R.J. Dale Poetry

Still Here
By: R.J. Dale
I am home. I am home. It's empty here. Only footsteps, Faded curtains unwinding, Soft whispers reminding, Doors, themselves, closing, The past recoiling. I can see where you were hanging, your eyes staring Through me. I feel you glaring into our home, into our home. You're watching, Moving around me, stalking. It's empty here. The candles are dying. A chill is dancing On my skin, All cold with sweat. I know You're home. You're home.

Still Here

By: R.J. Dale

I am home.
I am home.
It's empty here.
Only footsteps,
Faded curtains unwinding,
Soft whispers reminding,
Doors, themselves, closing,
The past recoiling.
I can see
where you were hanging,
your eyes staring
Through me.
I feel you glaring
into our home,
into our home.
You're watching,
Moving around me, stalking.
It's empty here.
The candles are dying.
A chill is dancing
On my skin,
All cold with sweat.
I know
You're home.
You're home.

Travelers Dirge
By: R.J Dale
Early on in September On a day I cannot quite remember There in the trees Hung the first blushing autumn leaf. As my eyes haunted the silhouette It was an epiphany, The taste of regret. Donning my suit, the best one I own, Grabbed my razor and my ivory comb. I said goodbye to the landlord, Wouldn’t be around anymore. I traveled to the bank, To gather all the wealth I had, fifteen years of working and everything from my lost dad. I traveled down the main street, To the barber shop where fellas and I would meet. Past the corner soda shop, the first job I ever got. I traveled east to the gravel road To say goodbye to the only love I had known. We married in the church, under a pealing sound. I will join her someday there in that ground. I laid down the fair rosemary With sprig of lavender rose and cherry. I kissed that cold Autumn stone. I said baby someday I’ll come home. The rain whispered down later that day As my little home town began to fade. The road ahead stretched and yawned By twilight a new life dawned. Eating inside café’s in the autumn night, Waking in a daze in hotels under the morning light. I'll find where I am meant to be There is some more road ahead to see… Went through mountains, craggy and grey, Into valleys of rusted sand and clay. From rivers wider then my home town To lakes deep enough to make a church steeple drown. So many strangers have come and gone, Restaurants and inns, small talk and songs. I saw the west and all those big trees. I remembered that blushing leaf, The calendar on my dash is thin, From the September last when I felt a tugging wind. A little longer to travel. Then I will be home To that little yard and that plot topped in stone.

Travelers Dirge

By: R.J Dale

Early on in September
On a day I cannot quite remember
There in the trees
Hung the first blushing autumn leaf.
As my eyes haunted the silhouette
It was an epiphany,
The taste of regret.
Donning my suit,
the best one I own,
Grabbed my razor
and my ivory comb.
I said goodbye to the landlord,
Wouldn’t be around anymore.
I traveled to the bank,
To gather all the wealth I had,
fifteen years of working
and everything from my lost dad.
I traveled down the main street,
To the barber shop where fellas and I would meet.
Past the corner soda shop,
the first job I ever got.
I traveled east to the gravel road
To say goodbye to the only love I had known.
We married in the church, under a pealing sound.
I will join her someday there in that ground.
I laid down the fair rosemary
With sprig of lavender rose and cherry.
I kissed that cold Autumn stone.
I said baby someday I’ll come home.
The rain whispered down later that day
As my little home town began to fade.
The road ahead stretched and yawned
By twilight a new life dawned.
Eating inside café’s in the autumn night,
Waking in a daze in hotels under the morning light.
I'll find where I am meant to be
There is some more road ahead to see…
Went through mountains, craggy and grey,
Into valleys of rusted sand and clay.
From rivers wider then my home town
To lakes deep enough to make a church steeple drown.
So many strangers have come and gone,
Restaurants and inns, small talk and songs.
I saw the west and all those big trees.
I remembered that blushing leaf,
The calendar on my dash is thin,
From the September last when I felt a tugging wind.
A little longer to travel. Then I will be home
To that little yard and that plot topped in stone.

About the poet:
For all my
best intent,
my time here
was poorly spent.
Never seemed to gather,
how all that old poetry went.
I am broke.
Little more
than a dirty joke
And I cannot pay the rent.

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