all he can do to keep from collidin’.
I mean drivin’ drunk makes a man nervous enough,
tryin’ to keep a straight line and all that stuff.
Why, when I’m drivin’ drunk, so’s I can barely see
the last thing that I need is some darn cop hidin’ behind some tree!
Why, I’ll tell you the truth;
it’s them sneekin’ Po-leece that’s the problem for us all.
Get rid of them sons-a-guns,
and we’ll get this country’s horse out of this stall!"

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.

She Came To See Me

She Came to See Me

[Poetry]

By Richard E. Noble

I once owned a little ice cream parlor on the outskirts of a small town. Many of my customers were older people who lived in a retirement village up the road. It was hard to build a business in this atmosphere - as fast as I gained new customers, I lost an old one to … time.
The old folks always came in couples, until one day, one of the two would stumble in, awkwardly ... alone. It was difficult to know the right thing to say. You didn’t want to say; Hey, where’s Rita ... or Bob? - because if you did, out would come the handkerchief and down the wrinkled cheeks would flow the tears. So if the remaining party didn’t say anything, you didn’t say anything.
Often times nothing would be said. Sometimes there would be a brief announcement that there was no more Herb, or Ethel. Then with others there would be a long involved explanation of the last weeks or months or year.
When I was a young person, I didn’t want to hear such stories. As an older person I no longer had that problem. These were all beautiful stories, filled with love. These were all stories about people who cared about one another. They were sad, but …
On one occasion this very sad, and very alone, old man came into the shop. He had been in a few times now, without his chum. He had gotten his hot fudge, caramel brownie sundae and had left without saying anything. On this particular occasion, though, he was smiling and seemed relieved. He told me a story that I have converted into a small poem and I entitled it:

She Came to See Me

I saw you in my dream last night.
You seemed to be so happy where you were.
You were laughing once again.

You were frightened when you left.
You wept,
and clasped my hand.

You didn’t know where you were going.
I saw the fear in your eyes.
I saw the tears.

But last night in my dream
you were laughing again.
You were, once again, yourself.

Last night you were telling your jokes.
You smiled.
You were happy and relieved.

Thank-you for coming to see me.
You looked so pretty, my dear.
You were so rosy, my lovely friend.

I feel so much better knowing that you’re safe.
Now I won’t worry anymore.
Thank-you my dear.

Thank-you my darling,
I feel so much better.
My troubled heart is now at peace.

Come again, if you would like.
I enjoyed your visit so.
I’ll be waiting …

by the swing …
with a rose …
I’ll be waiting.

And I’ll remember what you said:
“Don’t forget me.
Don’t think without me.
Don’t be alone.
Don’t be without me.

Don’t forget me.

Don’t think that I have forgotten you.
Don’t think I don’t remember.
I do.
I do.
I remember
and
I love you, too.

Don’t forget me.”

Never, my darling.
I’ll see you in my dreams, my love.
I’ll see you in my dreams, my friend.
I’ll see you in my dreams …
my dreams …
my dreams.