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    Vignettes in Paled Light: A Book of Poems
    Vignettes in Paled Light: A Book of Poems
    Vignettes in Paled Light: A Book of Poems
    Ebook120 pages1 hour

    Vignettes in Paled Light: A Book of Poems

    By Michael Cramer

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    About this ebook

    Yogi Berra once said, You can observe a lot just by watching. Michael Cramer has been a keen observer of everyday life encountered as he was walking or driving around town, while working, or watching children at play. He describes life as it is, surrounded by the lives of thousands of others, including interactions as well as observations and sharing the reality to which he is a witness.

    Poetry is the art of taking pictures with words, and these poems are the pictures Cramer has taken while watching life unfold around him. From the jarring images presented in Holy City to the touching memories and warm, loving thoughts of a father in My Child, Cramer captures the images and emotions that inhabit our lives in Vignettes in Paled Light.

    My Child

    How I long to caress your cheek
    gaze deep into your eyes, into your heart
    see the memories there of time past
    the good and the bad, both joyous and sad
    the sporting events, musical presentations, recitals and reviews.

    Family memories, time shared
    wrestling with your siblings, tickling and being tickled
    the blessing of your giggles, your laughter
    the heart rending experience of your first tears
    Every time you cried
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherTrafford Publishing
    Release dateJan 13, 2011
    ISBN9781426951473
    Vignettes in Paled Light: A Book of Poems

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      Book preview

      Vignettes in Paled Light - Michael Cramer

      Vignettes in

      Paled Light

      A book of poems

      by

      Michael Cramer

      Order this book online at www.trafford.com

      or email orders@trafford.com

      Most Trafford titles are also available at major online book retailers.

      © Copyright 2011 Michael Cramer.

      All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

      Printed in the United States of America.

      isbn: 978-1-4269-5150-3 (sc)

      isbn: 978-1-4269-5147-3 (e)

      Trafford rev. 12/16/2010

      missing image file www.trafford.com

      North America & international

      toll-free: 1 888 232 4444 (USA & Canada)

      phone: 250 383 6864 fax: 812 355 4082

      For my family

      who are my heart and my soul

      and my reason for living

      missing image file

      Table of Contents

      The Fifth Hump of the Day

      A Daisy

      Alicia’s love

      Moment Lost

      The Guitarist

      Blue Notes

      Cacophony Liberated

      In full view

      First Date

      Eulogy

      …and There He Sat

      Vignettes in Paled Light

      Celebration’s Angst

      Venice Beach

      Dreamscape

      The Other Side of Town

      While Cecelia Danced

      For Roberta

      My Child

      My Children

      An Ancient Belief

      The Choice is Made

      The Masque I Wear

      What I Do Fear

      When Last I saw Her

      Yesterday Footsteps

      War’s Gospels

      The Pale Horse

      Holy City

      Evil Iago

      With Hope We Rise

      Cognite Tute II

      Peace?

      Shadows Past

      Trekking Thru Our Tomorrow’s Yesterday

      Archie’s Love

      For each man, is his own hell devised

      Betrayal

      Daddy

      Blue Sky at Mourning

      The Fifth Hump of the Day

                    "Y’Know,

      I’m getting a little tired of this."

      The girl turns sharply

      away from the short Hispanic man

      standing on straight, shapely legs;

      gazing into the distance

      across the beach.

                    A Snicker’s wrapper,

      caught up

      in a small, whirling Dervish,

      whips through her legs

      slapping against the man’s,

      sticking to the dark,

      curling hairs.

                    Beach debris

      and loose rubbish caught,

      smacking up against

      the chain link fence

      by the pier.

      A dead squid lay on the tarmac

      cooking in the sun;

      having been dropped

      earlier in the day

      by one of the bedraggled,

      all night fishermen

      making his way home

      through the parking lot

      after a long night of fishing and beer.

                    A petulant stare

      from the girl

      irritates the Hispanic man

      and he swears at her

      under his breath.             

      You promised Raul,

      she growls. He grumbles again

      but then steps obediently up

      onto the picnic table;

      its rough wooden top gaudily decorated

      with years of colorful,

      gang signs and slightly pornographic

      graffiti.

                    Looking back at her one last time,

      with a sorrowful,

      almost pleading scowl

      on his face; she growls once again,

      Raul!

                    Fine he rumbles,

      and begins to dance,

      tapping in his sandals

      until their awkwardness begins to hold him back,

      he kicks them off

      into the gathering crowd.

                    Switching to a more modern dance form

      some out of place bits

      of ballet;

      and then finally

      a bare foot Flamenco,

      slamming naked bleeding heels

      hard into the warped wooden tabletop

      keeping up

      with the music playing in his head.

      He dances on.

                    Eyes closed,

      caught up in the music

      in his mind.

                    He is back in Cuba,

      dancing with his beautiful Lucia

      the crowd hanging

      on Raul’s every movement.

      Bleeding freely, he continues,

      guitars playing faster and faster

      to the quickening beat

      of Raul’s glistening heels

      on the twisted wooden tabletop.

                    Fifty people

      or more have gathered

      as Raul finishes

      with a flourish

      and wearily steps off

      the table that had briefly been

      his Havana stage.

                    And people then

      begin to drift away,

      Raul’s show now over

      even in his head.

      A Daisy

      She was,

      strictly speaking,

      a vision,

      he had never

      really seen her,

      except of course

      in his minds eye.

      The theatre of the mind

      as it were.

      He had created her there;

      drafted her lines,

      written her history,

      painted her portrait,

      the vision that was her,

      all extracted from a thought

      produced from a dream.

      She was only real

      in his mind

      yet she had sat next to him

      on the bus

      just this morning.

      His mind was reeling.

      This was not,

      could not,

      be possible,

      reality… had to be real.

      Didn’t it?

      She must be a figment,

      whatever the hell that means,

      of his imagination.

      And his imagination

      had always been

      rather potent,

      to say the least.

      His mom

      had liked to say of him,

      ‘I don’t ever know what’s going on

      in that head of his,

      but what ever it is

      I know it’s gonna be

      a daisy.’

      And there she was,

      the woman from his dream.

      Her hair,

      a soft autumn red,

      was blowing gently in the breeze.

      Most of his life

      he had thought he was drawn to blonds,

      sometimes brunettes

      by necessity,

      but in his mind,

      blonds, never redheads.

      But there she was,

      a red head,

      nearly brown,

      but a red head nonetheless.

      Her skin, pale as ivory,

      he’d always equated tanned skin with beauty,

      but this woman

      caused his heart to race,

      to pound in his chest

      till he looked around

      in embarrassment

      thinking others had heard it.              

      She turned

      made eye contact

      and he was lost then

      forever in those

      gray-green eyes.

      He stopped himself,

      suddenly fearing

      the strength of his imagination

      was running rampant

      closed his eyes

      and glanced once more

      to where she had been.

      Alicia’s love

                    She walked in

      and sat down

      at the corner table

      alone.

      She was nearly always

      alone now…

      Edward had walked,

      three months past

      still she saw him

      sitting with her

      sitting next to,

      across from,

      holding her hand,

      she saw him…

      She reached

      to caress his stubbled cheek

      and stopped.

      It wierded people out.

      there was really no one there

      and she knew it

      except in her mind.

                    Marylyn watched

      from behind the counter

      a tear

      streaking her cheek

      furrowing through a thin layer of foundation.

      Alicia her only sister,

      her sweet baby sister

      was struggling…

                    Alicia stepped into the diner

      everyday

      at five minutes after three

      gaily chatting

      with no one

      who walked with her.

      Six days a week,

      on Sundays she dropped by

      after church

      around noon.

      But on Sundays she was always a bit maudlin

      no one went to church with her,

      on Sundays she felt alone.

                    Alicia’s booth was always open

      no one sat in it when she was not there

      and no one sat with her when she was.

      People were wary,

      Unsure, troubled.

                    A tourist couple

      walked in last Thursday

      and started to sit

      when Freddy Grove,

      the rather corpulent of the two deputy sheriffs,

      stopped them explaining,

      "It were a special char’er;

      sent-o-mental sorta."

      He seated the couple

      across the way

      and sat back down to finish his pie.

                    In her early thirties

      Alicia seemed much older.

      She had been attractive

      once,

      vivacious and sparkling,

      now though she was someone else.

      she had lost far too much weight

      her face was thin

      haggard and drawn.

      Her hair too had

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