Eden, Looking Back

WHAT A SIGHT IT IS TO SEE,
In the stillness of the leaves,
A quiet forest—dead white trees—
Limbs splayed out, contorted,
Dry as a dead man’s hand.
Not one alive in all the rows,
They soon will bloom again.
That’s what sets the figs and furs,
Apart from human beings.

Memoirs of Eden in a dream,
Rolling fields of ardent green.
Lilacs upturned to Sol to drink,
Mother Earth, the sun, a spun,
Hangs overhead—by none forgot.
The night-time comes, wind slows its pace,
The sun went down,
And the crickets sang:
another lament for the day.

And friends you’ve lost, all those gone,
Will meet you at the shore to see you on,
The day will sleep, Luna takes the throne—
Her cloak was ragged and star-strewn,
when in the shadow of penumbra,
where the lost light strays,
the creatures in the shadows roam,
until was killed by bejeweled Dawn.

In the hole are those who stole,
a shelter from the rain;
to wake, to laugh, to sing,
They bring,
The golden harvest in the spring.
The wheat in the gold fields sway,
Mother Earth, she breathes, a breeze,
as though the glimpse of Eden,
was just a fevered dream.

All the beauty they had seen,
The last of dying daylight bleeds.
Moments cling to days and blink—
The tether left behind.
Elaborate a tapestry of twine.
Sewn together scraps of cloth,
The interwoven pattern lost

Brandon K. Nobles, 2011 – The Never Ending Valley

After dinner, April got,
from the corner of the cot,
her plush pound puppy toy
She took it to her room,
and skipped down the hall in joy
she locked the door and pulled out more
toys than you could count.
Around her was the many sets
of legoes, games, her etch a sketch.

Each day they all had tea,
to them a brief carouse.
She carried all the human dolls,
to the backyard of her house.
She swung with her dog puppet,
she’d found outside of town.
left in a trailer trapped
the puppy went to April’s home,
her mother had relapsed.
The seasons went by, as they do,
their seeds fell to the ground,
only to bloom again though gone,
and she looked into her lap,
the origami sparrow flown.
was in the ground and gone,
and she looked into her lap,
the origami sparrow flown.

In its absence was a mirror,
the mirror showed her all;
then within her memory,
she crawled freezing checkered hall
amongst the puppies all encaged,
just like that puppy show,
she’d be their Moses, set them free,
Take them to the promised land,
through the skylight’s magic gate,
she hoped to soon pass through,
again that eyes so perfect blue,
she did not know his name–
he was once a lost friend walking,
drinking went the dirty drain.

There in the world is large enough,
a place to keep us all,
without poverty and selfishness,
mankind would never fall;
just like a brand new car-
all the same basic parts,
from the hand of the same maker,
who forged it in the dark,
some white, some tan, some dark,
mixing colors creates art.

For all her life she looked to find,
the truth about the other side,
the never ending valley-
that was the story told.
Where all the children meet their parents,
the chariots of gold;
the sun a shade of red o’er head
to see their face, the young, the old-
and in the night when time for bed,
they listened to the violins instead.
The dust between the beams passed by,
in free and happy circles in the light-
that was the magic gate,
the never ending beauty of the valley of the free.

Brandon K. Nobles – The Glass Umbrella

I

We are the footprints by the Sea.
The waters come,
and waters leave.
Miss Sea, you see,
your children taken;
Children of the Sea forsaken.

See me see Miss Galilee.
Bring back what she took from me;
bring back what you swallowed whole.
The yawning, old,
and wide mouthed urn,
lolled on, but never turned,
her deaf ear,
to me,
to hear,
my confused shouts at her.

Without a word at all to say,
she waves at the night and day.
She rolls about within a dream,
the carousel goes by overhead;
to it she turns her mirrored head.
She simply looks to it, and all,
and we, like leaves,
around her fall.

The beach we leave our footprints on,
The waters come,
and then they’re gone.
We are but footprints by the Sea;
The waves come in,
and then we leave.
Miss Sea, you see,
your children taken.
Children of the Sea forsaken.

Ancient sea, Miss Galilee,
can you see yourself in me?
As I see myself in you,
glowing white, and tinged with blue.
Can’t you see what you have done?
The lolling sea saw none.

II

“I see,” I said, and that was that;
standing at the shore of black.
I hear my own words echo back.
In those waters,
I saw me;
another reflection in the sea.

This was after ten years passed:
I returned, sat in the grass,
thinking of all who walked that shore.
Never did I see her face,
a glass umbrella had replaced,
the girl whom I adored.
My love would walk the shore no more.

But nothing else, and nothing more;
no more of who I once adored.
No more to God could I implore,
or to the umbrella in her stead.
The face of the mourning sun turned
red;
the glass umbrella, from the sea,
rolled ashore and laughed at me.
Then I knew,
and saw it all,
inside the glass umbrella fall.
I saw myself again, alone,
forever by the Sea to roam.

On that day I watched her play,
with birds about the shore.
I heard her laugh and nothing more,
as the Sea,
came and took my love from me.
Buzzards circled overhead,
like nature’s garbage men.
I heard them call,
and heard her laugh,
and felt the kiss of Caiaphas.

III

A finch had washed up in her place,
from the well amid the waste—
who floundered by the Sea,
and then flew on.
The bird fluttered for a moment,
and was gone.

As beautiful as the Sea might be,
her own face she cannot see.
In my dreams, she comes to me,
and sees her picture on the wall.
By my family, and me,
a portrait of Miss Galilee.

As wondrous as she looks, at night,
shimmering with the silver light,
she looks sadder in the dawn.
When the sun shines in her face,
when daylight takes the nighttime’s place—
she yawns again, and sighs.
Children of the Sea walk home.
Deaf, Miss Galilee rolls on.

Earlier in my life, I went,
found a home which I could rent.
I called my child to say:
“Come see me, come see the sea;
we’ll have some lunch,
then get ice cream.
You have to come;
you have to see,
the face of lady Galilee.”

IV

A while we stood,
where lolled the waves,
under a sky where seagulls played;
for her, my world, for once, to see,
the lovely face of Galilee.
From the waters, walked ashore,
played a while,
bonne nuit, amore.
She splashed about the waves, my
child,
and then she splashed no more.

I remember she flew in.
We had some sandwiches, and then,
hand in hand walked with a grin.
She laughed the day away.
She wore a blue dress, made of lace,
and had a smile upon her face.
At night she walks my dreams this
way—
for when she splashed,
that faithful day—
the Sea took her away.
The waters took my living dream,
and left me here to stay.

The Sea looked into me, you see,
and saw what she could take from me;
my dreams could not just let it be.
And when it looked, at me, it saw,
the same thing when it looks at all.
How could she tell me what she sees?
The way she sees us all go ’round,
she often speaks without a sound.
She sees us dance,
and hears us call,
all at once,
but not at all.
The glass umbrella falls.

We are the footprints by the Sea;
the waters come,
and waters leave.
Miss Sea, you see,
your children taken;
Children of the Sea forsaken.

Brandon Nobles – Flight of the Origami Butterflies

The city was but dust back then,
when garbage bags danced in the wind
the papers in the ashes scattered;
The turn-dials for the plastic shattered.
Out of the fallout, water out—
Oxygen was all the mattered,
take a second, breathe;
and there is, and there it’s clean.
Then when it rained, when snowflakes fall,
all of the water cleaned, it soothed;
your life is our dream come truth.

Oxygen was all they had,
and merchants sold it by the bag;
without the water or the air,
the madmen pulled out all their hair,
for moisture in those plastic bags.
Some nations made their borders glass,
and would not let the mutants pass.
Gunfire rained down on them, they fled,
it looked as though the borders bled.

They all could hear them as they cried;
the ones that tried had masks but died,
as the last blood of their life had dried.
And some of those saw through the dark,
the ones with that strange Libra mark—
ate each other to survive.
The sky was methane and it rained
in torrents blistered left then came
and festered went the legs went lame.

Some wandered through the empty parks,
where once were laughing children there,
before they pulled out all their hair;
they played and danced all night and laughed—
and when their silent circle froze,
it flaked away like ash.

Ring around the roses,
such a childhood game
was never to be eaten,
by the maelstrom of the flame.
In their coffins by the stream
lay they in a languid dream
Where the sky was blue
and the sun its golden hue
washed over yearning trees,
their faces turned toward the light.
When the sun rose in the morn,
scarlet rays of light were thrown
through shelters empty blind.

There was a time for people, when,
they were garbage in the wind
from one place to another rolling stone
and by this to say they rambled
some never found a home;
From the gutters to the bars
and those in a drunken stupor
saw nothing but the stars.

Once the sky was azure view,
and people lived together,
sleeping in a cotton bed,
plush cushions made of leather—
not in atomic bombshell shelters.
underneath that sky—flint gray
you could not tell the night from day.

When you heard the birds that sing,
in the gardens in the spring.
in the tempest of the storm—
precious stones like pearls were formed,
birds in turns flew deeper south,
where arctic winds wiped all them out;
the penguins in their famous march—
was nothing but life’s final farce,
they had nowhere to go;
All of them and all their children
were buried in the snow.

The ardent fields where cattle grazed,
Sol peaked through in narrow rays;
tears roll down the windowpane.
Beautiful the charming, sang:
rain is the tears of God
The memories are echoes,
and they dissipate like ghosts
Some of them walk silence,
through our rooms
and down the hall.
And underneath the disco ball—
they dance their deathless unseen waltz.
Like all of mother’s children—
they bathed for long a time.
Until the long night to them came,
when the sun slept being drained;
then in the dark the fireflies
appeared like stars in vacant skies.
The world itself a turn goes ‘round
in its orbit not a sound,
and when the sun woke for the day,
the flowers turned their blushing face,
to the sun when night was slain,
the children could come out again.

A dream can fill a life’s most ill,
the troubled minds there are—
and when we look up the stars,
we’re looking at ourselves,
alone when standing by the shelf
once walked away;
when no one was left to play,

No more long walks through the park,
There was no time to play
troupes of saddened actors
fretted on an empty stage.
And no one in the crowd to praise,

Sometimes in the dark of night,
they climb up the stairs with shaking lights
onto a building’s top
they folded their construction papers,
in the shape of butterflies—
and they together let them go, to fly,
like crumpled paper went they by.
Above their echoed the last swan song,
the origami butterfly in silence fluttered on.

Brandon K. Nobles – The Last Sunset

All the states of time we see,
when the last sunlight ends
moments cling to days and blink
the tether left behind.
Elaborate a tapestry,
sewn together scraps of cloth,
interwoven in it’s pattern lost,
no never where, no never there,
the last sunset will fade–
and instead with daylight passed–
relieved of duty by day.

Brandon Nobles – My Honeybird

My Honeybird, I wish would sing;
Everyone has tragedies,
Yelling screaming shouting leave
And when they’re gone
And you’re alone
You wish to see them so—
You hear that track,
That old track it takes you back
to a time lost long ago—
where aimless walked the child lost
in zigzags through the snow

It shouldn’t have to end, though stops,
Becoming just a photograph forgot
The Ferris wheel goes up, goes down,
Around, around, such beauty, friends,
A pint of vodka saw it end.
The blue lights and the red went by,
Neon the colors lit the sky.

Each cohesive piece was scattered,
As would a mirror having shattered.
The edifice of glass was built to fall,
Like ancient Babylon and gone.
The empty walls, the dusty throne,
One blink and a year has took,
Passions kindled by the brook,
And leaves it head on the mind,
Still lost in space and lost in time.

And there it is, alone, still waiting,
By the cage of your bird lost,
Your honeybird that skipped across,
The couch and TV, the perch,
Now sat upon a ghost that moans,
Of memories that won’t come home.

Brandon K. Nobles – Reflections in a Silver Spoon

Two letters and one cassette
And the letter comes too late.
then the fan goes out on pills
and the writer gets the bill
The letter just to say you could have saved me
had you cared or called
And here again the slave to words
from the mind to pen as words to you
to take me out of hell and help,
and hold and somehow tell
that you would’ve saved me if i called for help
You could’ve saved me from myself.

Someone to understand,
who else,
and in on the joke, who saw,
under the microscope, and all
who threw it in the trash just like
father
and the crumpled paper formed to say
two more pills and i won’t feel
the day i was thrown away
the paper ball abandoned say,
“Somebody save me from myself.”
The thumb it squeezes
loud and dumb
until I’m off again and dumb.
The pen’s obituary spun.

You could have done
the song and dance for me
the only one I’d need to be
a raison d’etre just to see
a smile in the mirror like the rest
the rest of those who smile
you could have rescued me
from desolation drive
and took me to the miracle mile
where i could sleep without a pill
and rest:
in a cozy bird like nest,
like home
I wake:
Alone again, broken inside,
a mind whose bars
blot out the stars
with constellations on the arms.

I could have been a normal guy
no novels poems or how or why
no stories to tell
no silent voice to yell through pens
to words heard in the mind;
the pen attends, atones again

When it was then, and now I know
my story and how it wrote:
screamed help when no one heard,
just eyes above the words to sigh.
We can’t be seen from in the sky.

Another kid is trapped inside
the purple prison of the mind
trying to move and get outside
to kiss the lips of Suicide,
collapse,

The echo of the spoon relapse
goodbye, don’t cry, no why
Soon it will be for you and me,
just like they say
tomorrow will become
another yesterday

Brandon K. Nobles – Alice in Three Shades of Blue

At night the young blue lady walks
amongst the flowers wild
where highway roads are full of holes
In the dark she walked for miles
The morning came,
the light did bear
down on the young blue where

Sleepy in the morning
gray came down the rain
The sky in downcast purple folds
above the roads the gray clouds rolled
breathing easy in the vine
both sides where she once lost her mind
tht wandering girl’s unsteady line
closer round where fortune bound
through the woods whence silent goes

Through the treeline thought she heard
the sound of a paper bird
streetlike shadows crossed the night
with an aura of pale light
stopped for a moment, the world, it glowed;
She dug her toes into the ground
and she felt just like a rose
She drank the air and there to grow.

Brandon K. Nobles – A Glimpse of Eden

What it is to see,
In the stillness of the leaves
A forest quite of white dead trees,
The limbs splayed out, contorted
Dry as a dead man’s hand
Not one alive in all the rows
Though soon they’ll bloom again

A glimpse of Eden In a dream
The rolling fields of ardent green
Lilacs upturned to the sky to drink,
And Sol, a spot,
Hangs o’er head but not forgot,
The limbs in wind they blow again,

And all the lost, and all the gone,
Will be there by the shore to see you on.
When Luna she takes the throne,
Throwing a blanket ragged and star-strewn
When in shadow of penumbra
over comes the light to stay
The creatures in the shadows roam,
until the brilliance of the dawn.

Out of their hole to pray.
To laugh, to sing,
And each new spring
The wheat in gold fields sway
And mother Earth who breathes, a breeze,
As though a glimpse of Eden,
in the prism of a dream.