I have been writing poetry for over 30 years. Only recently, during the course of the “lock Down/Stay at Home Order” mandated by the city of Philadelphia, did I decide to share what has been sitting in my notebooks for the past 30 years.
I write short-form poetry. I embrace the challenge of trying to capture an idea in as short a burst as possible. I think of my poems as a series of “Snapshots” of life. Snapshots not Movies.
On August 20, 2020, the 150th day of the Lock Down/Stay at Home Order from the city, I felt the need to do something that would help lift both my spirits and those of my friends, neighbors, and colleagues. That day I began the “150 Day Project” – a commitment to publish and share a poem each day for the next 150 days.
Below you will find an archive of the poems from my 150 Day Project. My hope is that they bring a little light into these dark days of being isolated and alone. Enjoy them. Share them. May they inspire you. May they bring up old memories (both good and bad). May they make you look at the world in new and interesting ways.
I have started a new series of poems which I am calling, “Words of Art“. (See below) It is my intent to have this series last another 150 days. Why not?
Thank you for taking the time to read my poems.
roy.backes@gmail.com / 267-970-4963
Words of Wonder
Words of Wonder – Day 8 – Falling Through the Crack
Falling Through the Crack
Our lives are full of cracks. Some larger than others. Most cracks we just step on, Step over or give them no thought. But every so often a larger crack appears. One large enough to swallow us whole. I remember this one crack very clearly, Large and somewhat scary. You managed to jump over Just before it expanded before our eyes. Uneven, deep, and wide. You stood on the safe side While I struggled to traverse The expanse of the crack, Your impatience showing By the tap, tap, tapping of your foot. Unable to make my way to your side You studied the void Then looked me in the eye, Waved goodbye and Let me fall through the crack. Roy W. Backes © 2022
Words of Wonder – Day 7 – Looking for God
Looking For God
I’ve been looking for God For most of my life. Raised Catholic in the fifties I watched the priest Turn his back on us every Sunday. I left the church in search Of something better. At minimum, a face-to-face meeting. As I was looking for God My search area narrowed each and every day. As Willie Porter sings, “I know where He’s not.” As war, famine, terror and Racism continues to expand, My search area for God shrinks. I know that God cannot be found Among the pain and suffering And the millions of unanswered prayers. I will continue my search for God Knowing that I know where He is not. Roy W. Backes © 2022
Words of Wonder – Day 6 – Not a Kid Anymore
Not a Kid Anymore
I remember the moment I realized that I was Not a kid anymore. It happened at the playground In my old neighborhood. I climbed the ladder for the slide And as I slid down, I realized That the eight feet of slide Was way too short. Or, when I swung on the swing And my feet kept hitting the ground On my way up and on my way down. I moved to the jungle gym And when I hung from the monkey bars My knees touched the ground. At that moment I realized I was not a kid anymore And that it was time to Leave the playground in the past And take a big step into adulthood. Roy W. Backes © 2022
Words of Wonder – Day 5 – Watching Life Leave
Watching Life Leave
I know it is not the same As being with someone as They take their last breath. But I watched a beautiful Gray feathered bird Take its last breath today. It hit the window in full flight, Bounced and landed on its back. Stunned, it lay there for a minute or so, Probably unconscious. Then it opened its eyes Lifted its head, looked around one last time Then gently lowered its head back onto the stones, Took one last breath And left this world. I buried this beautiful creature Under a young pine tree With hopes that it would add Strength and beauty to the tree In death as it did in life. Roy W. Backes © 2022
Words of Wonder – Day 4 – So Low I Got to Get High
So Low I Got to Get High
As one does when one Is feeling blue, At least as this one does When feeling blue, I often reach for the bottle, Or I raid the fridge, Or I put on the blues And wallow in the deep. Today I am so low I pass up the bottle, I ignore the ice cream, I, however, do put on the blues. As I wallow in the deep I roll a joint. I light a match. I inhale deep ‘Cause today I am So low I got to get high. Roy W. Backes © 2022
Words of Wonder - Day 3 - Kyiv and Philly Kyiv and Philly I look at images of Kyiv On the news and it strikes me That Kyiv looks very much like my neighborhood Here in Philly. The people drive the same cars, Live in the same style of apartments and houses, Go to the movies in multiplexes, Walk in city parks, Dance, drink and dine. When I see Putin’s missiles striking Homes, apartments, and monuments I think that it looks very much Like Philly. Only in Kyiv, now Apartment buildings are on fire, Cars are burned and buried in debris, The dead lay in the street. The fight I see in the eyes of The Ukrainian people I know is the same As I have seen here in Philly. That look says, You come after us, You will pay the price. You will end up bloodied And in tatters, not unlike Apollo Creed. Kyiv and Philly, Not so different after all. Roy W. Backes © 2022 Words of Wonder - Day 2 - The Blues Club The Blues Club He’s never been much of a joiner. He never joined a country club. He never joined the Elks club. He never joined a book club. When he met her, he was all in. He joined her in cooking class. He joined her in watching The Bachelor. He joined her in marriage. He never thought he could be so happy. He never thought it would end. He never thought she would pack her bags and leave. He never thought he could hurt this bad. He never thought he could be this lonely. He never thought he could be this blue. He has never been much of a joiner. Now, he finds himself a card carrying, Heartbroken, full-fledged member of the Blues club. Roy W. Backes © 2022 Words of Wonder - Day 1 - In Mother's Arms In Mother’s Arms Sitting in the cool of the forest My back against the mighty maple I feel safe. The canopy of leaves keeps me dry. The canopy of leaves keeps me cool. The thickness of the woodland Keeps me safe. I sit here, my back against A mighty maple and Feel one with the Mother of Nature. She will nurture me. She will protect me. She will hold me in her arms While I relax and begin to heal. In peace. In quiet. In Mother’s arms. Roy W. Backes © 2022
WORDS OF ART
Words of Art - Day 140 - When Forever is Over When Forever is Over All things must come to an end. A cliché, I know. But a fact none the less. They thought it would be forever. Their passion strong. Their love deep. Their respect for one another Abundant. Then time got its wrinkly hands On their passion. On their love. On their respect for each other. It wrung the passion out of them. It squeezed their love too tight. It twisted their respect for one another Until, finally, Forever faded into the past. Until, finally, Forever was over. Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 139 - Don't Wait Too Long Don’t Wait Too Long You said you needed time. He gave you time. Then more time. Then more. Don’t wait too long. As time ticks on by He learns with every tick How to get on without you. As day turns to night And night turns to day, As sunlight fills the Ever shrinking space In his heart that misses you He is slowly moving on. You said you needed time. He gave you time. He used that time as well. Don’t wait too long ‘Cause when night turn to day He will be on his way. Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 138 - Haunted Haunted He thinks of Houses as being haunted; Graveyards as being haunted; Abandoned asylums as being haunted; Ghost towns as being haunted. All haunted by the dead. But him? He’s haunted by the living. Since she left him All those many years ago It is as though she passed Over to the other side Just to come back, To haunt him, All ghost white and shimmering. She is there glowing in the dark. She is there shimmering in the night. She is hidden around every corner. She is laying wait around every bend. Most people are haunted By the dead. But him? He’s haunted by the living. He’s haunted by her. Roy W. Backes © 2020
Words of Art - Day 137 - Darker Shade of the Blues Darker Shade of the Blues I’ve had women leave me before. They’ve left me for another guy. They’ve left me because the Grass looked greener. After they left, they all Left me deep in the blues. But you. You left me After years together. You left me….who cares why…. Covered in shadows. You left me alone and Livin’ a darker shade of the blues. Roy W. Backes © 2010
Words of Art - Day 136 - I Write to Remember I Write to Remember I write to remember. I write to rehash. I write to rethink. I write to redo. I write to remember. To rehash a moment. To rethink a moment. To even redo a moment, At least on paper. To make it better, To make it right. I write to remember. I write to right the wrong. I write to redo the past. I write to remember the present. Roy W. Backes © 2020
Words of Art - Day 135 - Greener Grass Greener Grass They say that the grass is greener On the other side. From where I stand With my gaze focused over there I see no difference. The green looks the same, Maybe even a little hint Of yellow in their grass. They say that the grass is greener On the other side. But, I’m happy on my side. I’m happy with my small Patch of green. That deep vibrant color that Almost looks black at times. Even though it is said that The grass is greener On the other side, I’ll stick with my little, Loving, happy and always Well-watered Green patch of this world. Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 134 - Searching Searching He joined book clubs and health clubs, He volunteered his time To help those in need. He hung out at bars till 2:00am Too many times to mention. He walked the streets Both day and night, Mile after mile All the while searching. Searching for her. Searching for someone. No matter where he looked. No matter where he went, No matter how many clubs he joined He always ended up Back where he began. Alone. And searching. Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 133 - Into My Past Into My Past I head west into the setting sun. One hand shading my eyes from the glare, The other hand planted firmly on the wheel Keeping me on the straight and narrow. I glance at my rear-view mirror and See my past following closely behind. I mentally edit the bucket list Of things I have yet to complete. The list is longer than I had hoped. Not quite ready to face the darkness of night I begin searching for an exit. One not listed on the map, One that will turn me around And put the setting sun at my back. One that will put me on the straight and narrow Heading directly into my past. Roy W. Backes © 2014
Words of Art - Day 132 - The Train West The Train West I’m standing on the East Coast Waiting to board a West Coast train. Who knows how long the trip will be. No matter. I look forward to the long luxurious ride. I look forward to the clack, clack of the wheels On the track, Hypnotic music to my ears. I look forward to the periodic Blow of the horn as we pass Through town after town. Each whistle a tonic for my soul. I look forward to the colors of The passing landscapes, A feast for my eyes. Who knows how long this trip will be. No matter. I’ll just sit back and enjoy The ride toward the setting sun And it’s golden reflection On the bright blue sea. Roy W. Backes © 2020
Words of Art - Day 131 - A Random Act of Kindness A Random Act of Kindness There is a reason they call it random. These acts come from the Most unexpected places. Mine came the day the Corporation left me high and dry. Left my 45 minutes from a Replacement rental with No hint of help. They left me on the side of the road, Trucks roaring by Dust flying in my face. Then he arrived With his tow truck, His grandson and his dog. He was towing the car to a garage. With the car on the hook, He looked at me with kindness And asked, “How you gonna’ get To Green Bay?” I looked him in the eye and said, “To be honest, I have no idea.” He wiped his hands on his Filthy jeans, smiled at his grandson And said, “Ah, shoot. Hop in. I’ll drive you down to Green Bay. Can’t leave you standing here.” So, I squeezed into his wrecker. We dropped the car at a local garage and Then stopped at his junkyard So we could swap the wrecker For a sedan. “Better mileage.” 50 minutes later This kind hearted tow truck driver, Along with his grandson and his dog Dropped me at the rental location. With deep thanks I shook his hand, Said goodbye to his grandson, Gave a pat to the dog And dropped some cash onto his Shotgun seat. Random acts of kindness. They come from the most Unexpected places. With deep thanks to Tom Soukup Sturgeon Bay, Wisconsin Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 130 - I Never Get Tired of That Sound I Never Get Tired of That Sound I can sit on the deck for hours on end, Or work in the yard all day long, As long as I have the sound of the surf Playing behind me like a natural symphony. No matter how long I sit. No matter how long I work, I never get tired of that sound. The sound of the surf Breaking on the beach That constantly plays music for my ears While I work and While I play. I never get tired of that sound. Roy W Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 129 - Not Tonight Not Tonight Deep in the middle of the night The phone rings. She answers, Knowing that it could only be bad news. She sits in the bright light of her bedroom, In tears, in pain, In need of her lover. She calls his number Needing to hear his voice….. Instead, she hears his wife’s. Not tonight. She can’t share him tonight. She’s been his lover for years, Spent years alone, waiting for his call. Every morning she wakes up alone. She can’t be alone tonight. She needs him to help her fight. She sits in her car under the streetlight Staring at his home, with the wraparound porch, And him, asleep with his wife. No. Not tonight. She stands on his porch, Bangs on his door and cries out his name. No. Not tonight. She can’t share him tonight. She won’t share him tonight. Roy W. Backes © 1999
Words of Art - Day 128 - Peace and Quiet Peace and Quiet I walk this path In search of some peace and quiet. I’ve managed to find the quiet. Nature’s quiet. The gentle breeze blowing through the trees. The distant sound of a stream. The chatter and movement of small creatures. No sounds of man To be heard anywhere. I continue my walk deeper into the forest Surrounded by nature’s quiet But still in search Of some peace. Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 127 - Reflection Reflection The morning sun reflects Off of the gray-blue lake Like an emptied bag of diamonds On black velvet. It calms my mind and Allows me to reflect. Staring at the sparkling light Is a form of meditation Taking me deeper and deeper Into the present, Allowing me to access the past. A past with few regrets And many, many bright lights, Like the morning sun Reflecting off of a gray-blue lake. Roy W. Backes © 2016
Words of Art - Day 126 - When Panic Attacks When Panic Attacks When panic attacks It attacks with a vengeance. Like a Medieval army it comes in waves. It will take your breath away Forcing you to gulp for air. It will pump your heart Like a triple shot of espresso. It will blind your eyes So you can’t see. It will blur your mind So you can’t think. It will shake your hands Like someone handed you a vibrator. When panic attacks It attacks with a vengeance. It attacks quick. It attacks with strength. It leaves you shaken, breathless, Blind and helpless. So, keep your ears primed For the sound of its approach And don’t forget to breathe. Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 125 - Alibis and Lies Alibis and Lies Her deceit came ever so Slowly into focus. Her touch came less often, And when it did it felt Like a lie. More nights away at ‘work’. The faint aroma of Soap and cologne when she Walked through the door. Slowly he collected The alibis and lies. He catalogued them. He filed them. He wept over them. The alibis and lies Came slowly into focus Till he finally Said goodbye. Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 124 - Nature is Noisy Nature is Noisy I’ve spent my life Living in the city Among the hustle and bustle, Surrounded by my fellow humans And all the noise we generate. Just stand on any street corner And open your ears to the Cacophony of life around you. I finally retired And decided to make the move To the country. A small house surrounded by Trees and fields and a babbling brook. I looked forward to retiring In the quiet. What I found was a very noisy, Calming kind of quiet. Sitting on my porch I listened to Birds chirping, frogs croaking, The wind blowing through the trees, Brooks babbling, cicadas screaming, Crows cawing, owls hooting And all manner of creatures I couldn’t identify All speaking their own language Loudly and clearly. I stepped away from the hustle and bustle Of the city and stepped right Into the hustle and bustle of nature. Let me tell you something, Nature is noisy. Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 123 - That Smile That Smile He fell in love with that smile. That smile that showed Perfect white teeth. That smile, when smiled, revealed A single dimple on her left cheek. Over time That smile remained. The white teeth still glowed. The dimple still appeared. But the light behind The smile grew dim. Over time That smile he fell in love with, That dimple that he adored remained, But now, The light behind that smile Has gone dark. The teeth still glowed white. The dimple still sat on her left cheek. But over time That smile he fell in love with Has turned into A deep, dark, empty grin. Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 122 - Unforgettable Unforgettable There are many people in my life Who are unforgettable. People I have loved. People I have hated. People I respect. People I have no respect for. People I have worked with. People I have hired and fired. There are so many of you That are unforgettable. I think about you More than you will ever know. At least you are not among The legions of people I have forgotten. The legions of people I didn’t care Enough about to even remember, The legions of people who Never made a lasting impression. There are many people in my life Who are unforgettable. Are you one of them? Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 121 - There is Something About Thunder There is Something About Thunder There is something about thunder That I like. The low sustained bass beat rumble That follow the lightning pulses Inside dark, ominous cloud banks. Or the loud frightening crack That immediately follows the electric zig-zag That lights up the dark sky. I like the way thunder works In tandem with lightning. The call and response. I like how thunder often announces The imminent arrival of a storm As a warning to one and all. I also like how thunder says goodbye While pulling the clouds along Revealing the sun and Possibly a rainbow or two. There is something about The bass beat rumble or the crack of Thunder that I really like. Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 120 - My Come To Jesus, With Jesus My Come to Jesus, With Jesus I sat in the pristine Catholic church Surrounded by images of Jesus: Hanging on the cross, Hands, feet, and chest bloody. Blessing the crowd gathered around Him like a rock star. Standing at the table with His twelve closest friends. He was everywhere. It had been many years Since I sat in his presence. My faith left behind decades ago. So, I stared at the gigantic stone Image of Jesus on the cross, Hanging high over the altar. I placed my knees on the padded kneeler, Put my hands together in the namaste Pose, looked up at Jesus and Gave him a piece of my mind. I wouldn’t call it prayer, More like vented disillusionment. I knelt there with the sweet smell Of incense lingering in the air As I watched my concerns and disappointment Bounce off his stone-cold heart Without even chipping the paint. I had my come to Jesus with Jesus In a pristine Catholic church Surrounded by his image. I walked away supremely disappointed, Because, before I turned to walk Up the aisle, I saw that all of My concerns were laying In a pile on the carpet below his feet Just waiting to be vacuumed up As soon as the crowd cleared. Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 119 - Touching the Dead Touching the Dead At the viewing I found myself Standing next to the casket, With the dead body lying there, Still and cold. People approached and proclaimed, “He looks just wonderful.” “Doesn’t he look great?” As friends, family, and coworkers Knelt on the kneeler next to the casket I was stunned by the number Of people who reached out to touch The folded hands of the dead. To touch the stone cold, lifeless hands Full of the fluid of death. Why anyone would want the last touch Of a loved one or a friend To be cold and lifeless, With no chance of a response Is beyond my comprehension. I mean, touching the dead Is like……………… Touching the dead. Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 118 - A Decision to Make A Decision to Make Carrying a mighty thirst On my way through this Strange new town I looked up the drinking establishments Close to me. However, I found myself in somewhat of a dilemma. Did I want to go to a bar, a saloon, A tavern, a pub, a lounge or a joint? A bar could be anything from A dive to an upscale place. A saloon screams of chaps and cowboy boots. A pub sounds like a place that Would rather be located Far across the pond. A lounge smells of too much cologne And perfume, featuring a fading singer Crooning old standards. A joint says it doesn’t Respect itself enough to even Call itself a bar. So, I settled on a tavern. A place that says cool local vibe, With a good selection Of spirits and beer. A tavern, where the bar keep Knows everyone’s name. A tavern, where your thirst Is quenched and the tension of the day Falls off your shoulders. A tavern. My kind of place. Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 117 - We Are All Designers We Are All Designers We are all designers in our own right: Interior designers, Set designers, Costume designers, Lighting designers. Every time we pick up a book And begin the epic journey of the read We are constantly in design mode. We design the set, the interior/exterior, The lighting and the costumes In which the story takes place. Each design is unique. My forest is different than your forest. My bedroom or city street Is mine alone. As you read the same passage as I We will land in the same location But with a different design. We are all designers. Every time we pick up a book Our mind begins the design process. Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 116 - The Storm The Storm (Meant to follow “The Quiet Before) As the storm approached The temperature dropped, cooling the air, Raising goosebumps on the skin. Off in the distance You could see the roiling, Dark gray clouds as they blow our way. You could hear the rumble Of the thunder announcing The storm’s imminent arrival. Then the wind kicked up Lifting the quiet water Into white capped waves. Lifting skirts and blowing off hats. As the black clouds arrive At a surprising speed, The thunder’s rumble grows louder. The wall of rain begins Pounding hard. No preamble drizzle, Just pounding rain and A fierce wind that Bends trees to their breaking point, Stripping branches at will. The storm pounds the earth and As quickly as it arrived, The clouds pass by, pulled by the wind. Sunlight returns magically, The thunder slowly fades in the distance Leaving the earth drenched In its water, The air cooled And goosebumps still Sitting high on our flesh. Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 115 - The Quiet Before The Quiet Before (Meant to precede “The Storm”) Normally this lake is All about movement. Waves crashing on the shore Or, at the very least, Gently caressing the sand. Today the lake is quiet. Ghostly quiet. Still. When they speak of The quiet before the storm This is what they are talking about. There is no movement, None. The sun barely shimmers off the water, The light sucked into the stillness. The lake is patient. It waits. It knows the wind will return. But, for now, It is quiet. At rest. No wind. No movement. Patient. Just quietly waiting for the storm. Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 114 - Looking for Harmony Looking for Harmony It’s a chaotic world, this is. It is hard to find peace and harmony In the cacophony of this life. I’ve spent years looking For some harmony. Like the voices of Simon and Garfunkel Or Crosby, Stills and Nash, or Even the complicated harmonies Of Manhattan Transfer. Two, three, four voices all in sync, All in tune. I found this harmony with my wife. Then added the voice of my child. The fourth voice is added by My friends. When we gather, it is my friends Who make the sound complete. All of us, Whether two, three, four or more All in perfect harmony. Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 113 - Noah Noah Noah began to build his ark The day he saw the sun flare. The day the light pulsed in the sky. It took years for the heat From that flare to reach Noah And his fellow man. The men and women who laughed At him for building a boat This far from the sea. When the heat came The heat dried their crops And scorched their skin. The heat warmed the sea For months on end. Then one day the clouds arrived From the sea. The sun disappeared. The wind blew. The lightning flashed The thunder roared. The rains came. Hard. Relentless. The rains lasted for Forty days and forty nights. The sea continued to rise Till the sea arrived at Noah’s ark Which was gently lifted By the waves. Noah and his family, safe on his ark, Survived the flood, While the men and women That laughed at him Clung to the remnants of their homes Floating in the sea And begged his forgiveness. Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 112 - Dropping Dead in the Cereal Aisle Dropping Dead in the Cereal Aisle My friend walked into the grocery store Excited about the meal She planned for dinner. She loaded her cart With all the ingredients needed. As she meandered down the Cereal aisle searching for Some Great Grains, The clot broke away And hit her hard. With a quiet yelp And a whispered, “Oh my God” She fell to the well-polished Linoleum floor taking her Well stocked cart with her. Surrounded by her dinner plans My friend dropped dead In the cereal aisle of Her local grocery store. No matter how hard I try I can’t let go of the thought That the last thing she may Have seen on this earth Was a box of Cheerios. Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 111 - The Peace of This Piece The Peace of This Piece The peace of this piece Of land is what I hope for On this earth. If every plot of land If every acre of grass If every forest of trees It every block of a city Had the peace of this piece Of land Our world would be a Much more peaceful place. The Clearing 7-10-21 Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 110 - The Cedar The Cedar Sitting on the deck Looking out at the lake With the sun shimmering And the waves gently beating the shore, I sit with a heavy heart. I am watching and listening To the giant cedar tree That predates me by I Don’t know how many years. I am listening to it dying. When the wind blows I hear it groan, I hear it moan In pain as the two halves Of the split, running down The middle of its body, Rub together Causing it pain. Causing its death. This giant cedar is not long For this world I am afraid. Either the wind will take it Or man’s chainsaw will take it. Either way, The thought fills me with sadness As I watch and listen to the Death throes of this Magnificent creature. Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 109 - You Got the Best Part of Me You Got the Best Part of Me Loving someone is about Giving the best part of yourself To another. That quiet, vulnerable, deep Place that we all keep hidden And under guard until someone Shows up who has the key. Once open, there is no turning back. There is no test run. You unlocked that special part of me. I gave it to you freely. I gave it to you knowing the cost. I am thankful that you have Taken good care of it, Appreciated it, understood it. You got the best part of me. You got the real me. For ML Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 108 - Movement and Music Movement and Music My God, did he like to dance. Back in the day he could really ‘Cut the rug’. Today, sitting outside at the concert In his black chrome wheelchair Listening to the live music He is too infirm, both physically And mentally to do any ‘cutting’. His wife of over half a century Gently lifted him out of his wheelchair To his feet. His balance was shaky. She held his hands tight and danced with him. He could barely move his body, But, every once in a while, you Could see him bounce his knees To the beat, reliving the days When he and his lovely wife Would dance the night away. The music over, she Ever so gently, lowered him Back into his wheelchair. Back into his memories of Movement and music. Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 107 - Let Me Be Your Memory Let Me Be Your Memory We all need memories. Memories of the good times. Memories of the bad times. Memories of friends. Memories of lovers. I cherish those memories. Both good and bad. We all need memories. At the end of the day When our ‘Life passes before our eyes’ Those are memories passing by. I hope you feel the same Way as I When I ask, Will you let me be Your memory? Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 106 - From Out of the Sky From Out of the Sky From out of the sky, it came. Silent, like a UFO in flight. It swept down, Wings wide, Gaining speed by the second. From out of the sky it came, Talons open and sharpened Like razor blade steel. It glided down And scooped up the Little tan chipmunk With such speed and precision The chipmunk didn’t even Make a sound. Off into the wind it flew. The magnificent bald eagle Pumped its wings, tightened its grip And headed home, It’s dinner well in hand. Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 105 - Fall With Me Fall With Me Come, take my hand. Hold on tight. How does that feel? Safe? Secure? I need you to trust me, now. As we look over the abyss Of our future. Come, take my hand. Hold on tight. Look me in the eye. See my smile? Come, fall with me. Fall with me into our future. Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 104 - Empty Bed Blues Empty Bed Blues I woke up this morning with the blues. I woke up with the; ‘Too much room in this King-sized bed’ blues. The sheets all bunched in a ball, My snores still reverberating in the air, The kink in my neck, still there. I woke up this morning with the blues. I woke up with the; ‘It’s way too quiet In our house’ blues. I walked out of our bedroom this morning Into a big empty house, Where it is way too quiet. No noise not inflicted by me. I woke up this morning with the blues. I woke up with the; ‘I’m still sorry’ blues. It’s been months now since you walked away I tried to say I’m sorry But my words landed on an angry, empty heart. I woke up this morning with the blues. I woke up with the; ‘Oh my God There is nothing left’ blues. I still miss you Each and every day But there is very little Of you left here. No clothes. No perfume. Just an empty king-sized bed. I woke up this morning with the blues. I woke up with the; ‘Afraid of the quiet’ blues. Night time is the worst time. The quiet, once the tv goes off, is deafening. The sound of the toothbrush on my teeth Bounces around the bathroom walls. I woke up this morning with the blues. I woke up with the; ‘I carry it around With me all day’ blues. Each and every night When I walk into our bedroom I walk in carrying the Empty bed blues. Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 103 - The Forgotten Path The Forgotten Path I’ve been walking this trail For as long as I can remember. Crawling over trees, Constantly watching my step as roots Cross the trail with the intent Of tripping me up. Today, as I walked this trail. Traversing my way around, Yet another fallen tree I discovered a path Hidden by the brush and Overgrown with forest flowers. I had forgotten about this path. This path I explored as a young man. This path full of memories. This path full of forgotten experiences. The further along I walked upon This forgotten path The further I walked into my past, And, who knows, Maybe into my future. Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 102 - Home Again. Home Again. Home Again. Home Again. Home again, home again, Jiggety Jig. For five weeks I sat on the Edge of the lake Listening to The wind The waves The chirp of birds And the constant squawk of seagulls. Now I’m back home. Back in the city, Sitting on my deck Listening to The sirens The distant sound of the train The random chirps of cars Being locked or unlocked. The sound of construction everywhere. Home again, home again, Back in the city. Sitting on my deck Surrounded by the sounds of man. I miss sitting on the edge of the lake Listening to the sounds of nature Whose music is so much more Soothing to the soul. Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 101 - Lake of Diamonds Lake of Diamonds With the morning sun at a certain angle And the water gently waving, The reflection on the lake Is like looking at a Lake of diamonds. They sparkle. They shine Like the diamonds on my wife’s hand. These diamonds of the lake Work day in and day out To cut, to grind, to churn the stones Into a fine sand. I know that the reflections I see are diamonds Because I can gather them up And put them into the fine velvet bag Of my mind. Their weight as heavy as stone. I can then pour them out Onto my velvet table whenever The sun shines Bringing me back to The Lake of Diamonds. Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 100 - Coasting to a Stop Coasting to a Stop After finally cresting the hilltop I pause briefly To enjoy the beautiful view. As I begin my descent Into the deep green forested valley My brakes go soft. I pump. I pump. Nothing. Nothing to slow me down. I take a deep breath to focus, Grab the wheel at ten and two And do my best to keep The wheels on the road. Trees begin to whip by my vision Right and left, blurred by my speed. The tires squeal, The wheel shakes. It seems forever before I hit the lower flat And begin to lose speed. I slowly slow down, The trees, coming back into focus. I relax my grip on the wheel, My knuckles aching from the effort. Finally, I coast to a stop. I open the door and am greeted by the Blue strip of sky above my head. I thank the cosmos For allowing me to survive My speeding descent Into this deep green forested valley. Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 99 - In Need of a Guitar In Need of a Guitar Somebody get me a guitar. I’ve got the blues And need to play. Roy W. Backes © 2014
Words of Art - Day 98 - Deaf Ears (Guardian Angel Series) Deaf Ears Once again, the guardian angel Kneels next to the bed of her charge, Praying to her deaf God While the girl’s father rapes his child. The child’s whimpering and pleading Mixes with the grunts and groans Of the adult. The guardian angel holds the child’s hand And wonders why she was sent To protect and care for this innocent Being when she has no control Over the father’s actions. She prays to release the rage In her heart and for the strength To give some little comfort to the child. Knowing that her prayers are Landing on deaf ears the angel Decides that she has to move Into the human world and Commit an act that will Forever damn her holy soul. Roy W. Backes © 2007
Words of Art - Day 97 - On the Straight and Narrow On the Straight and Narrow Heading down the highway On the straight and narrow, My eyes glued to the road, My hands at ten and two On the wheel, My foot pressed hard to the floor. The engine whines as I Push it just a little bit harder. The wind whips by the windows Making music in my ears. The sky above, a golden red Around a white-hot globe Slowly falling to the horizon line. I sneak a peek at the rear view Reflecting my life like a funhouse mirror. My past is holding onto The speeding bumper, While the tale of my past Whips in the wind Like a kite in a hurricane. I shift my eyes back to the road Fighting the urge, once again, To observe my past. I tighten the grip on the wheel And do my best to keep me Heading down the highway On the straight and narrow. Roy W. Backes © 2020
Words of Art - Day 96 - His Shadow His Shadow A bright cloudless day, Perspiration shimmering on his face, A fat man Grudgingly drags his overweight shadow Through the sun, In search of some shade To reduce his heavy burden. Roy W. Backes © 1984
Words of Art - Day 95 - Sixty Plus Sixty Plus At sixty plus Friends are not easy to come by. In recent times Many I considered friends Have fallen from grace. At sixty plus A few friends are all I can expect. And you know what? That is alright with me. Roy W. Backes © 2011
Words of Art - Day 94 - Floating Dreams Floating Dreams The next time you are Sitting in a theater And the house goes to half, Just before the lights Fade to black, Please soften your gaze, Maybe even squint a little So you can see all of the dreams Of all of the hopefuls Floating in the air. Sometimes they are thick as fog Other times just a few tiny Dust mites in the air. These floating dreams Fill every theater every night. The next time you are in a theater Please soften your gaze When the house goes to half Just before the lights Fade to black And take a look at All of our floating dreams. Roy W. Backes © 2018
Words of Art - Day 93 - Conversations on the Floor Conversations on the Floor Now that she is gone He finds himself surrounded by Empty conversations left laying Scattered on the floor. Conversations he could have had Conversations he should have had …. with her. Instead, He just knocked them off the table And kicked them under his feet. He tried to hide them, But no matter how hard he tried He could not stop her From tripping over the copious conversations Left lying on the floor. Conversations she could not live without Conversations that he Could not/would not have …. with her. Now that she is gone He finds himself surrounded by Empty conversations left laying Scattered on the floor. Roy W. Backes © 2019
Words of Art - Day 92 - Don't You See? Don’t You See? They love, they laugh, They cry, they lie. Just like you and me. Don’t you see? Why, in your eye Must they die? Is it their hair? Their skin? The shape of their chin? You love, you laugh, You cry, you lie. Just like me. Don’t you see? Why, in your eye Must I die? Roy W. Backes © 2009
Words of Art - Day 91 - Prayer Prayer Do prayers work? If so, how often? What is the average? If one hundred prayers get prayed, How many get answered? One out of a hundred? Ten? I think of all the prayers being prayed In Darfur or Iraq. How often do they stop the death squads? How often do they stop the bullet? How often do they stop the rape? I pray tonight that prayer Works more often than not. But if it doesn’t work More often than not, Then my prayer of prayer Just landed in a land called Limbo. Roy W. Backes © 2007
Words of Art - Day 90 - Shotgun Shotgun We Are heading west. The sun, glaring in our eyes, Is slowly beating us to the horizon. You Riding shotgun, Paper map in your lap, Wind blowing in your hair, Bowie playing on the radio. You smile, look over at me I smile back. I Am thrilled to have you On this journey Riding shotgun And guiding me on my way. Roy W. Backes © 2018
Words of Art - Day 89 - Ball and Chain Ball and Chain The choker is fastened tightly Around his neck. The chain, hanging down his back, Is constantly jingling and jangling As he drags the chipped and discolored Ball through the dirt. He leans into the wind of life His legs pumping, driving. The muscles in his neck Strain against the weight, As the ball grabs at every root and weed. He keeps focused on the earth ahead Seldom lifting his eyes. He drags this discolored metal ball Everywhere he goes Wondering how empty pockets Can weigh so much And keep him down so long. Roy W. Backes © 2005
Words of Art - Day 88 - Hit the Road Jane Hit the Road Jane Hit the road, Jane. That’s right, You heard me. That is what I said. Not what I suggested, Not what I hinted at, But what I said, What I want. I want you, Jane To hit the road. You really didn’t expect Me to forgive you For treating me so mean, Did you? That’s not going to happen. So, pack up your things and go. Don’t forget your toothbrush In the glass. So, climb into your powder-blue pickup And Hit the road, Jane And Don’t you come back no more. Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 87 - The Hunting Cabin The Hunting Cabin We called it “The Hunting Cabin”. We’d go there once a year, In late autumn. Hunting season. Aunts, Uncles, Cousins, Grandparents, The whole nine yards. At sunrise my four uncles, my dad And my grandpap would all march Off into the woods carrying rifles and Shotguns and wearing camouflage coats And bright orange vests. My mom and aunts forbade us To wander off of the property For fear of being mistaken for a deer. We’d play ball and badminton in The field next to the cabin. The wiffle ball and birdie Never travelling very far. We’d run the bases and whack The birdie and listen for the crack Of rifle fire and wait for our Fathers to march out of the woods With dead animals slung over Their shoulders and Big smiles on their faces. Dedicated to my Uncle “Shock”, Uncle Matt, “Smokey” (my dad), Uncle Al, Uncle Fran and Grandpap Roy W. Backes © 2013
Words of Art - Day 86 - My Voice My Voice I joined the protest on a whim. Unplanned, I just left work, Walked down and joined the crowd. I joined many thousands Exercising our right to raise our voices Against what we felt was wrong. As I entered the crowd I became surrounded by signs and slogans, Some handwritten, some professionally printed. I found myself wishing that I had taken the time to write a sign, Even on a scrap of cardboard. Then it came to me. I had my sign. I held up my two fingers In the sign of peace. My personal peace sign. My handwritten sign. My voice. Roy W. Backes © 2017
Words of Art - Day 85 - Last Visit Last Visit Lying on a bed With a sheet over its face The body of someone I knew Lays lifeless. I pull down the sheet, Uncover the face And look at how death Leaves us all. Still. Cold. Eyes, open, still blue and beautiful, Staring but not seeing. Mouth, open, frozen in a perfect zero, With only darkness inside. The soul, gone. The spirit, gone. The light of life, gone. I pull up the sheet and cover the face Of the person I once knew That is now Just a body on a bed. Still. Cold. Roy W. Backes © 2018
Words of Art - Day 84 - Keeping the Dreams Alive Keeping the Dreams Alive (Guardian Angel series) In the dark of a filthy basement Surrounded by the odor of waste and ruin Sits an angel. Its wing placed under the body Of a sleeping child, Protecting it from the cold of the concrete floor. The angel softly strokes the back Of the starving, abused child And quietly hums a simple tune Trying to keep the child safe In the peaceful world of dreams And away from the pain Inflicted by the waking world. Roy W. Backes © 2000
Words of Art - Day 83 - Secrets Secrets We all love a secret. We love to tell secrets. We love to hear secrets. We all want to know secrets. However, We all spend our lives avoiding the big secret. We don’t want to know that secret. We don’t want to hear that secret. We don’t want to learn that secret. Because we all know Once you learn that secret There is no turning back. There is no way to share that secret. There is no one to tell that secret to. There is no one to hear that secret. There is no way to unknow That secret. We all love a secret. All but one. Roy W. Backes © 2015
Words of Art - Day 82 - 8.5" x 11" 8.5” x 11” In the grand scheme of things 8.5 inches by 11 inches Isn’t a very large area. But oh, how large it looms When it is just sitting there, All blank All white Just waiting to be filled. Roy W. Backes © 2016
Words of Art - Day 81 - The Saddest Thing The Saddest Thing We had a good time together, You and I, While it lasted. But it ended many years ago When you packed up and Left me behind. It’s been years now Since we’ve seen each other. Until today. Today I saw you on the beach, Looking trim and tanned. I was happy to see you, The pain of your leaving Slowly fading from my memory. I almost walked up and said hello Till I saw that smile cover your face And your eyes light up Like they used to when you saw me. I sat there and watched you. Settled, happy, with someone you love, Till I could take no more. Looking back on today I had to admit to myself That the saddest thing About seeing you, Was seeing you so happy. Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 80 - Black Tears Black Tears I’m not sure if I even have The right to comment on this. But, my heart breaks each And every time another black Person is killed by violence. My heart breaks when I watch Yet another black family shed Black tears at another needless funeral. After the last killing I found myself in tears. Tears that rolled down my cheeks, That dropped onto my white shirt Leaving black stains That no bleach can remove. I found myself crying Black tears. Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 79 - Serenading the Setting Sun Serenading the Setting Sun Gray sky. It’s been a dreary day Here by the sea. As I walk along the marina, From out over the water I hear the sound of a violin. I look out over the water And see a man, of average build and girth, Standing on the roof of his boat As it gently rocks in the water. He faces the setting sun, A hazy orange circle in the gray sky. The violin tucked tightly under his chin His head bent to the left He plays beautiful music, Content, As he serenades the setting sun. Roy W. Backes © 1996
Words of Art - Day 78 - One Love One Love She had plenty of lovers But only a few true loves. Some loves she walked away from, Other loves walked away from her. She had plenty of lovers But only a few true loves. Some of these loves she now wishes She had back. Some of these loves she now wishes She had worked harder at. She had plenty of lovers But only a few true loves. None of them lasted. Her choice mostly. She now wishes she had one back. One love to sit with her. One love to hold her hand. One love to say goodbye to. One love To be by her side, On this, Her final journey. Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 77 - The Confessional The Confessional Stood in a church today And stared at the confessional. That small booth for Catholic sinners. That small booth where you kneel And wait for the small door to slide open So you can say, “Forgive me Father, For I have sinned”’ That small booth where you Can tell all or tell a lie. That small booth where Your sins are forgiven, Only if you are really, truly sorry. That small booth where Every time I entered I felt that my sins Were not worth the time of absolution. Roy W. Backes © 2011
Words of Art - Day 76 - My Night Light Glows My Night Light Glows My night light glows Holding the darkness at bay, While I lay warm and comfy Under my quilt (That grandma made). I wait for my dreams to come And take me off To worlds far and wide. Worlds known only to me And the inside of my eyes. Roy W. Backes © 1992
Words of Art - Day 75 - Banging on My Door Banging on My Door Bang. Bang. Bang. I hear you banging on my door. My door that is strong and solid. My door that is closed to your beat. Bang. Bang. Bang. I feel you banging on my door. My door that will never open To your heart ever again. Bang. Bang. Bang. I see you banging on my door. My door that hides my tears. My door that protects my heart. Bang. Bang. Bang. I feel the pounding of my heart. My heart that once loved you. My heart, now cold and silent. Bang. Bang. Bang. I hear you banging on my door. My door that is locked tight My door that has no key. Bang. Bang. Bang. I see you banging on my door. I feel my heart banging in my chest. I hear your screams for mercy, While I sit here safe and sound Behind my door. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 74 - Chipper Chipper We had a dog growing up His name was ‘Chipper’. I think he was actually My dad’s dog Or Maybe my brother’s dog. Not sure which. I never thought of him as ‘my dog’. Truth be told, I don’t think I was ever Much of a ‘dog person’. I’ll tell you why. I had a dog growing up, His name was ‘Chipper’, But, For the life of me I couldn’t tell you what happened to him. Did he run off? Did he die? How did he die? When did he die? I have no idea. With that being said, I think it is safe to say That I am not, Nor have I ever been A ‘dog person’. Sorry Chipper. Roy W. Backes © 2018
Words of Art - Day 73 - Stopping Time Stopping Time Morning, noon and night, It just keeps coming And passing me by, No matter what I do. I’m reduced to sitting With my back against the Number six and my feet out Straight, firmly planted in place Holding the hands of time at bay. My left hand holds the second hand, Which pulses in my palm. How long I can stay here I don’t know. My back is in pain and My arm is starting to cramp. I look at the pulsing second hand Planted firmly in my fist and realize That I’m so busy stopping time That life is passing me by. Roy W. Backes © 1996
Words of Art - Day 72 - Blues in the Night Blues in The Night Blues in the night It only seems right The blues belong in dark, smoky Clubs sometime after midnight, Not in a sunny city park on a Lazy afternoon in broad daylight. Blues in the night It only seems right. Roy W. Backes © 2008
Words of Art - Day 71 - Dancing in the Dark Dancing in the Dark The moon's been swallowed by Dark dense clouds, The starlight is all snuffed out. In front of his penthouse window Surveying the crowded city, With music playing soft and Romantic in the background, He sways to the beat of his heart, His hands in his pockets, Alone, Dancing in the dark. Roy W. Backes © 1996
Words of Art - Day 70 - Welcome Back Welcome Back It has been over a year since I last sat on this deck And looked out over the Bright blue lake. As I sit here the wind Blows in my face. The waves kick up and Beat the shore. The birds squawk And chirp in the trees. The eagle flies by. All as if to say, “Welcome back.” Roy W. Backes ©2018
Words of Art - Day 69 - Murdered Murdered My friend was murdered. He wasn’t shot. He wasn’t stabbed. He was infected. By a virus. By a virus that kills, That murders. That murders by The hundreds of thousands. That kills you slowly or quickly, That causes you pain. My friend was murdered. Like he was shot in the heart Or stabbed in the back, He was murdered By a heartless, venomous Virus. Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 68 - Between the Lines Between the Lines In bounds. Out of bounds. Onside. Offside. Fair. Foul. We have been taught To live our lives Between the lines. Driving down the highway My car now tells me if I drift outside my lane, Often forcing me back Into compliance. Back between the lines. I pass through this life Afraid to step across that line. Afraid a wooden ruler will slap My knuckles. A ruler that measures whether I have stayed Between the lines. I yearn to find the courage To finally step across that white stripe. To find the courage to explore The other side, To take that step that finally Gets me out from Between the lines. Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 67 - Beware Beware Beware Of William Shakespeare The theater’s poet. Centuries dead His words live on. Trying not to saw the air Actors speak his speeches. But Beware, Many an actor has drowned In his poetic imagery. Roy W. Backes © 1986
Words of Art - Day 66 - Phrases Phrases “You feeling okay?” “When are you coming home?” “I’ll see you later.” “What do you want to do for dinner?” “What do you think?” “Did you see that?” “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.” “Just relax.” Just some phrases not heard When you live alone. Roy W. Backes © 2011
Words of Art - Day 65 - Carrying Grief Carrying Grief I’ve been carrying grief Since my mid-twenties. I carry it in my bag. I carry it in my pockets. I carry it in my heart. I can’t let go. The loss is not something You can just leave Abandoned by the side of the road, Or buried in a box Under a tree. That loss stays with you, Attaches itself to you, Drops into your pockets Or into your bags. It stays in your heart. You just have to accept The weight of it. It does get lighter But it never goes away. So, leave room in your pockets And space in your bags And carry your grief with pride Wherever you go. Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 64 - Outrun the Night Outrun the Night It is a cliché’, I know. But I have the pedal To the metal, pushing My car to its limit. Hoping the troopers are all Eating donuts with a hot cup of coffee, I speed down the highway. My eyes shift from the road Ahead to the rear-view mirror Where I see the night Fast approaching. I pump the gas, hoping for A little more speed, A little more time As I do my damndest to Outrun the night. Roy W. Backes © 2015
Words of Art - Day 63 - Time to Sleep (A Bedtime Prayer) Time to Sleep (A Bedtime prayer) Thank you Mommy for a wonderful day. Thank you Daddy for our time at play. Thank you Brother for teaching me things. Thank you Sister for the angel’s wings. Thank you Grandma for the card so nice. Thank you Grandpa for some swell advice. Thank you Teacher for new thoughts to keep. I love you all But it is now time to sleep. Roy W. Backes © 2001
Words of Art - Day 62 - Lost Days Lost Days I gave up another sunny day Today and sat in a dark theater Watching fake sunlight being put Onto a painted sky. I can’t begin to count the Number of days in my life That I have spent in the dark, While the sun shined bright outside. I often ask myself if those Lost days were worth it, And I always answer myself With a huge smile on my face By saying, “Damn right it was, Every minute of every lost day.” Fade to Black…. House/Preset up. Roy W. Backes © 2007
Words of Art - Day 61 - Searching for the Meadow Searching for the Meadow As I stumble along This path called life I reach out for hand holds And tree trunks to lean upon. I keep my eyes to the ground So I can stay on my feet So I can see the roots and Divots that threaten my balance. I keep my head bobbing and weaving To avoid the low hanging branch And the misty web of the spider That covers my face in silk. I stumble along This path called life Searching for sunlight and The flower-covered meadow. The meadow where I can finally rest My head, my feet, my hands And lay in the tall green grass Surrounded by the fragrance of flowers. Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 60 - Old Woman at Red Light Old Woman at Red Light Ancient old woman Hair thin and gray On her wrinkled head, Sits confined to her wheelchair At a red light. The old woman wears a black sweater She apparently knitted years ago With her gnarled fingers and has a Lap blanket across her knees. Her care-giver, bored and uninterested, Is an overweight woman who stands Behind the chair just putting in her time. She takes a deep drag on a cigarette Dropping gray ash onto the Shoulders of the ancient black sweater Like so much dandruff. The old woman stares at the light Patiently waiting for it to turn green So she can get back to the home And brush off her shoulders. Roy W. Backes © 1996
Words of Art - Day 59 - Marsh Wheeling Darks Marsh Wheeling Darks Marsh Wheeling Darks, That is what my dad smoked. They are what got him the nickname, “Smokey”. One of my earliest memories is Of my father trusting me enough To go to the corner store To pick him up a pack of cigars. I remember climbing down the Poured concrete stairway at the Back of my house, with money in hand On my way to pick up his Marsh Wheeling Darks. Whenever I smell a cigar today, Whether it is a genuine Cuban Or a cheap knockoff, I am always Taken back to the image of my Father with a cigar in his mouth. Living in that cloud of smoke That both my mother and father Blew into the air made me A lover of the outdoors and Long walks in the woods, breathing fresh air. Marsh Wheeling Darks. I probably inhaled hundreds of them Without ever lighting a match. Roy W. Backes © 2007
Words of Art - Day 58 - Brown Bottle Blues Brown Bottle Blues Brown bottles litter her world. They are everywhere, Surrounding her with the Brown Bottle Blues. Many, still full and sealed For the future, wait patiently In her over-crowded liquor cabinet. Most, laying empty on their sides Like so many dead soldiers, Wait patiently to be sent to the recycle bin. A Few are always halfway from Here to there, they wait patiently On nightstands and bathtubs. Brown bottles litter her world. They are everywhere, Surrounding her with the Brown Bottle Blues. There are always a few Here to there bottles within her reach. They are like a quiet friend Who never talks back, Who is always there for comfort. Bottles that are always Willing and able To soothe her soul As she embraces these Brown Bottle Blues. Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 57 - FLT 800 FLT 800 I'm standing on the beach of Long Island Sound on this The 17th day of July. Last night 230 people Fell out of the sky Not very far from here, Out there, beyond the horizon line. I'm a little distressed That as a fellow human being I was unable to feel their Entrance into somewhere else. I'm not talking about hearing The sound of their screams Or feeling the sound waves of the explosion. I'm wondering how the feelings of 230 fellow humans, All experiencing the terror and horror Of watching their lives pass before them, Could just pass me by While I calmly walked the beach, The waves at my feet Thinking about my life, My future. How could I not possibly feel That surge of energy? From now on I plan to Open the window of my soul A little wider And try to listen a little closer To the feel of the Atlantic sea air. Roy W. Backes © 1996
Words of Art - Day 56 - I Love How the Sun Says Goodbye I Love How the Sun Says Goodbye I love how the sun Says goodbye By painting the sky. Roy W. Backes © 2016
Words of Art - Day 55 - Ray Bans Ray Bans Putting on my Ray Bans For comfort, I think I’ll wait awhile For that sunset drive. I think I will just sit here In the sun a little while longer Rubbing #50 lotion onto my Soft, white, wrinkly skin. Roy W. Backes © 2017
Words of Art - Day 54 - If I Could Only Get Out of My Own Way If I Could Only Get Out of My Own Way I’m like the drawbridge Lifted to allow the armada through. I’m like the big yellow bar And flashing red lights at The railroad crossing, waiting For the freight train to pass. I’m like the tree laying across The road, blown over by the wind, Waiting for the chainsaws to arrive. I’ve placed these barriers that Block my way, Impede my progress, Make me wait. I could easily go around, Go through, go over these Obstacles I’ve placed in my path, Allowing me to get on with my life. That is, If I could only get out of my own way. Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 53 - I Swear I Swear My friends, you need to know, I swear…….a lot. I drop the ‘F’ bomb Way too often. I use the Lord’s name in vain All the time. But, then again, I don’t really believe in the ‘Lord’ Any longer. I never use the ‘C’ word Or racial slurs. I am often not the most PC person You have ever met. But know this, If you are my friend I will always have your back. I won’t ever throw you under the bus. However, If you cross me, I will curse up a storm each and Every time your name is mentioned. My friends, you need to know, I swear…….a lot. I drop the ‘F’ bomb Way too often. But know this, Once you are my friend You will always be my friend…… I swear! Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 52 - Gotta Get Up Another Country Song lyric Gotta Get Up She is a hard pounding woman, My woman is. A bottle of bourbon and a shotgun glass She has no problem Whooping my ass. It’s Tuesday night. I say as a warning, Honey, I gotta get up in the morning She is a hard pounding woman, My woman is. With some ganga and some paper She can go all night Till the sun comes up Bringing the bright daylight. It is only Wednesday night. I say as a warning, Honey, I gotta get up in the morning. She is a hard pounding woman, My woman is. When it comes to lovin’ She just won’t stop. She keeps me going long after I pop. It is Thursday night. I say as a warning, Honey, I gotta get up in the morning. She is a hard pounding woman, My woman is. With the weekend ahead She pounds me hard. All Friday and Saturday I can’t drop my guard. Come Sunday, I’m spent. I need to rest, ‘Cause Honey, I say As a warning, I gotta get up in the morning Roy W. Backes © 2015
Words of Art - Day 51 - Now Now Now is a fleeting memory. Now is constantly changing. Now is already gone. Now just became the past. Holding onto “Now” is like…. Shit, it’s gone! Roy W. Backes © 2014
Words of Art - Day 50 - Death Row Death Row I walk down the hallway Of what we used to call An “Old folk’s home.” No hope in these hallways. Everyone here has been Condemned to die. The threat of death is found Around every corner, Behind every door. It infects the air. It infects the bodies. I see the Grim Reaper, Scythe in hand, stroll These hallways, Popping in for short visits From time to time. All of these people, Whether waiting for the needle Or the chair Or the body to just give out Are sentenced To spend their final days Condemned to Death Row. Roy W. Backes © 2019 Words of Art - Day 49 - Reflection Reflection The morning sun reflects Off of the gray-blue lake Like an emptied bag of diamonds On black velvet. It calms my mind and Allows me to reflect. Staring at the sparkling light Is a form of meditation Taking me deeper and deeper Into the present, Allowing me to access the past. A past with few regrets And many, many bright lights Like the morning sun Reflecting off of a gray-blue lake. Roy W. Backes © 2016
Words of Art - Day 48 - Thumbing Thumbing (Splash) I’m tired. I’m cold. My feet are wet (Splash, splash) My calves hurt from walking backwards with my thumb out. High beams, Bright (Hand covering my eyes.) headlights. Come on, come on, come (splash) on. Will I ever find a dry spot? Headlights (low-beams. I smile.). I’m not a rapist. I’m a good guy, I promise. (Splash) You bastard! Damn, it’s cold. Headlights (Don’t forget to smile) Try to look normal. Shit! A station wagon (Splash) How far to the nearest motel? How much money do I have? I’m tired. Headlights (low beams. Smile.) Please stop, please ….. Is he slowing down? No …. is he? All right!! “Thanks, mister.”!! Roy W. Backes © 1989
Words of Art - Day 47 - Spring Song Spring Song Early spring In the middle of the city. Temperatures are mild, The trees beginning to bud, The perennials finally peeking Out of the ground once again. Among the city sounds Of construction and sirens Sits a bird in my local tree Singing her song, or Calling her mate. Either way the song is a joy To hear after spending the winter Locked inside, breathing Heated air and listening to The song of my furnace and fridge Cycle on and off for months on end. Early spring In the middle of the city Among the city sounds of Construction and sirens The bird song Is music to my ears. Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 46 - City Heels or Country Boots City Heels or Country Boots In the shadow of high rises Along an avenue with taxis honking And bus fumes choking I’ve seen her almost every day. Dressed to the nines and Always wearing a gorgeous pair Of high heels that show off Her legs in a wonderful way. Then one sunny autumn day I saw her walking down the avenue Wearing a beautiful and sexy Pair of cowboy boots. Now, every morning as I walk The avenue downtown, I find myself wondering If she is going to be wearing Her city heels or Her country boots. Roy W. Backes © 2007
Words of Art - Day 45 - To Write To Write To write takes an artist’s eye. To write takes an artist’s soul. To write takes patience. To write takes persistence. To write takes effort. To write takes great strength To push aside and keep aside That big granite block. To write takes putting pen to paper Or fingers to keyboard. To write takes courage To face the blank page And write what it takes. Roy W. Backes © 2018
Words of Art - Day 44 - Good and Evil Good and Evil There always seems to be Two opposing forces working Together in life. Good and Evil. Light and Dark. Back and Forth. In and Out. When Evil walks into a classroom With his gun ablaze Shooting innocent beings Over and over Is Good to be found in The room as well? Maybe that is why so many Of these Evil killers commit suicide. Maybe it is Good that finally gains control And puts the gun to the killer’s head and Pulls the trigger. Maybe. Roy W. Backes © 2014
Words of Art - Day 43 - Distress Distress All 200 of us, trapped on an airplane, Strain to hear the steward’s safety instructions Over the wail of a distressed child. As we gain altitude, I can feel The collective tension of all of us Continue to rise. Long after we are cruising At 34,000 feet, the child’s wail continues. There is something about the sound Of a crying child in obvious distress That has a profound effect on us. We want to help. We want to comfort. We want quiet. We want peace. Trapped on an airplane at 34,000 feet We want to have a single thought That does not get drowned out By the wail of a child in distress. Roy W. Backes © 2014
Words of Art - Day 42 - Prayers Gathering Dust Prayers Gathering Dust Lonely Marionette hangs Suspended above the earth Across the room from Christ Hanging on His cross. He has prayed to this Christ For many years, But nothing has changed. He hangs too far away To see his prayers Gathering dust On Christ’s thorny crown. Roy W. Backes © 1994
Words of Art - Day 41 - The Alley The Alley The Alley You know, that place out back. That place that isn’t A road, or a lane, or an avenue, Or even a street, But only a ‘way’. That place where your trash sits, That place where workers sit To steal a smoke Or maybe a toke. That place of fences and gates. That place used only for shortcuts From one place to another. The Alley You know, that place out back. That place where we don’t sweep up. That place with no sidewalks And minimal lighting. That place where the air is pungent With the odor of rotting fruit or dried piss. The Alley You know, that place out back. That place we kindly call a ‘way’. That place we all know But where none of us go. Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 40 - Summer Storm Summer Storm A storm struck my neighborhood last night Stripping leaves off the trees, Ripping tiles off of rooftops, Blowing roofs off of houses. The trees are still standing, wounded, But stripped naked and bare. This morning I stood in the street Stunned and speechless, staring at the trees Not seeing a single leaf anywhere. They were all gone, never to give shade again. I stood in the morning sun And prayed that the trees would survive. Every day I prayed. I prayed for weeks. I would not give up hope. Hope kept me strong Until finally the trees sprouted Soft green buds again. Today I looked into the face of the sun, Gave thanks, And smiled in anticipation Of another shady day. Roy W. Backes © 2007
Words of Art - Day 39 - The Train West The Train West I’m standing on the East Coast Waiting to board a West Coast train. Who knows how long the trip will be. No matter. I look forward to the long luxurious ride. I look forward to the clack, clack of the wheels On the track, Hypnotic music to my ears. I look forward to the periodic Blow of the horn as we pass Through town after town. Each whistle a tonic for my soul. I look forward to the colors of The passing landscapes, A feast for my eyes. Who knows how long this trip will be. No matter. I’ll just sit back and enjoy The ride toward the setting sun And it’s golden reflection On the bright blue sea. Roy W. Backes © 2020
Words of Art - Day 38 - Anticipation and Expectation Anticipation and Expectation They say you can’t go back. They say you can’t get “it” back. That feeling of anticipation That feeling of expectation. They say you can’t go back. I went back. Back to my old neighborhood, Back through my memories, Back to my youth. I went back to my life That was full of anticipation And expectation. I went back to my memories. I went back willingly With a smile on my face And came away full of Anticipation and expectation Of the future. Full of moments That will become memories, That I can, in my own time, Go back and visit Once again, willingly, With a smile on my face. I look forward to going back again With great anticipation and expectation. Roy W. Backes © 2019
Words of Art - Day 37 - Alone in My Bed Alone in My Bed Alone in my bed Between two chilly sheets I try to generate some body heat. Alone in my bed I imagine your smooth curved body, Your perfumed smell, Your loving presence. Heat arrives. I sleep! Roy W. Backes © 1986
Words of Art - Day 36 - March Wind March Wind The wind, Blowing Gusting Lifting my hair from my head. If I had a hat it would Snatch it like an overgrown bully. The wind, Blowing Gusting Dusting off the layers of silt That gathered over the winter Under so much overheated air. The wind, Blowing Gusting Guiding me into spring. Escorting me toward summer Like a long-lost friend With a sunny smile and A promise of warmth. Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 35 - Stumbling Stumbling As I weave my way Through this intricate maze I keep my eye on the sun, Aiming west when I can. With my eyes at the sky I stumble quite a bit, Stubbing my toes and Scraping my knees., The surprise around each bend Is what keeps me going. I never know what I may find, But going through the obstacle Or climbing over the barricade Drives me forward. Even though my knees are bleeding And my legs are tired I move forward, Toward the western sun, With a joyous anticipation Of the next turn Of the next bend Of the next obstruction. Roy W. Backes © 2007
Words of Art - Day 34 - Willow Weeps Willow Weeps The willow weeps while I sit in its shade, My cheeks, as dry as sun bleached sand. I want to cry. I need to cry. I can’t cry. I come to this willow in hope Of some relief. Relief from my grief. But my cheeks remain dry, Not a tear in my eye. Why? The willow weeps while I sit In its shade. I want to cry. I need to cry. I can’t cry. Why? Roy W. Backes © 2007
Words of Art - Day 33 - Surrounded by Color Surrounded by Color Well, my friend, when your brakes stopped working On your long drive west You drove right under the sunset. Drove straight into the heart of the color At full speed. I only hope that the colors Are as beautiful from your perspective As they are from mine. May you rest in peace Forever surrounded by the colors Of the setting sun. For Thom Roy W. Backes © 2015
Words of Art - Day 32 - Walkin' the Blues Walkin’ the Blues A Lyric Standin’ on the sidewalk Under the bright streetlight Feelin’ the rain fall from the sky, I scream, “Baby, it was only a fight”. Now Baby, you got me Walkin’ the blues. I walk down the East side I cross over to the West My hands buried in my pockets My chin sits on my chest. Now Baby, you got me Walkin’ the blues. My pockets, they’re all empty They both have a hole. I kick through the puddles Which only dampen my soul. Now, Baby, you got me Walkin’ the blues. I wander back up the West side I cross over to the East. I move under our front window Pacing like a caged beast. Now Baby, you got me Walkin’ the blues. Rain falls from my eyes I scream out your name, “Stella, Stella my star. Oh Baby, I’m the one to blame”. Now Baby, you got me Cryin’ the blues. You got me cryin’ And walkin’ the blues. Roy W. Backes © 1996
Words of Art - Day 31 - In Her Wake In Her Wake She came down into the shop Like a bird who had Just escaped its cage. Flying from there to here Trying on this dress and That pair of shoes. Everything was, ‘fabulous’. She wanted it all. Her daughter followed along Saying all the right things. “Those are beautiful”, “That dress is perfect”. After four dresses and Six pairs of shoes She chose a lightweight Summer dress. She paid with her platinum card And flew back up the stairs Looking for blue skies and more sales, While her daughter carried The shopping bag and followed In her mother’s frantic wake. Roy W. Backes © 2010
Words of Art - Day 30 - Old Man Through a Window Old Man Through a Window Standing in the mist of a recent rain I peer through the parted curtains Of an old man's window. The color images from his TV Create flat entertainment. Bottles of pills lined up Like soldiers next to his bed Keep guard against the pain. The bedpan, all shiny and silver, Sits on top of a shelf Like a misplaced knick-knack. The worn cotton blanket has been tucked Tightly around his thin frame By loving hands. His gnarled fingers grip the remote With a fierce determination As he flips from station to station In search of something interesting. Surrounded by the misty fog I watch this old man lying on his bed Watching TV Waiting to die. Roy W. Backes © 1997
Words of Art - Day 29 - Daddy's World Daddy’s World She grew up Daddy’s Girl, Pigtails and pink hiking boots. Scraped knees from climbing trees. Calloused hands from softball and Hitting the heavy bag. She studied hard. She played hard. She fought hard. Now, she is out in Daddy’s world. A world full of sharks With loose hands And sharp teeth. She still has scraped knees From crawling up life’s ladder And calloused hands from fighting Off the sharks on land. She still plays hard. She still fights hard. She grew up Daddy’s Girl, A girl he taught how to fight. A girl he taught how to survive. A girl he taught How to thrive out there In Daddy’s world. Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 28 - Foggy Road Foggy Road As I creep along this winding road My fog lights on My vision impaired The fog wraps itself around me Like the cool silk sheets Of a fancy hotel. Leaning forward against the steering wheel Straining my eyes against the mist I struggle to stay on the road. The wipers sway back and forth Keeping rhythm with my pounding heart. I creep along this winding road Slowly heading west Hoping to stay on the road Until the fog clears and I can continue my journey At my own leisurely pace. Roy W. Backes © 2017
Words of Art - Day 27 - One Plate, One Glass One Plate, One Glass Another evening washing one china plate And one crystal wine glass in the kitchen sink. It would take forever to fill the dishwasher, It’s easier to wash the stuff by hand. Her counter clean Her hands dry She wanders into her living room Feeling the plush carpet between her toes. While looking at her reflection In the 56-inch LCD – HDTV She sucks in her belly, Checks out her profile and Hits the remote, watching her image Get eaten up by talking heads And unknown personalities. She sinks into her comfy sofa And fires up a joint, her steady friend, And settles back into another night Of stoned thoughts on life and A deep yearning to share Her comfortable life with another. Roy W. Backes © 2010
Words of Art - Day 26 - The Steel City The Steel City They still call Pittsburgh The Steel City. Pittsburgh, the city that produced Steel for over a hundred years. In mills my family worked in. In mills that lined the three rivers And polluted the air. In mills that have been razed After being picked clean of anything of value. In mills that are now malls and parking lots. In mills that have completely disappeared. They still call Pittsburgh The Steel City, Even though the last mill there Closed over thirty-six years ago. I think it is time to give Pittsburgh a new nickname, A new tag-line. How about, “Pittsburgh, The Terrible Towel City, The city that turned mills into malls”. What do you think? But, Pittsburgh, The Steel City? That no longer applies. Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 25 - Whiskey and Lace Whiskey and Lace He noticed her sitting at the bar Nursing a whiskey – on the rocks. She seemed to savor each sip. He noticed the lace of her bra That she allowed to peek out Of her half-unbuttoned blouse. They started to talk. His eyes kept drifting to that lace. Her eyes kept drifting to her glass. He bought her another drink; whiskey-rocks. She smiled. Eventually they left the bar Both a little buzzed. He invited her home. She smiled and said ‘yes’. Lucky for him he had a bottle of Jack On hand and poured her another drink, Over rocks, of course. She smiled. Ever so slowly she showed Him more lace. He smiled. She liked her whiskey, He liked her lace. Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 24 - Who Are We? Who Are We? Bullets designed to fly through The air faster than a jet At full speed. Designed to not pass through Designed to explode when they hit flesh Designed to cause maximum damage Who are we that Design Manufacture Sell And shoot these supersonic projectiles? Who are we? What are we? Roy W. Backes © 2014
Words of Art - Day 23 - The Blues, With a Twang The Blues, With a Twang I love listening to the Blues. Sad stories; Haunting guitar licks; Emotional vocals. I love listening to Country Music. Sad stories; Haunting steel guitar licks; Emotional vocals. It occurs to me that Country music is just The Blues, with a twang. Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 22 - Painting With Light Painting with Light They paint daylight onto dark stages. They paint night skies and sunsets onto blank cycloramas. They paint clouds, trees and windows With every gobo known to man. They paint mood and atmosphere Where work light only exists. They paint the chorus with color and sidelight And highlight the star with a soft, white Spotlight that follows every move. Lighting Designers. They paint with light on a dark stage While I honor them with my pen, Painting black ink on the white page. Roy W. Backes ©2020
Words of Art - Day 21 - She Was Ready She Was Ready She always believed In the after-life. Heaven. Hell. Or, God forbid, Purgatory or Limbo. As she waited for death To finally come and End her time on this earth She was ready. She was ready to see her Mother and father once again. She was ready to see her Best friend, Millie, after all these years. She was ready To see the light that Only the living talked about. After saying her goodbyes She was ready. At last, she closed her eyes And welcomed the darkness behind her lids. She waited….. She was ready. Roy W. Backes © 2020
Words of Art - Day 20 - Love Ain't Comin' Back Love Ain’t Comin’ Back The one thing she left Was his old white XL tee shirt That she used to sleep in. He holds it to his nose And inhales the memory of her. There is nothing else left, She took it all. He holds the tee shirt To his nose, Inhales and knows, Deep in his heart, That love ain’t comin’ back. Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 19 - The Tunnel The Tunnel Train tracks split my town in two. There was no, “Wrong Side”, As far as I knew. Just businesses on one side Our neighborhood on the other. When my mom sent me out For cigarettes I had to cross those tracks. A six-foot fence, littered with wind blown Debris, separated northbound from southbound. The tunnel under the tracks Entered the ground behind the V.F.W. Hall. As a thirteen-year-old climbing down those steps Was like entering a dungeon. The first thing to hit you was The acrid smell of urine going bad. I always paused, frozen in fear, On the bottom step to listen for footsteps. Then I’d run the twenty yards Trying to hold my breath but never succeeding. Then up the steps to clean air And safety. I made that journey often. Each time the tunnel fear Took a little piece of me. To this day, that tunnel Still visits me in my dreams. Or, I should say, It still visits me in my nightmares. Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 18 - What We Leave Behind What We Leave Behind What do we leave behind When we pass over? Obviously, we leave all of our stuff. Our crowded apartments or homes Full of our memories. Our bills, both paid and unpaid. Our letters, both written and unwritten. We leave our families, We leave our friends. We leave their memories of us, Both good and bad. We leave our reputation And what they all really, truly Thought of us. We leave our spirit, The imprint we left on the world. What do we leave behind When we pass over? We leave behind memories, Their memories, both good and bad. That is what we leave behind When we pass over. Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 17 - My Favorite Space My Favorite Space My favorite space is the Empty white space that Surrounds a poem on a page. That means that the poem Is written, good or bad. At least it is on the page. It is the looming, large, empty White space of a blank page That is the most intimidating. Now, I only have the Empty white space surrounding This poem on this once Empty page. My favorite space. Roy W. Backes © 2007
Words of Art - Day 16 - Driving Rain Driving Rain Driving through the rain The wipers singing at full speed, “Twhack. Twhack. Twthack,” Over and over and over. Squinting to see out of the Fogged up windshield, Fighting the streetlamps reflecting Off of the rain like a million Teardrop diamonds, I’m forced to ease off the gas. Forced to slow down. I look at the clock on the dash And my heart sinks. I’m not going to make it. Not at this speed. I’m not going to make it. I’m not going to make it Because I’m idly driving Through a driving rain. Roy W. Backes © 2020
Words of Art - Day 15 - No Clue How He Got So Blue No Clue How He Got So Blue He sits here at his kitchen table Linoleum cold under his feet A glass of whiskey in his hand Staring out at the busy city. Couples holding hands walking the streets, The distant beat of some music, Traffic moving slow but steady. He sits here at his kitchen table Fondling his whiskey glass Surrounded by the blues Like the morning fog. He sits He drinks He pours He sits here at his kitchen table With no clue how he got so blue. He’s been alone for years now Alone with his thoughts Alone with his whiskey. He sits here at his kitchen table Spinning his glass of whiskey In the icy ring on the table Alone, looking out at the colorful world While he has no clue How he got so blue. Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 14 - Dust in the Dark (L.M.) Dust in the Dark Lonely Marionette hangs Suspended above the earth In a dark dry attic. Under a deep layer of dust Lay trunks, Filled with forgotten memories. A wooden rocker stands silent, It’s cane broken by time. In the corner, Behind an empty loom Lay his dreams, Collecting dust in the dark. Roy W. Backes © 1996
Words of Art - Day 13 - The 'City of Love' The ‘City of Love’ Paris. They call it the ‘City of Love’. The place you go to fall in love. The place you go with your lover. The place where love abounds. Wait a minute……. We all can’t go to Paris To fall in love. So, why not Des Moines Or Pittsburgh? People fall in love there as well. In their eyes and hearts It is, Des Moines, the ‘City of Love’, The place you go to fall in love, Or Pittsburgh, the ‘City of Love’, The place you go with your lover. Des Moines, Pittsburgh, The ‘Cities of Love’, Where love abounds. Paris Is just another city Where lovers fall in love. Where you go with your lover. Where love abounds. Whether it is Des Moines or Pittsburgh The ‘City of Love’ Is where you are. It is where you fall in love. Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 12 - One for the Road One for the Road His head down staring at The remnants of his drink He lifts his hand to Gain the attention of the Keep. He’s been sitting here for hours Unwilling and unable to face The prospect of going home. The work day was long and brutal Full of the same shit as yesterday. Only thing is, at the end of the day He’d been Downsized; Forced out; Let go. He’s left with a cardboard box Full of his office décor Sitting in the trunk of his car. He lifts his head and meets The eyes of the Keep And asks her for one more. One more for the long drive home. One more for the wife Who will welcome him home. One more For the road. Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 11 - The Heart The Heart The heart. It is more than a muscle. It beats, yes, But it also breaks, It also aches. A broken heart is not the same As a heart that is not working. Heartache is not the same As chest pains. The heart. This muscle is more emotional. It breaks without being broken. It aches without seizing up. All the while it beats, beats, beats. Never taking a break. Not ever. The heart. It breaks, it aches And it is, oh so much, More than a muscle. Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 10 - Strength Strength I consider myself a strong person. Someone with fortitude and grit. Someone who can deal with whatever Life has to throw at me. However, There is this guy Who lives in my neighborhood. He doesn’t have an address. He lives on the street. For the past fifteen years I have Passed this guy on the street, No matter the weather. His pants hiked up way too high, His shoes ragged and torn, With an odor you’d expect of someone Living in the wilds of the city. Fifteen years Surviving on the street. Now, that is what I call fortitude. That is what I call grit. That is what I call strength. Roy W. Backes © 2018 Words of Art - Day 9 - Sister Sister No taller than 5’ 2” Wrapped in a black and white habit, Sister Camella Mary taught My eighth-grade class. She was tough but fair, Not one of those knuckle busters. One day, a ‘Brother’ came And spoke to our class. He was recruiting young kids Into ‘The Life’. I was thirteen, naïve and Very shy. I liked quiet. I liked peace. After class I approached Sister And told her that I might Be interested in the seminary. She listened, then said, “Roy. There is no need to decide Right now. Take your time, Go to high school. Enjoy those years. If, in four years you feel the same way The seminary will still be there for you.” I never told my folks About that conversation. I never told anyone. Not for years. Sister Camella Mary, A woman full of grace Looked a thirteen-year-old in the eye And gave him honest, good advice That changed my life. Sister Camella Mary, Wrapped in black and white, No taller than 5’ 2” Was one hell of a woman. A woman I have kept in my prayers My entire life. A woman I owe. A woman who deserves a poem To go along with all of my prayers. Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 8 - Long Time Gone Long Time Gone It’s been a long time; Your perfume no longer Lingers on your pillow. Your side of the closet Is still half empty. It’s been a long time; The heat from your body Has turned ice cold. The noise you used to make Is still silent. It’s been a long time; The photo of us together Has faded in the sun. The chair in which you sat Still sits empty. It’s been a long time; No sign of you anywhere, No matter where I look. Since you left it’s been A long time gone. Roy W. Backes ©2021 Words of Art - Day 7 - Lonely Marionette - Footprints in the Grass Lonely Marionette – Footprints in the Grass Lonely Marionette hangs Suspended above the earth Watching frost form On the trembling grass And marble tombstones. The graveyard begins to shimmer In the moonlight As cold takes over the night. He hangs alone, His breath forming clouds In the frozen air, Watching his future haunt the graveyard, Leaving footprints in the grass. Roy W. Backes © 1992 Words of Art - Day 6 - California Dreaming California Dreaming Dreaming of California I check the oil, Confirm the pressure in my tires And fill up my tank. I’m finally ready to Begin my journey west. I look forward to the drive, The mountains, The plains, The desert, The mountains again, On my way to the crystal blue Water and colorful sunsets Of the western state. Dreaming of California I hop in my car, Point myself west And step on the gas. With the top down I enjoy the wind in my hair And savor the sun on my face, All the while, Just California Dreaming. Roy W. Backes © 2019
Words of Art - Day 5 - Like Eternity Like Eternity Growing up on the “Wrong Side of the Tracks” You learned to live with certain things. Just going outside for a walk Was an adventure. No forested hills full of shady paths And trails to hike along. Just concrete, asphalt and abandoned lots. Living close to the tracks, A mere block away You could feel the train coming Long before it passed through the neighborhood. The earth would vibrate under Your feet like a precursor to an earthquake. You’d feel the vibration build to a roar Then disappear to nothing as the Sound of the whistle faded away. I’d sit in my room listening And feeling the trains come and go. Oh, how I wanted to be on board one. Anyone. It’s destination anywhere but here. Those trains, they sounded like eternity to me. But the reality was, Those trains, they never stopped. They never took me on board. For Anna Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 4 - The Good in Goodbye
The Good in Goodbye
The Oxford English Dictionary,
You know, the one 12” thick.
The one stands on
A pedestal in your study,
Can’t tell me.
Who put the ‘Good’ in Goodbye?
Who thought that someone saying bye
Was a good thing?
When she said goodbye to me
There was nothing ‘good’ in it.
Why not Badbye?
Or Painbye?
When someone says goodbye
It is never good.
It is always bad, always painful.
So, who put the ‘Good’ in Goodbye?
Mr. Oxford, Mr. Webster, Mr. Merriam,
Can you please explain this to me?
Why would anybody put
‘Good’ in Goodbye?
Roy W. Backes
© 2021
Words of Art - Day 3
Tears on the Jukebox
The song comes on the jukebox once again.
The barkeep looks up and
Sees him still there
Lit by the neon colors of the box.
A whiskey in one hand
The other feeding cash
Into the jukebox.
He leans against the music box
Mouthing the words to the
Sad, sad songs he plays
Over and over.
The same three songs
All about tears
On wet cheeks and cryin’.
He leans against the jukebox
Silently singing along with the songs
While using the whiskey to hold back
His own wet tears.
Roy W. Backes
© 2020
Roywbackes.com
Words of Art - Day 2 Blowin’ a Horn Blowin’ the blues Gives a voice To the pain. Whether Bass or Tenor Or sax or trumpet Blowin’ the blues Through high notes And low Shows us all That giving a voice To the pain Is like rubbing a cool Balm into the aching body of life. Roy W. Backes © 2021
Words of Art - Day 1 (March 01,2021)
The Heart Tree The seeds fall, The saplings grow Struggling for light Among the giants. The Heart Tree struggles to reach the light, To reach the height of independence. Once grown it welcomes Us all to sit in its shade, To drink the dew off Of its deep green leaves. It invites us to spend All the time we need To grow and learn. It guards us against the Harsh realities of life and nature. As we prepare to leave Its protection, the Heart Tree Offers us one last drink of dew From its deep green leaves And ever so slowly Opens its branches To reveal the sunlight of life. Roy W. Backes © 2020 www.Roywbackes@wordpress.com
150 DAY PROJECT (August 2020 – January 2021)
150 Day Project - List of Poems from Day 01 - Day 150
Day 1 Ghost Town
Day 2 You
Day 3 Alzheimer’s
Day 4 Dancing in The Park
Day 5 Hot Humid Blues
Day 6 That Door
Day 7 Homeless
Day 8 Why Did You Want Children?
Day 9 The Only Thing Between Me and the Whiskey is the Glass
Day 10 Men and Women of Steel
Day 11 The Blank Page #3
Day 12 We the People
Day 13 In Her Painful Wake
Day 14 Didn’t Give a Shit
Day 15 A Stranger’s Scent
Day 16 Saying Goodbye to Your Eyes
Day 17 Sitting - Dad
Day 18 Sitting - Son
Day 19 Tears
Day 20 A Silent Place
Day 21 Mother Always Told Me
Day 22 Steps
Day 23 You Ain’t Been Blue Long Enough
Day 24 Fences
Day 25 Break It Now
Day 26 The Road
Day 27 Johnny Chicago
Day 28 Weathered Rockers
Day 29 The Gettin’ Old, But Still Single Blues
Day 30 Tight Grip
Day 31 Noisy Escort
Day 32 Bottle of Bourbon
Day 33 Schmidty
Day 34 Just One
Day 35 Separate Lines
Day 36 Blow Wind, Blow
Day 37 The Quiet Library
Day 38 The Friday Day Blues
Day 39 This Rock
Day 40 Fall from Grace (Guardian Angel Series)
Day 41 Little Rich Girl
Day 42 Nightly Special
Day 43 Loving Arms
Day 44 Death
Day 45 Missing My Telephone
Day 46 Black and the Blues
Day 47 Empathetic Cross
Day 48 Hiking the Trail
Day 49 Sitting in Silence
Day 50 Free Will
Day 51 The Wrong Side of Trouble
Day 52 No Surrender
Day 53 Window Pain
Day 54 Heaven and Hell (Guardian Angel Series)
Day 55 “Science Is Real”
Day 56 Alaska Dreaming on Such a Summer’s Day
Day 57 The Workin’ Stiff Blues
Day 58 The Grin Reaper
Day 59 Old Woman In Window
Day 60 Steel Curtain
Day 61 Collateral Damage
Day 62 Murder a Marriage Tonight
Day 63 I Never Saw Her Coming
Day 64 My Car Broke Down
Day 65 Into the World
Day 66 She Waits
Day 67 Fred’s Question
Day 68 He Touched Me
Day 69 Highway to My Future
Day 70 Country Girl
Day 71 Who Are You?
Day 72 Looking Forward
Day 73 The Sound of Silence
Day 74 Shadow Boxing
Day 75 Do I Dare?
Day 76 Weeping Widow
Day 77 A Prisoner of the Blues
Day 78 In a Place Like This
Day 79 How Long?
Day 80 Too Late, Bro
Day 81 My Mother’s Shoes
Day 82 When We Sin
Day 83 Fresh Air
Day 84 No Longer Being King
Day 85 You Could Hear It Coming
Day 86 Left Wondering
Day 87 Waiting is Hard
Day 88 Back to Where You Began
Day 89 St. Philip’s Bells
Day 90 On My Knees
Day 91 Sheer Rock Face
Day 92 Not Going Gentle into That Good Night
Day 93 Hungry
Day 94 My First Car
Day 95 Layers of Life
Day 96 The Halo – Guardian Angel Series
Day 97 Blues in My Pocket
Day 98 Old Man Sits on a Bench
Day 99 Heavy
Day 100 The ‘Burgh
Day 101 Thumb Girl
Day 102 Sorry Caroline
Day 103 The Fuel of Forgiveness
Day 104 WAMO
Day 105 We All Have a Train in Our Past
Day 106 Better Than a Sleeping Pill
Day 107 Dancing
Day 108 Art in a Box
Day 109 I Am Not Going to Bend the World
Day 110 Accept Grace
Day 111 The Seagull
Day 112 The Blues
Day 113 Contractions
Day 114 Looking Back/Looking Forward
Day 115 The American Dream
Day 116 Visited by The Wind
Day 117 60 Years On
Day 118 Bend in The Road
Day 119 Grand Opening
Day 120 It Was
Day 121 Talking To Myself
Day 122 Empty Shotgun
Day 123 I’m Tired
Day 124 Bubbles
Day 125 Once Upon a Time
Day 126 Steel Makers and Boilermakers
Day 127 Yinz Know
Day 128 High Class Joint
Day 129 Dying in Silence
Day 130 Tick – Tock
Day 131 Where?
Day 132 The Seeing Eye
Day 133 A Dove
Day 134 “B” Side
Day 135 They Say That Breath is Life
Day 136 Silent Night
Day 137 The 26th of December
Day 138 Many Roads Taken
Day 139 They Walked Away
Day 140 A Darker Shade of the Blues
Day 141 The Steelworker
Day 142 Just You
Day 143 The Kind of Place
Day 144 Singing the Blues
Day 145 Trying to Write
Day 146 On Passing Winter’s Funeral Home
Day 147 Spring Recess
Day 148 The Wind
Day 149 About You
Day 150 Is This It?
January 08, 2021
150 Day Project – Day 1 (August 20, 2020)
Ghost Town
9:00am on this beautiful
Spring morning.
I sit on my downtown roof deck
With my coffee in hand and
Look out over my city.
A city of over four million humans.
As I relax and put my face
To the sun I begin to listen.
I listen to the silence.
No cars.
No chatter of people.
No kids laughing and playing
In the neighborhood schoolyard.
Just birds and the occasional
Siren is heard.
If this were an old western town
There would be tumbleweeds
Rolling up 18th Street.
I look out over my city,
A city of over four million humans
In full sequester mode
And see nothing.
Nothing but a ghost town.
Roy W. Backes
© 2020
150 Day Project - Day 2
You
You
You hot blooded woman
You hot tempered soul
You
You love of my life
You mate to my soul
You
Come
Sit in my shadow
And cool off your soul
Roy W. Backes
© 1998
150 Day Project - Day 3
Alzheimer’s
I don’t want to forget my life.
I don’t want to forget my…
I don’t want to forget…
I don’t want to…
I don’t want…
I don’t…
I…
...
..
.
Roy W. Backes
© 2018
150 Day Project - Day 4
Dancing in The Park
Old man sits in the park
Watching young lovers stroll by
Hand in hand.
A smile comes to his face
As memories of soft skin,
Perfume and passion,
Fill his heart.
He rises and begins to dance
With an invisible partner.
Soft music plays in his head.
He dances cheek to windy cheek
Barely moving with the beat.
Back then, nothing ahead but life
And their love together.
But the clock ticked on and on
Leaving one behind
And now....
He dances in the park
With his long, lost past.
Roy W. Backes
© 2007
150 Day Project - Day 5
Hot Humid Blues
The building is black stucco
Crumbling around the edges.
Not an air conditioner in sight.
The temperature in the mid-nineties,
The wind as still as a painting.
The black-topped roof
Sucking up the heat of the sun
Sends heat waves into the sky
Giving the world an eerie feel.
A balding old man
With a gray horseshoe of hair
Sits at a window on the upper floor
Wearing only a sweat stained tee shirt.
He plays his horn in the heat
Blowing the blues through his window
Showering cool music
Out onto a hot, humid world.
Roy W. Backes
© 2019
150 Day Project - Day 6
That Door
Our whole life we stare at
That door.
You know, the one we were
Told to never open.
The one where the paint is peeling off
And cobwebs have formed
Around the frame.
The one we stare at and
Wonder, “What is behind there?
What is it hiding?”
Most days or weeks or even months
We ignore that door.
We walk by it time and time again
Without paying it any attention.
But yesterday my friend, Water,
Chose to open that door
Or the door opened on its own
And he walked through.
Either way, I’ll never see him again.
His door closed solidly behind him
Leaving me here all alone.
I’m left staring at my own door
Wondering what Walter
Found on the other side.
For Walter Dallas
Roy W. Backes
© 2020
150 Day Project - Day 7
Homeless
Six men carry the copper coffin
Down the steps of the holy church
To the rear of the shiny black limo,
Followed by red eyed mourners
Clutching damp handkerchiefs.
The homeless man, pushing his
Belongings in a shopping cart,
Stops to let the weeping procession by.
He stares at the shoes all shined
And the well pressed suits and
Sees his reflection in the
Shiny side of the coffin.
He is tired and wishes
He was laying there on the
Shoulders of six strong men,
But he knows that on the
Day of his burial
No one will be there
To shed a tear
Or to carry him to his final ride
In a big black shiny Continental.
Roy W. Backes
© 2017
150 Day Project - Day 8
Why Did You Want Children?
Sitting in the remnants of a basement
The little girl asks her father,
“Why did you want children
When you knew there was a war?”
With the vibrations of the bombs
Hitting the earth causing
Dust to fall like a fine snow
The little girl looks at her father
And waits for an answer.
The father looks at his daughter.
As tears fill his eyes
He pulls her close and
Wraps his arms around her small frame
As another bomb lands,
Closer this time.
Heavier dust falls.
He holds her tight and says,
Oh, my sweet child. It will be alright.
Papa will take care of you.”
Her chin tucked over his shoulder
She breaths in the dust and
The odor of his fear.
She looks at her friends and neighbors
Huddled in semi-darkness and
For the first time in her young life
She does not believe her papa.
Roy W. Backes
© 2019
150 Day Project - Day 9
The Only Thing Between Me and The Whiskey Is the Glass
I shade my eyes and stare
Through the large plate glass
Fighting the glare of the world
Around me for a better view.
I stare into the dim darkness
At the lonely souls
Sitting on single stools,
Their fists tightly wrapped around
Their drinks.
I pause……I know
The only thing between me and
The whiskey is the glass.
I stare at the bottle
High on the shelf.
It’s amber glass a shade
Darker than I remember.
I stare at my favorite label
Stretched around the bottle
Like a skin-tight dress.
I pause…..I know
The only thing between me and
The whiskey is the glass.
I stare at the spirits
Poured two-fingers high
Just sitting there all dark and amber.
Its odor is oh so sweet,
Just like I remember.
I stare at the spirits
Just sitting on the bar
Just waiting.
I pause…..I know
The only thing between me and
The whiskey is the glass.
I lift the glass
I inhale deeply its beautiful scent.
I stare at the golden color,
I try to resist.
I pause…..I know
The only thing between me and
The whiskey is the glass.
Roy W. Backes
© 2018
150 Day Project - Day 10 Men and Women of Steel Mount Oliver. Just up the hill from the Sa’ side of Pittsburgh. Once a thriving middle-class neighborhood Filled with steel workers and Those who served them. Men and women of steel Who sat at the bars, Drinking boilermakers, Iron City and Schlitz. Men and women of steel Who laughed, cried, worked hard And raised their kids Under the dark plumes of the mills. The dark plumes that became Thinner and thinner as Mill after mill shuttered Leaving these men and women of steel Cast aside and forgotten behind The steel curtain. The steel curtain woven With lies and deceit. The steel curtain That is now a tattered, rusted rag Covering a shuttered, decaying Neighborhood filled with the broken Men and women of steel. Roy W. Backes © 2019 150 Day Project - Day 11 The Blank Page #3 The Blank Page My friend, waiting patiently For me to fill it with Thoughts and feelings. The Blank Page My foe, waiting patiently For me to fill it with Thoughts and feelings. The Blank Page Both friend and foe. Always waiting Always patient Roy W. Backes © 2012
150 Day Project - Day 12
We the People
Who are ‘We the People”?
Are we the people who don’t vote?
Are we the people who are racist?
Are we the people who treat women with disrespect?
Are we the people who are exclusionary?
Are we the people who are homophobic?
Are we the people who hate?
Well, let me tell you what.
That may be “You the People”
But I can damn well tell you
It is not “Me the People.”
Roy W. Backes
© 2017
150 Day Project - Day 13
In Her Painful Wake
She stood before me in the checkout line
Of our local market.
I studied her face and
She studied the floor.
Around one eye was the
Blue yellow glow of
Blood vessels burst in pain.
Her hair, peppered with gray,
Hung flat and lifeless from her head.
Her shoulders were locked high,
Reaching for her ears.
Tension filled her body,
Surrounded her soul.
She lifted her head and
Her eyes never stopped moving,
Like a deer in October.
She paid for her groceries
With Government stamps
But laid out cash for a
Carton of Camels, Ultra Lights.
She moved quickly out of the market,
Lit up a smoke with a shaky hand
And joined the anonymous crowd,
Leaving me in her painful wake.
Roy W. Backes
© 2000
150 Day Project - Day 14
Didn’t Give a Shit
I didn’t give a shit.
About you.
About your family.
About your life.
I just wanted your money.
I wanted your money
So I could buy.
Money to buy sex.
Money to buy drugs.
Money to buy bling.
I didn’t give a shit.
I just wanted your money.
Then I crashed my car.
Fucked myself up bad.
I found myself laying on
The side of the road
Blood leaving my body
Staining all of my money red.
I knew it was bad.
I cried.
I begged for my life.
I asked Jesus to save me.
I promised him I’d change.
I even offered him cash.
Jesus stood on the side of the road
And looked down at me and
My bloody money,
And then he said,
“Yeah, I don’t think so.”
And then he walked away.
He didn’t give a shit.
About me.
About my money.
About my life.
Roy W. Backes
© 2017
150 Day Project - Day 15
A Stranger’s Scent
I turn the cobblestone corner
Onto an empty block.
I walk a few paces
Under the glow of a streetlamp
And your perfume surrounds me.
I inhale deeply
Enjoying the scent you left behind.
I try to trace the origin
Of your wonderful odor,
But an uncaring breeze
Blows away all my hopes.
I stand quietly on the empty cobblestone,
My shadow stretching far ahead,
Breathing deep
Wondering who you are.
You, with the wonderful odor
Left behind to frustrate
My lonely soul.
Roy W. Backes
© 2003
150 Day Project - Day 16
Saying Goodbye to Your Eyes
You lay on your bed
The death rattle finally silent.
The grip you had on my hand
Relaxes just a bit.
I rise and stand in your field of vision.
I refuse to close your eyelids just yet.
Unwilling to send you into final darkness,
Unwilling to cover those beautiful blue eyes
I take my time and read
Your favorite poems into your eyes.
I play your favorite songs for your sight.
When I am finished, I look into your eyes
And say goodbye.
I gently lower your eyelids
Sending you on your way,
Knowing I’ll never see that beautiful
Shade of blue ever again.
Roy W. Backes
© 2001
150 Day Project - Day 17 Sitting Dad (This is the first of the Duet which precedes Sitting – Son) Old man sitting on a Rickety wood porch Attached to a wooden farm house Whose paint is flaking Like the dandruff on his shoulders. He looks out over the plains Into the wide-open sky. He is alone now among all this open sky, Now that she has passed, Finally, free of pain. He wonders where his boy is, His boy who left the wide-open skies For the crowded sky of the city. The city life. The hustle and bustle, That is what his boy wanted. He left years ago And has never come back. He never returned to the wide-open sky. Almost two years now. Not a call, Not a letter, Nothing. He wonders where his boy is today. His boy who no longer has a mom, Who doesn’t know, Who doesn’t seem to care. Roy W. Backes © 2018 150 Day Project - Day 18 Sitting – Son (This is meant to follow Sitting - Dad) Young man sitting on cardboard On concrete next to a heating vent With all he owns around him. He’s filthy. He’s hungry. He’s lonely. He left the wide-open skies of home All those years ago to come To the city with the crowded sky, And even more crowded streets. He left his home in anger, In arrogance, Desperately wanting to see the world. Well, the world smacked Him in the face soon enough. Downsizing, layoffs, depression, Eviction, eventually living on the street. He can’t go back, not like this, Not after the world kicked his ass. He couldn’t face them. He couldn’t bear to see The disappointment in their eyes. He misses the swing on the front porch. He misses his mom. He wonders if they miss him. He sits on cardboard on concrete Chilled to the bone and wishes He could see his mom and his dad. Roy W. Backes © 2018
150 Day Project - Day 19
Tears
Let’s talk about tears;
The bullet that tears the back
Open sending the young man to the ground;
The tears of the young man
As he lays on the grimy turf;
The tears of the mother too weak
To stand after the news;
The tears of the father,
His anger so hot, you dare not touch;
The tears of the children
Left with an empty space;
The tears of the preacher
Preaching empty words of compassion;
The tears of the community and
The tears that run down their cheeks
Only to drop into the mud
Made of other’s tears.
Let’s talk about tears.
Let’s talk about stopping the tears.
Let’s talk about stopping the RIP
That tears the fabric of our society.
Let’s talk.
Roy W. Backes
© 2020
150 Day Project - Day 20
A Silent Place
I can’t play a guitar
I don’t play the piano
No matter how hard I try
I can’t get a sound out of a horn.
My singing sucks
So, I won’t be composing you a
Melody on the guitar or piano.
I won’t be singing you a song.
I can, however, write you
A lyric,
A limerick,
A couplet,
A sonnet,
A poem.
A poem that shows how
You parked yourself in my heart
When you walked through that door
All those many years ago.
You will always have a place
In my heart.
A place that is warm and dry
And full of love.
A place I would fill with
My music if I could only
Play a guitar
Play the piano
Blow a horn
Or
Sing a song.
It will just have to remain
A silent place that is
Filled with my words.
My words.
In a lyric,
In a limerick,
In a couplet,
In a sonnet.
A silent place inside a poem
Will have to do.
Roy W. Backes
© 2020
150 Day Project - Day 21
Mother Always Told Me
My mother always told me
That I could talk to her
Anytime I needed,
No matter what time of day or night,
No matter what it was about.
We would sit for hours
Discussing all sorts of important issues,
Important to me at least.
Now, some twenty years after her death
We still have those same long discussions,
Except that now they take place in my heart.
I listen a little harder now,
I talk a little less
And I choose my topics with care.
Roy W. Backes
© 1999
150 Day Project - Day 22
Steps
Down, up.
Up, Down.
My life has been filled
With steps
Money in hand,
I climbed down the wooden steps
To the local tavern
To fetch cigars for my father.
How many steps?
How many times?
I’m sure I counted them
Thousands of times.
But now, sixty years on,
I can only guess.
Down, up.
Up, down.
Every summer day,
My bathing suit rolled into my towel
And tucked under my arm,
I climbed the concrete steps
To our local pool.
Twice as many steps
As those to get to the tavern.
I counted those steps
Too many times to remember.
Down, up.
Up, Down.
A four-floor house
Now occupied almost thirty years.
I count those steps
Each and every day.
My heart beating fast,
My breath a little short
I climb those steps.
Down, up.
Up, down.
The steps of my life.
I climb.
Down, up.
Up, down.
Roy W. Backes
© 2020
150 Day Project - Day 23
You Ain’t Been Blue Long Enough
You ain’t been blue long enough
To complain the way you do.
I’ve been in jail for twenty-two years
Lookin’ at twenty more.
You ain’t been blue long enough
To hang your head the way you do.
I’ve been poor for forty-four years
Never had an extra dime.
You ain’t been blue long enough
To cry the way you do.
I ain’t never seen my daddy
And my mamma is always high.
You ain’t been blue long enough
To hate the way you do.
For years my daddy beat me
And loved me in all the wrong ways.
You ain’t been blue long enough
To feel lonely the way you do.
All my wives done left me
They took my children too.
You ain’t been blue long enough
To moan the way you do.
I’ve been livin’ on the streets
For over fifteen years. That’s moaning.
You ain’t been blue long enough
To be tired they way you do.
For sixty seven years I been on this earth,
Can’t afford to survive.
You ain’t been blue long enough
To worry the way you do.
I’ve been Black. A teacher. An Artist,
A working stiff my whole life.
You ain’t been blue long enough
To write the way you do.
You ain’t been blue long enough
To sing
Or play
Or even talk the blues.
Roy W. Backes
© 1998
150 Day Project - Day 24
Fences
Fences.
They are not all white picket
Or chain link.
We build them day after day
Board after board
Slight after slight
Word after word.
We each build our own
Of our own design.
Hard, soft,
High, strong,
Of different languages
Of different Gods.
Fences.
We each build our own.
Around our homes.
Around our hearts.
Around our world.
Roy W. Backes
© 2017
150 Day Project - Day 25
Break It Now
If you’re gonna break my heart
Break it now.
Don’t wait.
The hurt is gonna hurt the same
Today
As
Tomorrow.
If you’re gonna break my heart
Break it now.
Don’t let me waste another hour
Of my love
On a heart holding a hammer.
Roy W. Backes
© 2016
150 Day Project - Day 26
The Road
As the miles pass by my window
I watch the fields and the cities
And my fellow travelers pass on by.
My arm sticking out the window,
Palm down, fingers front, I ride
The wind like a floating plane.
The trip has been long with
Some wonderful stops along the way.
I’ve had a few flat tires,
I’ve run out of fuel a couple of times
But I always managed to get back
On the road in due time.
The people I have picked up along
The road with their thumbs out
In the wind have filled my heart
With friendship, conversation,
Pride and love.
I could not have asked for more.
When I arrive at my final destination
I’ll arrive with a full heart,
A smile on my face and
The western sun shining bright in my eyes.
Roy W. Backes
© 2012
150 Day Project - Day 27
Johnny Chicago
They call him Johnny Chicago.
He’s an aging hippie,
Bandana around his head
Flowers in his hair
Wearing frayed, cutoff shorts that
Look like leftovers from the 60’s.
The outdoor concert was good.
The music, loud and entertaining.
The crowd, large and mellow.
But Johnny, obviously drunk
And probably stoned
Danced (Weaved is more like it)
In front of the stage.
I watched Johnny Chicago
Strut around down front
All alone in the crowd.
His hunger for human contact
Was palpable.
He drunkenly high-fived every guy he passed,
Missing his fair share.
He hit on every female
That crossed his path,
They all turned him down.
He just smiled his stoned smile
And stared at their asses
As they walked away.
They call him Johnny Chicago,
A man with a big city name
Living in a small town,
Dancing in a large crowd
Looking small
And all alone.
Roy W. Backes
© 2017
150 Day Project - Day 28
Weathered Rockers
Along the shore line
Two weathered wooden rockers
Sit on an abandoned deck,
Their paint long baked off
By the sun.
A steady wind blows off the lake
And ever so gently rocks
The rockers back and forth
As though the old couple
That owned them
Were still here to sit together
To enjoy the breeze on their faces
And the view of the lake sky.
Roy W. Backes
© 2016
150 Day Project - Day 29
The Gettin’ Old, But Still Single Blues
It’s after midnight on a Friday night and
The bass beat of the music thump, thump, thumps
The mumbled lyrics into my head.
While I sit at the bar with another empty beer
In my hand, I look around at the nubile
Suntanned men and women crowding the room.
Their youth overpowers me and I realize, once again,
That I am the oldest person in the room.
I order another beer and look in the barroom mirror
As I suffer through another night of
The gettin’ old, but still single blues.
Midnight is a distant memory on this Saturday night.
The lights flashing, strobbing, pulsing all around me.
A nice young thing sits next to me
At the bar and chats away at me.
I can’t hear a word she says because
The music keeps thump, thump, thumping in my ears.
I think she is cute but the lights haven’t
Stayed on her for more than a millisecond.
I try not to stare at her breasts
But her cleavage looms large.
I nod my head a lot and smile as though
I have some idea what she is saying.
It’s late, the houselights about to come on
When her girlfriend comes by.
Young thing stands and mouths something like,
“Thanks for the drinks”, and wiggles her way out the door.
I look at my image in the barroom mirror,
Hair gray, eyes tired and wonder
How am I ever going to lose these
Gettin’ old, but still single blues?
Roy W. Backes
© 2017
150 Day Project - Day 30
Tight Grip
So many people fall off
The planet every day
As this sphere spins in space.
They lose their grip.
They lose their grip
Through sickness
Through age
Through murder
Through accident.
I wake up every morning
Thankful that my grip
To this planet remains strong.
I’m thankful for finding
This strong root planted
Solidly in the ground
Which allows me to
Hold on tight each and every day
As this sphere spins magically in space.
Roy W. Backes
© 2019
150 Day Project - Day 31
Noisy Escort
Hidden behind a door with a peep hole
And three dead bolt locks
An old woman lays dying
In her husband's bed.
The husband gives comfort,
Feeds her pills, prays and waits.
While reading the paper one morning
The jackhammers arrive
Breaking holes in the stairwell
To run pipe and wire through.
Jack, Jack,
Jack, Jack, Jack, Jack, Jack,
Day in, day out,
Twenty-seven floors.
The sound climbs the stairwell
Never losing its breath.
Behind the locked door
The old woman groans in pain
And asks for another pill.
The old man wipes away another tear
And opens another bottle.
Jack, Jack,
Jack, Jack, Jack, Jack, Jack
The jackhammers hammer
Incessantly, impassively,
Escorting the old woman
To a noisy death.
Roy W. Backes
© 1997
150 Day Project - Day 32
Bottle of Bourbon
I put on my best jeans
And ironed my good black shirt,
The one with the pearl-studded buttons.
I shined my boots
And headed out for the night
Hoping to get lucky.
I hit a couple of bars,
Hit on a couple of ladies,
Man, they looked and smelled so good.
I worked them hard
Bar after bar
Late into the night
Hoping to get lucky.
I woke up this morning
Head heavy and pounding in pain
And looked to my left
Hoping to see long hair
And naked breasts.
But all I saw was an
Empty bottle of bourbon
On my bedside table.
I had hoped to get lucky last night
And meet myself a lovely lady
But all I managed to bring home
Was a beautiful bottle of bourbon.
Roy W. Backes
© 2018
150 Day Project - Day 33
Schmidty
His name was Ed,
Actually, it was Edward.
Edward Schmidt, “Schmidty”
As we all called him.
I’m not sure if he even
Thought of himself as Ed/Edward.
When he wrote a card
He always signed it, “Schmidty.”
I’ve known him since age 12
But not once have I ever
Thought of him as Ed,
Always Schmidty.
Is it weird to have a life-long
Friend who you never called
By their name?
His name was Ed,
Actually, it was Edward.
But he was always Schmidty to me.
My friend,
Schmidty.
Roy W. Backes
© 2019
150 Day Project - Day 34
Just One
I was deeply hurt when you left me
All those years…..Wasted.
I was deeply angry when you left me
All those years…..for what?
When you moved out
I took all of your photos
And shredded them.
That felt so good.
To see you cut to pieces.
To hear you ground to dust.
Now, many years later
I can’t remember what you look like.
I remember your smell.
I remember the sound of you
Walking through the house.
I remember your laugh,
A high-pitched cackle.
But, no matter how hard I try
I can’t remember your face.
Now, I wish I had saved a photo.
Just one.
Just one to remember you by.
Roy W. Backes
© 2020
150 Day Project - Day 35
Separate Lines
We insist on separate lines.
The Catholics.
The Muslims.
The Jews.
All of us.
When your soul moves on
What you believed.
Who you believed.
Whether you believed
Makes no difference.
When the inevitable comes
We all discover the same thing.
Catholics don’t get into the Catholic line.
Muslims don’t get into the Muslim line.
Jews don’t get into the Jewish line.
There are not 72 virgins waiting
In line for the jihadist after
He ignites his suicide vest.
When the inevitable comes
Our souls move on and mingle
As we should have in life.
No differences.
No separate lines.
Roy W. Backes
© 2016
150 Day Project - Day 36
Blow Wind, Blow
As Mr. Lear said,
“Blow wind, blow.”
Blow the waves on the sea.
Blow the flags flat and straight.
Blow the trees so they bend and sway.
Blow the mist onto my face
And cleanse my skin.
Mr. Lear had it right,
“Blow wind, blow.”
Blow and scrub the tension
From my soul.
Blow wind, blow.
Roy W. Backes
©2019
150 Day Project - Day 37
The Quiet Library
I peeked into a window
And found the normally quiet
Confines of the library
To be deaf to sound and movement.
No dust swirls in the air.
With no one there to move it around
The dust has all settled on the
Jackets, bindings and pages
Of the thousands of books
Lined up, lonely and untouched
For over five months now.
What is quieter than quiet?
That is what I saw
When I peeked through
The window of my local
Quiet Library.
Roy W. Backes
© 2020
150 Day Project - Day 38
The Friday Day Blues
Now that you’re gone
I managed to survive Monday.
I put up with Tuesday.
I cried on Wednesday.
I held myself together on Thursday.
Now it’s Friday.
Friday morning with nothing
But the evening and the weekend
To look forward to without you.
During the week I get by
Using tears and beers and a little tequila,
But on Friday day
I find myself looking forward to
The distraction of surviving Monday
And being far away from
These Friday day blues.
Roy W. Backes
© 2010
150 Day Project - Day 39
This Rock
We occupy this rock in space
A rock we named Earth
A rock we also named Home.
We share this rock with thousands
Of other species
Yet we seem to be the only ones
Inflicting massive damage to this rock.
They say we are killing the planet.
We are not killing the planet
We are damaging the planet and
Killing ourselves.
Driving ourselves into extinction.
This rock will survive
With or without us.
It does not care.
It will outlive us,
It will outlast us and
It will breathe a sigh of relief
When the last of us finally falls off.
Roy W. Backes
© 2017
150 Day Project - Day 40
Fall from Grace
(Guardian Angel Series)
She got tired of sitting by
And watching evil take place
Without being allowed to stop it.
The next time the man
Walked into the room and
Raised his hand in anger
The angel struck back.
The man, stunned, struggled
For breath as the angel
Stood over him with her holy
Hands crushing his throat.
The woman, her charge, thanked God,
Sat back and smiled
For the first time in years
As tears fell from her bruised eyes.
The angel sat next to her charge
On the floor and
Contemplated her fall from grace as
She wiped tears away from her own eyes.
Roy W. Backes
© 2010
150 Day Project - Day 41
Little Rich Girl
“I’m not poor, Mommy.”
“Look, Mommy, I’m not poor.”
Sitting on a city bus
Ten blocks left to my trip
A little girl sits behind me
Telling her mother that
She is not poor.
I chose not to look at
The girl and her mother
As I departed the bus.
The mystery intrigued me.
Were they poor?
Was she holding a dollar bill?
Did the mother smile lovingly?
Did the mother give a hard stare
Flushing with embarrassment?
I’ll never know.
What I do know is that
I left a little rich girl
Sitting on the bus when
I stepped off into my world.
Roy W. Backes
© 2008
150 Day Project - Day 42
Nightly Special
I sit patiently in the diner booth
Staring at the waitress
Behind the counter.
While I nibble at their nightly special
I put four more quarters into
The small jukebox at my table.
At one point I catch the eye
Of the waitress, who gives me
A smile filled with mystery
And expectation.
I sit patiently in the diner booth
Listening to soul music
Waiting for her shift to end
So I can take her home
And she can serve me
Her nightly special.
Roy W. Backes
© 2020
150 Day Project - Day 43
Loving Arms
My friend died today.
It has been over four years
Since his love, partner of forty-five years
Passed away as well.
Four plus lonely years.
Four plus years of waking up
Alone each and every day.
Well, that four plus years are over.
I can see my friend closing
His eyes for the last time
With a smile on his face
As his love, his partner
Reaches out his arms and lifts
Him up to carry him
To the other side.
Both have smiles that beam
Bright that shed a little
More light onto my saddened soul.
For Janis and Thom
Roy W. Backes
© 2020
150 Day Project - Day 44
Death
It is quiet,
Peaceful,
Large and dark.
You know, that dark
We all meet after we
Fall asleep,
Before our dreams begin?
It is quiet,
Peaceful,
Large and dark,
But the dreams never begin.
Never.
Ever.
Roy W. Backes
© 2014
150 Day Project - Day 45
Missing My Telephone
Remember when all we had was
A telephone at home?
They called,
You answered.
Not home?
They called you back.
Now I have
My Blackberry
My iPhone
My iPad
My Droid
My Watch
My Voicemail
My Email
My Junk mail
My Text
My Laptop
My Desktop
I miss the comfort of the
Black telephone with the long
Black insulated cord
With the rotary dial.
Remember when all we had was
A telephone at home?
They called,
You answered.
Roy W. Backes
© 2011
150 Day Project - Day 46
Black and The Blues
City street in the dark of night.
Shadows swallow corners
Where light from the street lamp
Doesn’t fit.
Where creatures big and small reside.
I wander down the city street
In no particular hurry
When I hear the howl of a
Harmonica off in the distance.
I follow the sound past boarded up
Storefronts long abandoned,
Until I see a man
Sitting on a milk crate
In the shadow of a fire escape.
I’m drawn to the music,
To the pain screaming
From his harp.
I stand and listen… in awe.
I ask him, “Where did you
Learn to play like that?”
He looked at me and said,
“It’s simple man…..
I’m Black and I got the Blues.”
Roy W. Backes
© 2007
150 Day Project - Day 47
The Empathetic Cross
A cross of wood,
Dried and bleached blond
By the Mid-eastern sun
Feels warm blood
Run over its withered skin.
A battered body
Wet with sweat,
Covered with the smell of death
Hangs limp from knotted ropes
And spikes driven through flesh.
The withered wood absorbs
The pain from the hanging body,
Drawing it into its pores
Hoping to bring some relief
From the wounds as the
Crown of thorns contracts
In the heat of the sun.
Roy W. Backes
© 1995
150 Day Project - Day 48
Hiking the Trail
Hiking the trail alone
Surrounded by dense forest
And a deep natural silence.
No man-made sounds here.
Just the silence of nature;
Wind in the trees;
Birds singing and chirping;
The scurry of something in the brush.
Surrounded by dense forest
Alone
You step off the trail
To empty your bowels.
When you stand up and
Buckle your belt
You pause and then slowly
Turn in a circle and
Realize that it all looks the same.
The same trees.
The same patterns.
The same silence.
Having no idea where the trail is
You gather your thoughts,
You gather your pack,
You gather your courage
And you gamble on this way.
For the next thirty-three days
You gamble.
This way.
That way.
No way.
You try to text.
You try to call.
No luck.
No service.
No sound.
Just natural silence.
No sign of the trail.
No sound of humans.
No sign of humans
Anywhere.
Anytime.
No signs.
You yell.
You moan.
You scream,
But only the cicadas scream back.
You wander…..
In circles…..
This way…..
That way…..
For thirty-three days.
You write in your journal
About your fears.
About your regrets.
Eventually about your goodbyes.
Goodbyes that are surrounded
By dense forest
And a deep, deafening silence.
Alone.
For Mrs. Geraldine Largay
Roy W. Backes
© 2016
150 Day Project - Day 49
Sitting in Silence
I like sitting in silence.
No radio,
No TV,
No water dripping from a faucet,
No sirens outside,
No car horns in the street.
Just silence.
A place where I can
Think.
A place where I can
Dream.
A place where I can
Write.
I like sitting in silence
Making noise with my pen.
Roy W. Backes
© 2020
150 Day Project - Day 50
Free Will
Man says that God gave us free will.
What bullshit!
That is just an excuse.
God gave us free will
So we could go to war?
God gave us free will
So we could kill each other?
Go gave us free will
So we could hurt each other?
I’m sorry, but this can’t be God’s work.
War
Murder
Abuse
This is Man’s work.
So, as a deception
Man decided that “God” gave us free will.
What about calling it what it is?
The deep flaw in the human condition,
Where through “Free Will”
We choose to kill, maim and hurt each other,
Day after day after day.
Free will?
Bullshit!
Roy W. Backes
© 2020
150 Day Project - Day 51
The Wrong Side of Trouble
Risk adverse.
That is a great description of me.
I don’t drive more that seven mph
Over the speed limit.
I pay my bills on time.
I floss.
I don’t skydive.
Then she walked into the room.
She had passed sexy a long time ago.
Then she smiled at me.
A smile dripping with danger.
Then she talked to me.
Sweet talk, like hot pepper honey.
Then she touched me.
Hot, hard and aggressive.
Then she took me home and
Introduced me to
The wrong side of trouble.
Roy W. Backes
© 2015
150 Day Project - Day 52
No Surrender
Two women walking up the street,
Both are long past their prime.
One is graceful in her old age,
The other is tucked, wigged, made up,
And stuffed into skintight jeans
Above too high heels.
Her nails, both hand and toes are
Painted blood red as she fights
With all of her might against
The ravages of time.
She looked tired from her constant battle
But she couldn’t give in,
No matter how long the war,
No matter what the cost.
There is no surrender in this woman’s soul,
I could see it in her made up eyes.
No surrender.
Roy W. Backes
© 2000
150 Day Project - Day 53
Window Pain
She sits at the elegant dining table
The pearls beautiful around her neck.
The stretched white tablecloth hangs with
Perfect folds at the corners.
Her wine glass sparkles with
A deep red shine.
She tucks the hair behind her ear
Like she has done a thousand times
As a smile appears upon her face.
She lifts her glass in a toast
And clinks it against another
Shimmering red tinted glass.
A cold wind blows.
I hunch my shoulders
And pull my collar tight,
As I watch the two glasses meet,
Without a sound
From the other side of the glass.
Standing alone
I lean forward and press my nose
Against the window pane
And watch her disappear
As my breath fogs up her smiling eyes.
Roy W. Backes
© 2007
150 Day Project - Day 54
Heaven and Hell
(Guardian Angel Series)
The killer checks his weapon once again
In preparation for the massacre
That is about to begin.
He has finished his manifesto
And mailed it to the news affiliate
So he can have his fifteen minutes of fame.
His guardian angel lays bleeding
In the corner, his first victim.
The killer takes one last look
At the angel, grins an evil smile
And says, “I’ll see you in Hell.
Isn’t that where they send angels who fail?
They surely won’t let you back in after today.”
As the killer closes the door
The angel takes a shallow breath
Listening to his heart beat
Slower and slower
And wonders about
Heaven and Hell.
Roy W. Backes
© 2008
150 Day Project - Day 55
“Science Is Real”
She stood silently in the crowd
One of many thousands,
Quiet, serene, focused.
She held up a hand-made sign,
Black sharpie on cardboard, that read,
“Science Is Real”.
She didn’t chant
She didn’t yell
She didn’t clap
She just stood silently in the crowd
Holding up a sign
Making her voice heard
Loud and clear
By her presence
By her pride
By her handwritten cardboard sign
That read,
“Science Is Real”.
Roy W. Backes
© 2017
150 Day Project - Day 56
Alaska Dreaming on Such a Summer’s Day
High 90’s.
High humidity,
For days on end,
Then weeks on end.
I read somewhere that they are
Calling this, “Face melting heat.”
I sit on my deck
Praying for a breeze,
Just a little puff of wind.
Anything to cool me off.
I sit in this heat
Dreaming of Alaska,
Of the cold breeze,
Of the white clouds
My breath makes as
I blow into my hands
While trying to generate some heat.
I’m Alaska dreaming
On such a summer’s day.
Roy W. Backes
© 2020
150 Day Project - Day 57
The Workin’ Stiff Blues
My feet are hurtin’ at the end of the day,
They ache like a rotten tooth.
I punch out on the hour
And walk slowly to me car….and say,
God, give me the strength to come back tomorrow
Let me tie on my heavyweight boots.
God, give me the will to hold back the sorrow
From these back breakin’, workin’ stiff blues.
Just fill up my glass with ice-cold beer
And turn up the music real loud.
Just put another cold beer into my hand
And leave me in peace while I pray….and say,
God, give me the strength to go back tomorrow
Let me tie on my heavyweight boots.
God, give me the will to hold back the sorrow
From these back breakin’, workin’ stiff blues.
Just give me my pay and let me go home,
Go home to my TV and beer.
Please leave me in peace where nobody hears,
Leave me in silence where nobody cares….while I say,
God, give me the strength to go back tomorrow
Let me tie on my heavyweight boots.
God, give me the will to fight off the sorrow,
To hold back the sorrow
From these mind numbing
Feet achin’
Heart breakin’
Back breakin’
Soul crushin’
Workin’ stiff blues.
Roy W. Backes
© 2014
150 Day Project - Day 58
The Grin Reaper
I’ve lived my life
With a code of, “Do no harm.”
I always felt that it was my responsibility
To leave this planet a better place
Than when I arrived here.
I’m not talking about curing cancer
Or being an open-heart surgeon.
I’m taking about treating people,
All people, with respect and
To bring a positive energy
To this thing called life.
So, I figure, when the day comes
It won’t be the grim reaper that
Visits me. Instead,
It will be the grin reaper
That will come to escort me
To the other side.
Roy W. Backes
© 2018
150 Day Project - Day 59
Old Woman in Window
Old woman sits at the window
Her face sagging and slack with age.
She stares down at the street
Watching the busy city pass on by.
One hand holds a burning butt
Staining her fingers the burnt orange of nicotine.
The other caresses a dirty juice glass
Half full of seventy proof spirits.
The spirits dull the edge of her life
That has been sharpened by pain and loneliness.
Her mate moved on years ago...
Massive heart attack, a horrible thing.
Now she talks to her juice glass….
And herself.
No one talks back.
A breeze blows, lifting the thin white hair
Off her creased forehead
And momentarily clears away
The fog of filter-less smoke.
She sits behind the safety of her glass
Above the busy world
And waits for something to happen.
Roy W. Backes
© 1992
150 Day Project - Day 60
Steel Curtain
Smoke stacks
Lined up along the river.
Mill after mill.
Mile after mile,
Like giant steel soldiers
Standing at attention,
Spitting out gray smoke
The color of ash,
Hour after hour
Day after day,
Staining the collar of my shirt
Stuffing my nose
Singeing my lungs.
My 6-month-old lungs
My 6-year-old lungs
My 16-year-old lungs
Making them feel like
60-year-old lungs.
That was life growing up
In the ‘Burgh in the 50’s.
Growing up in a steel town.
Growing up behind the steel curtain.
Roy W. Backes
© 2017
150 Day Project - Day 61
Collateral Damage
Where is God?
Where is God in places like Darfur,
Iraq, Rwanda, Virginia Tech?
I see signs of God everywhere.
In flowers. In colorful birds.
In the flowing wheat fields.
In my son’s eyes.
In my heart.
But where is God when things get
Really ugly?
When evil walks in with its weapons,
With its machetes,
With its hate?
I think God likes things to be
Nice and calm.
When things take a turn for the worse
I think God turns his/her back,
Accepting that
It is just Collateral Damage.
Roy W. Backes
© 2007
150 Day Project - Day 62
Murder A Marriage Tonight
(Meant to be followed by “I Never Saw Her Coming”)
I’m in a murdering mood tonight.
Not murder as with a gun
Or a knife
But murder in a very passive
Yet exploitive way.
Murder with My looks
My legs
My ass
My tits.
If I must say so myself
I look fucking good in this dress,
Skin tight, stretched over my
Braless breasts, micro short
Showing off my legs
In spiked heels.
My hair shining, my lips red
My nails long, fake and red, red, red.
I’m not going to the club tonight
No, no, no.
I’m going to the Four Seasons hotel bar
And look for left hand bands.
I plan to work hard tonight.
I plan to murder a marriage tonight.
Roy W. Backes
© 2016
150 Day Project - Day 63
I Never Saw Her Coming
(This is meant to follow “Murder A Marriage Tonight”)
I never saw her coming.
The hotel bar was quiet.
The barkeep keeping to himself.
I was working my whiskey, neat,
Mindlessly spinning my wedding band
Staring into my mind trying to work out
Some bullshit after a hard day’s work.
Working my whiskey,
I rolled it around my glass
Watching the neat tears forming
On the sides of the tumbler.
I never saw her coming.
It was her perfume
That brought me back around.
Along with that voice ordering.
“Whiskey. Neat.”
She sat next to me at the bar
Smiling like Aphrodite
With those red painted lips
In that tight red dress
And red spiked heels.
I never saw her coming.
I never saw the murder in her eyes.
Those eyes that sparkled
All green and hazel.
As I lay on the bed
Spent and racked with guilt
I watched as she wiggled that body
Back into that tight red dress.
That body that swallowed me whole.
I watched her step into those
Red spiked heels.
While nervously spinning my wedding band
I watched her smile at me
As she walked away
Seemingly satisfied.
I never saw her coming.
Roy W. Backes
© 2018
150 Day Project - Day 64
My Car Broke Down
My car broke down days ago.
I keep walking west
Along this deserted highway.
The soles of my shoes,
Hot and sticky against the asphalt,
Carry my weary feet forward.
My hips hurt.
My back aches.
But I keep moving forward.
Not a soul in sight.
No one but me, the road
And the sun.
I figure that if I walk
Long enough,
Far enough,
I’ll finally find the cool blue
Water of paradise.
For now, I put my right
In front of my left and
Keep walking toward the setting sun.
Roy W. Backes
© 2018
150 Day Project - Day 65
Into the World
It’s Quiet
It’s Lonely
It’s Dark
It’s Cramped.
As I grow, the inside of my
Oval home gets tighter and tighter.
It’s time to break out.
It’s time to see the light.
It’s time to meet the world.
I push….
I kick….
Nothing.
Finally, using my head
I create a crack
I see a line of light.
I’m so excited.
I push harder and harder and
Finally, my oval home opens.
The world floods me with a cacophony
Of light, Noise, Odors and People.
I take a deep breath…
I choke.
I look around….
I cry.
I miss the quiet dark already.
Roy W. Backes
© 2017
150 Day Project - Day 66
She Waits
She waits…alone…
Her father, uncle and brothers
All killed by the extremists.
Alone,
She sits on the threadbare carpet,
With the heat of the sun
Baking everything in sight.
Sweat rolls down her neck
And onto her back.
A shiver runs up her spine.
In the distance she hears
The gunshots and the screams
As they get closer.
Frozen in place,
With nowhere to hide
With no one to protect her,
She waits….
She waits to be taken
She knows not where.
She waits….
She waits to be taken,
By whom she does not know.
At sixteen, however, she knows
What is about to happen
When she is taken.
She sits on the threadbare carpet
In the unbearable heat
Frozen in terror.
Alone….
She waits.
Roy W. Backes
© 2019
150 Day Project - Day 67
Fred’s Question
I went up to Fred Rogers
And told him that my mother
Had finally passed away.
He knew all about her long illness
And struggle to survive.
With my eyes wet and
My throat tight with emotion
I said to him, “At least her
Pain is over now.” And
He looked me in the eye,
Standing outside of Studio “A”
Of WQED-TV and said to me,
“That’s fine Roy, but what
About your pain?”
That question stunned me.
A question that I had never asked myself.
I thank him for asking it for me.
Now, every time I face my pain
I think of Fred.
Roy W. Backes
© 2007
150 Day Project - Day 68
He Touched Me
I saw him as he was about
To cross my path.
We almost bumped into him,
My father and I.
He came from my right,
Stooped over by the weight
Of his backpack.
When we stopped to let him pass
He touched my right shoulder
With his left hand.
I shuddered.
I think he mumbled something,
But I am not sure.
It was pretty noisy in the square
Next to the church
On that pleasant Easter morning.
He touched me.
Slowly my father and I moved on
Away from the church square.
Then we felt the air go hot
As his bomb went off,
Killing so many people and
Maiming many, many more.
This murderer touched me.
I can still feel the vibrations
Of hate he had in his soul.
I can still see the stain
On my favorite white dress
Left there by the hate of his hand
When it landed on my shoulder.
This murderer touched me.
This murderer left a scar
On my right shoulder
That will not heal.
I will carry that touch
With me forever.
This murderer,
He touched me.
Roy W. Backes
© 2019
150 Day Project - Day 69
Highway to My Future
As I cruise down this highway
I pass exits that lead to
Somewhere……..to Everywhere.
They are all tempting diversions
That send me in aimless directions.
Uncertain of my destination
I pull into a roadside rest stop
To stretch my legs and
Sip a cup of coffee.
I wish I had one of those ‘Trip Tix’
From AAA to consult.
You know, with my future highlighted
In yellow!
Then I could just follow the
Yellow marked road (To Oz maybe).
All I know is that I have to keep
On driving down this highway,
Testing the exits until
My destination becomes clear,
Or I land in the ocean.
Roy W. Backes
© 1996
150 Day Project - Day 70
Country Girl
(A Lyric)
I grew up in the country
Workin’ the farm
Mud on my boots
Tattoos on my arm
I searched the high plains
As far as I could see
For a country girl
But it wasn’t meant to be
I moved to the city
Concrete ‘neath my feet
Searching the high-rise jungle
For someone to meet
My love life was empty
As bare as my bed
I look out my window
And see brick, painted red
She stepped on the bus
And I noticed her boots
I wondered if she had country
Somewhere in her roots
I smiled my best smile
Showing my teeth
And hoped she liked listening
To my man, Toby Keith
As the days progressed
We started to talk
Turns out she lives
Right round the block
One day I wore my boots
And that made her smile
A smile that lit up my world
A long country mile.
I grew up in the country
Workin’ the farm
Mud on my boots
Tattoos on my arm
I moved to the city
Concrete ‘neath my feet
Searching the high-rise jungle
For someone to meet
I was lookin’ for love
In the hustle and fuss
Only to meet my country girl
On a big city bus
Roy W. Backes
© 2014
150 Day Project - Day 71
Who Are You?
Who are you?
How big is your heart?
How magnificent is your soul?
How brave are you?
You, who, in the middle of a war zone,
In undoubtedly one of the most
Dangerous places on the planet
During a “Pause in aggression”,
(They can’t even call it a cease-fire)
Get behind the wheel of a truck
Loaded with relief supplies
For the war-torn needy.
You do this, knowing deep in your heart
How unimaginably dangerous it is.
Yet you get behind the wheel
And drive hundreds of miles past
The worst of humanity in order
To help the children, the innocent,
The weary.
In my eyes
Your heart is the size of all humanity.
Your soul is the size of space.
Your bravery is untouched.
Who are you?
How big is your heart?
How magnificent is your soul?
How brave are you?
You are bigger,
More beautiful
And braver than I,
Than most of us.
God speed, God bless
Whoever you are.
Roy W. Backes
© 2016
150 Day Project - Day 72
Looking Forward
I was looking forward
To seeing my old friend
After all these many years.
This friend that I have known
Since my twelfth year of life.
Now here I am, age fifty,
Looking forward to
Introducing him to my ten-year-old son.
My wife, son and I wait
Anxiously in our hotel room
For his arrival.
At last, after perhaps fifteen years,
The knock on the door.
I look forward
To seeing my old friend
Who, when I open the door,
Is a shell, no a skeleton,
Of his former self.
His smile wide but still the same,
His eyes sunken deep,
His cheeks hollow and dark.
We wrap our arms around
Each other, his shoulder blades
Sharp against my forearms
As we pat each other on the back.
I try to hold back the tears,
Hold back the shock.
My son holds out his hand
To shake the hand of my oldest friend.
My wife kisses his wan cheeks.
I take a couple of breaths.
We talk around his condition
Relying on the past
To keep us deflected.
Eventually we head out to dinner.
Within months his sister calls
To inform me that
My best friend is dead.
The disease took him,
Took him quick.
Quicker than any of us expected.
I looked forward to seeing him again,
But it was not to be.
I looked forward to talking with him again,
But it was not to be.
I looked forward to holding him again,
But it was not to be.
Now I look forward to the memories,
To the stories I have to tell.
I look forward to keeping
His memory alive.
Alive in my heart
As well as in your eyes.
For Schmidty
Roy W. Backes
© 2019
150 Day Project - Day 73
The Sound of Silence
The sound of silence is new.
No more footsteps on the floor.
No more dishes clanging in the kitchen.
No more shower running in the bath.
The sound of silence surrounds me
Like the heat of a summer day.
She left me last night.
She took all the noise she made with her
And left me alone in silence.
I sit at the table,
One plate,
One glass.
The sound of silence is new.
The sound of silence screams in my ear.
The sound of silence is not silent.
Roy W. Backes
© 2015
150 Day Project - Day 74
Shadow Boxing
Bobbing and weaving,
Throwing punches at the air.
Keeping my arms up,
My elbows tight
I stay light on my feet
Constantly moving.
Right, Left, Back, Forward.
I jab.
I throw overhand rights.
I throw combinations.
All at an opponent
Who is not there.
Who is not real.
Trying desperately to keep off the ropes
I find myself bobbing and weaving and
Fighting shadows in the dark.
Roy W. Backes
© 2020
150 Day Project - Day 75
Do I Dare?
Do I dare call myself a poet?
I write what I claim to be poems.
Am I a poet then?
After I publish,
Am I a poet then?
Do I call myself a poet because
I can rhyme with reason?
Am I a poet because I choose
To express what pounds in my heart?
I am a writer
Who uses his pen as a key.
A key to open the doors
To the hearts
Of those who read my pounding heart.
Am I a poet then?
When?
Roy W. Backes
© 1998
150 Day Project - Day 76
Weeping Widow
Weeping widow sits on a cold rock
Under the weeping willow,
Her hair blowing in the wind.
She stares into space
Her thoughts scattered like the stars.
Sadness surrounds her like
The soft willow branches
Which keep out the light
And the heat of the world.
She opens the urn and
Slowly pours the ashes into the wind
While the tears on her cheeks
Slowly turn to mud.
Weeping widow sits on a cold rock
Under the weeping willow
Watching her marriage blow away
With the autumn wind.
Roy W. Backes
© 1996
150 Day Project - Day 77
A Prisoner of the Blues
I woke up this morning
A prisoner of the blues.
Last night as I drifted off to sleep
The weight of the day
Hung heavy on my heart.
I woke up this morning
A prisoner of the blues.
The blues snuck up and snatched
My soul while I slept
And locked it behind steel bars.
I woke up this morning
A prisoner of the blues.
I knew I was dreaming
‘Cause my Lady was by my side
All perfume smells and puckered red lips.
I woke up this morning
A prisoner of the blues.
The alarm went off at six,
I knew it was trouble
‘Cause I set it for nine.
I woke up this morning
A prisoner of the blues.
I need some help to break these chains.
I pray these blues aren’t here to stay.
Oh God, don’t let me wake tomorrow
A prisoner of the blues.
I’m on my knees
Not askin’ for much.
Just a woman with a key
To these steel bars
That keep me
A prisoner of the blues.
Roy W. Backes
© 1996
150 Day Project - Day 78
In A Place Like This
In a place like this
With bright sun reflecting off the lake water
Like diamonds strewn on gray velvet
With white clouds stuck to a blue sky
Like shredded cotton balls
With a breeze just strong enough
To keep the mosquitoes away
And cool the sweat on my brow
Or
With a cooling rain in the afternoon
And a good book in my lap
With a fire in the fireplace
Burning logs chopped by hand
With a soft snow falling gently
Covering the ice flows along the shore
That is what makes me smile
In a place like this
Roy W. Backes
© 2017
150 Day Project - Day 79
How Long?
The doctors,
The nurses.
How long can they last?
It’s like being on the
Front lines of trench warfare
After a failed advance.
The wounded come in waves
Bleeding, unable to breathe.
They treat one and
Turn around to treat another,
Then another,
Hour after hour
Day after day.
How long can they last?
These heroes on the front lines,
How long can they last
Till they drop, bleeding
And unable to breathe?
How long can they last?
Roy W. Backes
© 2020
150 Day Project - Day 80
Too Late, Bro
Too late, Bro.
You broke it.
You own it.
You can’t fix it.
You can’t lie your way out of it.
You can’t deflect your way out of it.
You broke it.
You own it.
You can’t fix it.
This is all on you.
It is way, way
Too late, Bro.
Roy W. Backes
© 2020
150 Day Project - Day 81
My Mother’s Shoes
As I stood impatiently waiting
While my mother dug through her purse
For the five dollars I had asked for,
(You could still see a movie and
Buy a popcorn for five bucks back then),
I looked down at her feet
And noticed her ragged shoes.
Her shoes were ill fitting,
Stretched and torn at the seams.
The soles, so thin they looked like paper.
That was the day I saw
What my mother went without
So that she could give me
Five dollars to go to the movies.
Roy W. Backes
© 2007
150 Day Project - Day 82
When We Sin
The moment that a sin is sinned
Often seems somewhat normal.
In the back of your mind
You know it’s wrong.
But you tell yourself it’s really no big deal.
Then time gets its hand on the sin,
Adding layer, upon layer of guilt.
You fight that guilt with all of your might,
Holding your own for a long, long time.
But time is strong.
It perseveres.
Day in and day out
It wears you down,
Till you finally get to “Please forgive me”,
For the sin that was sinned.
Roy W. Backes
© 2002
150 Day Project - Day 83
Fresh Air
It’s too stuffy in here.
I can’t breathe.
I suck in air and
All I get is a lung full
Of sadness.
Time to open the windows of my house.
Time to open the windows of my heart.
Time to let some fresh air in.
Time to push the fog of sadness out.
Roy W. Backes
©2020
150 Day Project - Day 84
It Sucks No Longer Being King
It sucks no longer being king.
My crown went from shining gold and
Jeweled upon my head
To being covered in mud and
Blood in battle.
It now sits on someone else’s head.
The someone who controls me.
The someone who holds me down.
The someone who looks down on me.
The someone who doesn’t give a shit about me.
The someone who only cares for himself.
That someone used to be me.
The me who controlled them.
The me who held them down with an iron fist.
The me who looked down on them all.
The me who didn’t give a shit about them.
The me who only took care of myself.
Now they wear the crown
All shiny gold and jeweled
Upon their head.
I’m hungry.
I’m cold,
I’m lonely,
But they don’t give a shit.
Let me tell you,
It sucks no longer being king.
Roy W. Backes
© 2018
150 Day Project - Day 85
You Could Hear It Coming
You could hear it coming
Way off in the distance.
The sky began to rumble.
It was a thunderous call and response
Played out by the roiling clouds.
As the sun moved lower on the
Horizon and began to paint the sky,
The clouds, lower now, rolled in
And turned the sky a yellowish orange,
The color of a black eye
As it begins to fade into memory.
The bruised sky turned blacker
Revealing the bruise in its original form.
The clouds, now screaming in fury,
Begin to pelt the earth
With rain and wind and hail.
You could hear it coming.
See it coming.
Feel it coming.
It raged on until
Its anger was finally spent.
The gray clouds, now rumbling
In the distance, moved on
While the sky, with its wounds healed
Resumed to being painted
By the setting sun.
Roy W. Backes
© 2012
150 Day Project - Day 86
Left Wondering
A bright sunny afternoon
On a city street corner
A little boy hides
Behind a woman’s dress.
She speaks with a man
Who just emerged from an
All male porno-house.
The boy looks at me,
Sitting safely in my car
Waiting for the red to go green.
There is fear in his eyes.
He then looks away,
Slowly leans forward and
Places his tiny forehead
Against the metal surface
Of the light pole to
Cool his sweaty brow.
The light turns green,
The woman pulls the boy away,
The porno man leans down
And speaks to the boy.
The car behind me honks in anger
And I pull away……
Left wondering.
Roy W. Backes
© 2000
150 Day Project - Day 87
Waiting is Hard
Waiting is hard.
You only wait when
You want something to happen.
You only wait when
You want something to end.
You only wait when
You want something to begin.
We all wait.
Day in,
Day out.
We all wait for something,
No matter what, the
Waiting is hard.
Roy W. Backes
© 2020
150 Day Project - Day 88
Back to Where You Began
If you are lost in the woods
Walking in circles can be fatal.
But, taking a long slow curved
Path through life
Will eventually bring you back
To the beginning.
The Beginning.
That first look at light.
That first chill of the air.
That first taste of freedom.
That first breath.
That first scream.
The End.
That last look at light.
That cold wind that blows.
That wish to get out of the bed.
That struggle for breath.
That last scream.
The long curve of life
If lived long enough
Turns into a circle
That brings you back.
Right back to where you began.
Roy W. Backes
© 2007
150 Day Project - Day 89
St. Philip’s Bells
Every morning I opened my eyes
And looked out the window
At the steeple of St. Philip’s Church.
The bell tower was framed by
My black and white curtains
And the sun rising in the sky,
Every morning at 6:00am the
Bells played their familiar tune
Escorting me into my day.
Starting my day with music
As old as time.
I miss those bells of my youth.
Now, I am shoved into my day
By annoying buzzers and
Early morning shock jocks.
I wonder how better my days
Might be if the bells were
To return to my mornings
Playing their familiar tune.
Roy W. Backes
© 2007
150 Day Project - Day 90
On My Knees
You walked into the kitchen
With a suitcase rolling behind.
You told me you were leaving me.
You said that it was over.
I looked at you in shock,
With tears in my eyes.
You held up your hand and
Said, “Don’t.”
You turned on your heels,
Grabbed your suitcase and
Stormed out the door.
The screen door slammed hard
With a slap.
Silence.
I stood there shocked
And surprised.
I then fell to my knees
Wiped the emotional tears
From my eyes
And thanked God
That you were finally gone.
Roy W. Backes
© 2020
150 Day Project - Day 91
Sheer Rock Face
I struggle for a finger hold
On this sheer rock face.
My hand searches desperately
For a crack, a root, a crevasse.
My torn fingertips are covered with blood,
My curled toes ache with the pressure
Of my weight while they
Fight the force of gravity.
I don't dare look back
At the other path not taken,
The safer path,
The path with less challenge.
Committed now to this section
Of rock I wonder if it ends here.
Will I be forced to retreat,
To back down, to crawl back to the bottom?
While the sweat rolls down my neck
And my heart beats faster
Panic begins to take over.
I reach right. I search left
And all I touch is smooth surface.
I cling here with my face
Pressed against the cold rock
Searching for a finger hold
So I can pull myself up
And continue my journey.
Roy W. Backes
© 1997
150 Day Project - Day 92
Not Going Gentle into That Good Night
As I head toward that good night
I agree with Dylan,
I will not go gentle.
I will go kicking and screaming.
Kicking and screaming before the dark
For
One more day
One more kiss from my wife
One more hour
One more hug from my son
One more minute
One more look at the bright blue sky
One more second
One more breath.
I agree with Dylan,
I will not go gentle into that good night.
Roy W. Backes
© 2020
150 Day Project - Day 93
Hungry
I’m hungry.
I have plenty of burgers and
Chips and veggies on hand.
I have all the salmon one could eat.
But, even so,
I’m hungry.
I’m hungry for the soft
Perfumed skin of a woman.
For breasts, big or small.
I’m hungry for a gentle touch,
An understanding voice.
Hunger pangs ache in my belly
And throb in my heart.
I sit alone at my table
Hungry, surrounded by food,
But unable to eat.
Roy W. Backes
© 2020
150 Day Project - Day 94
My First Car
Standing in the doorway
At the end of our porch
We stare out at the street.
I helped you out of your bed
And hold you tight
So you won't fall.
You insisted on seeing it,
My 'new' used 1969 Ford LTD.
Yellow and black, my first car,
Mine.
I beamed with joy and pride.
You leaned against the screen door,
The sun on your face,
And wept.
I hold you tight so you wouldn't fall.
You were dead before I put
My first thousand miles on that car.
So much you'll never see.
My first poem.
My first house.
Your first grandson.
I lean my pen against the page,
The sun on my face,
And weep.
Roy W. Backes
© 1996
150 Day Project - Day 95
Layers of Life
They tore the house down
Brick by brick
All the way to the basement.
It is now a large hole
In the ground filled with
The remnants of a home.
Floors, ceilings, walls.
The exposed wall of the neighbor’s house
Still shows the layered wallpaper
Of bedrooms now abandoned.
The wallpaper exhibits signs of life;
Bright squares where pictures used to hang;
Poster scraps of idols still
Thumb-tacked to the wall;
Worn patches where the headboard
Rubbed away the paper.
The layers of life, once private,
Now hang tattered and exposed
For all of us to see.
Roy W. Backes
© 2020
150 Day Project - Day 96
The Halo
The Guardian Angel Series
The angel sits in the ruins
Of the bombed-out schoolhouse.
Her charge laying bloodied
And broken in the carnage.
Stunned and covered in dust
She crawls to her charge
Takes hold of the bloodied hand.
She squeezes
No squeeze back.
No tears
No cries
No breath.
The angel frantically searches for her halo
In the debris.
Once found she gently lays
The chipped and cracked halo
On the chest of her charge
And sits in silence
Patiently waiting
For the soul to move on.
Roy W. Backes
© 2019
150 Day Project - Day 97
Blues in My Pocket
Feeling down and out
In the ‘Burgh today
I reach into the pocket
Of my tight blue jeans
Intending to grab some cash.
As I reach in, my heart sinks.
All I feel is blackness,
Nothing but darkness
And a gaping hole.
My money, what little there was,
Has fallen through.
Not even a nickel.
Not even a nail is to be found.
I had hoped to buy some smokes
To help burn away the blues,
But no such luck.
Now I’m left with nothing.
Nothing but a gaping hole and
A fist full of blues in my pocket
Roy W. Backes
© 2020
150 Day Project - Day 98
Old Man Sits on a Bench
Old man sits on a bench
His cane in his hand
His tie tied neat and tight.
He stares into the near distance
His mouth turned up in a content smile
Ignoring the life around him.
I pause to look at this old man
And see him reliving his life.
A time when he was young.
A time when he was not alone.
A time when he was healthy.
His near distance stare seems
Full of History.
Full of Joy.
Full of Life.
After a few moments I move on
Leaving the old man alone
On his bench
Content with his memories.
Roy W. Backes
© 2016
150 Day Project - Day 99
Heavy
They say the pen
Is mightier than the sword.
What they don’t say is
That very often the pen
Is heavier than the sword.
Often, lifting the pen off
Of the table is more difficult
Than dead lifting a fifty pound
Brick of pig iron
With three fingers.
The pen.
Mightier, maybe.
Heavier, definitely.
Roy W. Backes
© 2016
150 Day Project - Day 100
The ‘Burgh
Moved away in ’86 and
Never really looked back.
Came back on a few occasions,
You know, funerals, reunions,
But never because my heart
Pulled me there.
Now, thirty-three years later
I look back and realize
How much of the ‘Burgh
Is still in my heart.
There is my best friend, Schmidty,
Dead these past twelve years;
My college training,
The best years of my life;
Working with Fred “Mr. Rogers”,
One of the most influential people
In my life;
The beginning of my professional career
At the Pittsburgh Public Theatre;
The double rainbows above the city
As my future wife walked through the door;
Then there is the music,
Billy Price, The Skyliners,
My love of soul music,
Motown and WAMO.
Mt. Oliver, where I was born
And have my first memories.
Belhurst and Linwood Avenues
Where I grew up.
Black Street
Canice’s house
The Playhouse.
Considering the many memories
I have built since leaving the ‘Burgh
And they are numerous and joyful,
I will always carry a special
Place in my heart for
The ‘Burgh.
Roy W. Backes
© 2019
150 Day Project - Day 101
Thumb Girl
She seems about seventeen,
It’s hard to tell.
We’re sitting on a city bus
Across from each other,
Weaving from side to side.
She is buried in fat
And hides herself in a large
Magenta colored puff coat.
Her nails are chewed to the quick
And painted with a chipped red polish.
As the bus approaches her stop
She pulls her thumb out of her mouth,
It’s all pink and puckered
And shimmers in the frosty light.
She signals the driver
And slowly rises.
The bus jerks to a stop,
The doors open and she searches
The darkness outside.
She sticks her thumb back into
Her mouth, sucks it in deep,
And steps into a dark world
Where her thumb, at least,
Is safe.
Roy W. Backes
© 1996
150 Day Project - Day 102
Sorry Caroline
We tortured this girl in high school.
Her name was Caroline.
It was so bad,
That throughout the school
Calling someone her name
Was the worst insult you could inflict.
All of us.
We laughed at her
We ignored her
We caused her pain every day.
This went on for two,
Maybe three years.
Then we all graduated and
It was over.
For us.
For Caroline, the years of abuse
Left scars on her soul
That will never heal.
I write this poem as a way
To heal the scars on my soul
Left by my insults and my ignorance.
Sorry Caroline.
Roy W. Backes
© 1996
150 Day Project - Day 103
The Fuel of Forgiveness
Where do your sins go
Once they have been forgiven?
Once you repent and say your penance?
All those sins of “impure thoughts”
And “petty thefts”
I confessed to as a teenager.
The thousand Hail Mary’s and Our Fathers
I prayed as penance
While kneeling at the alter rail
In an empty church,
Where did those sins go?
My sins were set free….
To where?
I think they get dropped into Hell
To help fuel the flames.
Those eternal flames of Hell
That I’ve prayed so hard to avoid.
Roy W. Backes
© 2007
150 Day Project - Day 104
WAMO
1967.
I was a seventeen-year old,
Somewhat nerdy kid who loved soul music.
You know, Motown, Atlantic, Styx, Phillips.
I had 45’s stacked five/six high
On my portable stereo system.
WAMO was the soul station in town.
They played them all.
Smokey, The Blossoms, The Marvelettes.
One day I rode my bike to the studio,
Knocked on the door of WAMO and said,
“Hi. I really love this music.”
A seventeen-year old,
Somewhat nerdy, creamy white kid
Who loved soul music
Was welcomed with open arms
Into this all black, soul playing, radio station.
I look back on that moment and realize
That as I watched the DJ play
Smokey Robinson, The Blossoms and The Marvelettes
Color disappeared for me that day.
Roy W. Backes
© 2019
150 Day Project - Day 105
We All Have a Train in Our Past
We all have a train in our past.
When a distant train whistle is heard
Singing its song
We all have a memory
Of a train from our past.
Be it,
The engineer waving to us as a kid;
The whistle blowing a warning
To clear the tracks
After placing our pennies on the track;
A train just passing through the neighborhood;
A trip on the tracks to…..elsewhere.
We all go somewhere in our minds
When we hear the distant whistle of a train
Because,
We all have a train in our past.
Roy W. Backes
© 2020
150 Day Project - Day 106
Better Than a Sleeping Pill
I arrive at the lake house
In the deep dark of night,
The wind blowing steady and strong,
My nerves shot after the long drive.
With full knowledge, I open my kit
To find my pill jar empty,
The prescription no more.
I open the windows
To air out the place
And get some fresh air.
My anxiety running high
I crawl into bed
Anticipating another sleepless night.
As I lay there in the dark
Praying for some sleep
The rhythm of the waves
Begins to relax my soul.
I focus on the sound…….
I wake up early with
The rising sun streaming
Through my window.
I lay there, rested,
Listening to the rhythm of the waves
Steady and strong and
Am thankful that their continuous
Motion is so much
Better than a sleeping pill.
Roy W. Backes
© 2020
150 Day Project - Day 107
Dancing
Swaying to the music
The sax sings smooth and mellow.
I lean my head next to yours
And inhale the odor of
Your shampoo and perfume.
I whisper to you and feel you smile
As you lean a little closer.
As we sway to the music
I hold you close and smile.
Filled with joy
We dance in the dark
Surrounded by the sound of the sax.
Roy W. Backes
© 2007
150 Day Project - Day 108
Art in a Box
A picture frame.
A painter’s canvas.
A movie screen.
A TV screen.
A page of a book.
A proscenium arch.
A sheet of music.
A photograph.
We love to present
Our art in a box.
Roy W. Backes
© 2010
150 Day Project - Day 109
I Am Not Going to Bend the World
I am a man.
I am not going to bend the world.
I am just a man,
A man with a pen in my hand.
A man with an eye
That sees with empathy.
A man that records moments,
A man that writes.
I am not going to bend the world.
I would be happy
If I were able to leave
Just a small dent,
Even a small pockmark
Upon the skin of this
Very straight and very hard world.
Roy W. Backes
© 2020
150 Day Project - Day 110
Accept Grace
He spoke from his heart
And I heard it with my heart.
I needed something to hold on to.
He gave it to me in two words.
Accept Grace.
Thanks Remi
Roy W. Backes
© 2011
150 Day Project - Day 111
The Seagull
I stood on the wharf
Opening myself to the power of the wind,
Watching the setting sun paint the sky.
The wind was billowing my shirt
Giving me a much rounder look.
Above my head a seagull
Hung silent in the air
Wings spread wide
Allowing the wind to hold him still.
He covered my face with his
Gray and white shadow.
Not moving a wing,
He floated there a full minute,
Allowing me to stop squinting
And take in the beauty
Of the painted sky.
Roy W. Backes
© 1996
150 Day Project - Day 112
The Blues
He sits on his unmade bed,
A glass of Southern Comfort in his hand.
A hot evening breeze blows through the window,
Gently moving his frayed curtains,
Thinning out his drink by the minute.
Blue neon fills his room,
Painting his room blue for three seconds,
Every three seconds.
CC's Bar and Grill flashes
On and off, on and off, on and off
Well into his tortured dreams.
He sits on his unmade bed
A glass of Southern Comfort in his hand
And watches the busy city pass on by.
He takes another sip of his comfort.
Young lovers, full of laughter and lust,
Enter the Bar and Grill.
The jukebox music wafts up with the heat.
He takes another sip of his comfort
Hoping to salvage a sliver of ice
And fend off the blues
That surrounds his world.
Roy W. Backes
© 1995
150 Day Project - Day 113
Contractions
I sit with my pen poised
As I wait for the creative contractions
To come closer together.
I wince in pain.
I breathe.
In and out.
In and out,
As I time the time between.
Hours go by like this.
I breathe.
In and out.
In and out
Till finally it comes
And my pen moves across the page
As I slap life into the image
And it cries itself to life.
Roy W. Backes
© 2018
150 Day Project - Day 114
Looking Back/Looking Forward
I am humbled by my life.
It has been hard.
It has been happy.
It has been full.
It has been empty.
I have loved.
I have been loved.
I have worked hard.
I have played hard.
It has been six months
Since my 70th day of birth.
I now have the time to sit,
To rest,
To reflect
As I walk, with aching hips,
Toward a future of
Who knows how many years.
Of one thing I am certain,
I have a lot more to look back upon
Than I have to look forward to.
Roy W. Backes
© 2020
150 Day Project - Day 115
The American Dream
Juggle. Juggle.
That’s what I do.
Watch my hands as I try to keep
Too many balls in the air.
Pay the two that land in my hands
Then toss them back to the wind.
Juggle. Juggle.
That’s what I do.
Watch my hands.
I can’t afford to drop one.
Can’t stop.
Can’t drop.
Must keep those Red,
White and Blue balls in the air.
Keeping the American Dream alive
Takes two good hands
And a lot of balls.
Roy W. Backes
© 1998
150 Day Project - Day 116
Visited by The Wind
I was lying in my bed
Late last night
Only the reading light on for company
When the wind decided to visit me.
It blew all around my house
And shook my trees
And rattled my windows
As though saying hello.
It stayed, howling and whistling
Outside until I finally fell asleep.
When I awoke,
With the sun in my eyes
The wind was still keeping its vigil
Outside my windows
Unchanged by the heat of the morning sun.
As I crawled out of bed
I thanked the wind
For staying with me
And bringing some music
Into my quiet night.
Roy W. Backes
© 2011
150 Day Project - Day 117
60 Years On
I went back.
Back to the house I was born in.
Back to my first memories.
The neighborhood has decayed.
Once vibrant streets are now deserted.
Plywood fronts cover once busy
Shops and local taverns.
The backyard in which I paddled
Around in my baby pool
Is now a jungle.
Weeds twice my height
Grow thick as a Peruvian forest.
I would need a very large machete
To even get to the front door.
I wanted to go back,
Back to the house I was born in,
But my memories,
Now sixty years on,
Are buried by an urban jungle
Of decay and neglect.
Roy W. Backes
© 2010
150 Day Project - Day 118
Bend in The Road
There is something about
A bend in the road.
Something about the mystery
Of what it is hiding,
What surprises it might provide.
It is why he can’t sit still.
It is why he can’t settle down.
No matter where he goes
There is always another
Bend in the road
That drives him forward,
That drives him to leave everything,
To leave everybody behind,
In order to discover
What lays beyond
The next bend in the road.
Roy W. Backes
© 2018
150 Day Project - Day 119
Grand Opening
Under a colorful “Grand Opening” sign
An old man sits on a sofa
At the end of a street that is
Lined with shuttered storefronts.
Sofas and stuffed chairs of every
Color surround the man and
Decorate his sidewalk.
As the wind whips his banner
Announcing to the world
“Grand Opening. All Furniture On Sale!”
The old man sits on his sidewalk sofa,
Alone, looking anxiously up the abandoned
Street hoping for some grand business.
Roy W. Backes
© 2015
150 Day Project - Day 120
It Was
It was the way she smiled
When he approached.
It was the way she concentrated
When he spoke.
It was the way she asked
Questions for clarification.
It was the way she touched
His hand.
It was the way she put her
Arm through his.
It was the way she cared.
It was the way she loved.
It was beautiful to witness.
Roy W. Backes
© 2011
150 Day Project - Day 121
Talking to Myself
With my pen in hand
I tell myself secrets.
I tell myself the truth.
With my pen in my hand
I often lie to myself.
I often make shit up.
With my pen in my hand
I try to work out
What needs to be worked out.
With my pen in my hand
I often find myself
Just talking to myself.
Roy W. Backes
© 2020
150 Day Project - Day 122
Empty Shotgun
Last chance.
With the stools to my left and right empty
They announce, “Last call”.
My head feels light,
I can’t seem to focus.
One more drink?
I look in the mirror behind the bar
And stare at the one other lonely
Soul still hanging around.
She orders another drink and
I figure, “What the hell” and
Order one for myself.
She sits, staring into the bar mirror
While I try to catch her reflected eye.
I smile.
I wink.
Nothing….
The lights come up.
Looking straight into the mirror
She gulps the last of her drink
And pushes away from the bar.
She picks up her purse
And walks away
Without even knowing that I exist.
I watch her image leave the club
As I toss another bill onto the bar.
I take a moment to focus and steady myself
And head for my car
Where no one will be riding
Shotgun tonight.
Roy W. Backes
© 2007
150 Day Project - Day 123
I’m Tired
I’m tired.
Not physically,
But mentally.
I’m tired of sitting at home.
I’m tired of watching and reading
Nothing but bad news,
Day in. Day out.
I’m tired of our government’s inability
To help those in need.
Those who voted them all into office,
By the way.
I’m tired of being lied to.
I’m tired of being surrounded by joblessness.
I’m tired of being surrounded by sadness.
I’m tired of being surrounded by people
Forced to live with less.
I look forward to a time
When I, and my fellow man, can rest.
Rest behind the truth
And some good news.
Roy W. Backes
© 2020
150 Day Project - Day 124
Bubbles
Compared to the continuum of time
Our lives are like
The bubbles formed when
Champagne is poured into a crystal flute.
We come to life full of zest,
Full of verve and
Rapidly rise through the liquor of life,
Fighting for independence,
For individuality,
For recognition,
For separation.
When we reach the crystal rim of the flute
And finally break through
We explode into the air
Leaving our wonderful fragrance behind.
Roy W. Backes
© 2020
150 Day Project - Day 125
Once Upon A Time
Once upon a time in my life
I was young.
(It was all ahead of me)
I was strong
(No aches, no pains)
I was handsome
(Full head of hair bleached by the sun)
I was curious
(I didn’t know any better)
I was adventurous
(No sense of mortality)
Now
I’m advanced middle age
(An AARP card in my wallet)
I’m only strong-minded
(The knees, the back ache)
I’m distinguished
(Gray everywhere, and I mean everywhere)
I’m satisfied
(Too busy to start anew)
I’m cautious
(Mortality awaits around the corner)
Once upon a time in my life…
Is today!
Roy W. Backes
© 2007
150 Day Project - Day 126
Steel Makers and Boilermakers
All day spent feeding furnaces
And pouring boiling steel into
I-Beam forms.
The heat unbearable,
Even in the dead of winter.
The steel makers, like my grandfather,
Uncles and cousins head to the bar
At the end of their shift
With parched throats and a wicked thirst.
The keep pours the whiskey
Into a shot glass leaving
No room at the top.
A breath could spill it over.
The shot is held over the top
Of an ice-cold beer.
The shot, held steady by steel hands,
Is then dropped.
Dropped into the beer,
Where it gently drifts to the bottom,
Immediately tripling the alcohol content.
Steel makers, like my grandfather,
Uncles and cousins, sit at the bar
Hands dirty, faces stained
By steel smoke and heartily
Guzzle the ice-cold boilermakers
To quench their wicked thirst
And wet their parched, dry throats.
Another round please.
Roy W. Backes
© 2020
150 Day Project - Day 127
Yinz Know
One night
Sitting in the Elbow Room,
My favorite bar by the way,
In my hometown of
Pittsburgh Pennsylvania,
I looked at my reflection
In the bar back mirror
And enjoyed the sight of
A ‘Burgher having
A burger
In the ‘Burgh.
Yinz know what I mean!
Roy W. Backes
© 2019
150 Day Project - Day 128
High-Class Joint
It was never a high-class joint.
It really wanted to be
But as they say,
“Location. Location. Location.”
It was never quite close enough
To the action of the city.
Its bar was always shiny and clean,
Its chairs comfy,
Its tables always in good repair.
Its prices were fair,
Even for top shelf liquor.
It had a great vibe
Good music playing till 2:00am.
It really wanted to be a high-class joint.
But what it was,
Was our favorite joint,
In our neighborhood.
A neighborhood that was not quite
Close enough to the action of the city.
This joint was just close enough that
My friends and I could gather
There to relax and shake off the day.
It was never a high-class joint
But it was ours.
Roy W. Backes
© 2019
150 Day Project - Day 129
Dying in Silence
She went deaf.
Laying on her death bed
She went deaf
When the implant stopped working.
The world stopped making noise.
Voices stopped.
Just moving lips
And hand signals
And white boards.
The clatter of life no more.
It all went quiet.
It all went still.
Then she went quiet.
Then she went still.
Dying in silence
Hearing only her own thoughts.
Hearing only her own fears
She lay in her bed
And died.
In silence
For Phyllis
Roy W. Backes
© 2019
150 Day Project - Day 130
Tick – Tock
Tick . . . . .
Since we’ve been apart,
It feels like Father Time
Has yet to take his foot
Off the brake . . . . .
Tock
Roy W. Backes
© 1986
150 Day Project - Day 131
Where?
The distant sound of the train whistle
Always brings a sense of comfort to me.
It takes me back home,
To my room, where I would lie
In bed and hear the train pass
On its way to somewhere.
Where?
I’d stand close to the tracks as the
Train approached so I could hear
The whistle loud and clear and
Feel the air being pushed out
Of the way as it passed me by
On its way to somewhere.
Where?
The bend, about a quarter of a mile
Up the tracks forced the train
To slow down as it travelled west.
I’d fantasize about hopping the
Train and riding it
On its way to somewhere.
Where?
I knew I needed to leave that town,
Just not sure how or when.
I’m now long gone from that town
But I always go back when
I hear the distant sound of a train whistle
On its way to somewhere.
Where?
Roy W. Backes
© 2007
150 Day Project - Day 132
The Seeing Eye
No running.
No barking.
No humping the cute
Schnauzer next door.
The seeing eye dog,
Locked through harness and handle
To its Master,
Waits patiently for the order
To guide slowly and safely through life.
The seeing eye dog
Lays at its Master’s feet.
Quiet.
Patient.
Waiting for its next command.
Its chin resting on its paws,
The seeing eye dog
Dreams of running free
Of pissing on hydrants
Of sniffing the ass of the
Cute schnauzer next door.
Then the Master’s tug brings
Him back and he slowly rises
And guides his Master out the door
And into the world.
Roy W. Backes
© 2007
150 Day Project - Day 133
A Dove
A dove.
A bird of peace,
Finally gathers the courage
To approach the feeder.
After numerous furtive looks around
It begins to nibble at the seeds.
After a few bites,
Down below on the ground,
Two small squirrels get
Into a turf war.
Lots of loud squealing and angry chirps.
The dove looks down
At the conflict below and
Having seen and heard enough
Takes another seed,
Then, with a deep sigh,
Flies away in disgust.
Roy W. Backes
© 2016
150 Day Project - Day 134
“B” Side
When I was a kid
We listened to our music
On 45’s.
Those 7” discs with a
Huge hole in the middle.
You only bought the album
Once you owned two or three
Of the 45’s from it.
I have a collection of over
300 of these 45 rpm discs
From my youth.
The “hit” is pressed on the “A” side
Of the record. The song I wanted to
Listen to, over and over.
Over 300 records owned,
Played thousands of times,
But I don’t think I ever once
Played the “B” side of these discs.
All those songs by writers,
Musicians, producers never heard.
Not once.
All sentenced to the “B” side.
The “B” side that should be
Called the “Dark Side”.
Roy W. Backes
© 2020
150 Day Project - Day 135
They Say That Breath Is Life
Of course, there is no life
Without breath.
In the vein of the chicken
And the egg,
Which came first?
Breath?
Life?
Of course, it is life,
Followed quickly by the
Smack on the ass which
Causes the quick intake
Of breath…..
And we are off…..
Till breath stops
And life stops.
So, take a deep breath
And enjoy life.
Roy W. Backes
© 2020
150 Day Project - Day 136
Silent Night
The carols play on the radio.
They have been playing all day,
Every day, for the past week.
After spending the afternoon
At his best friend’s house
He now sits alone in his living room
Staring at his fake Christmas tree
With its blinking twinkle lights.
She managed to sneak away
For a quick phone call.
Three, four frenzied minutes.
That was it.
On Christmas day he got
A short chat.
A “Merry Christmas” and
A quick, “I love you.”
He pours yet another glass
Of deep red wine
Trying to calm his mind,
Trying to hold it together
While he sits alone
This Christmas evening
And has yet another
Silent Night.
Roy W. Backes
© 2019
150 Day Project - Day 137
The 26th of December
There are only three of us left.
We lay here on frozen ground
Snow covering our bodies,
The wind blowing carelessly through us.
It was hard standing in the crowd
Watching everyone pass us by.
They touched us, they stomped our
Stumps against the ground,
Then moved on.
"Merry Christmas" they'd say
To each other,
Their breath forming cloudy mists
That reeked of eggnog.
Their voices full of cheer.
Our friends are now standing
In front of fireplaces
With stockings all lined in a row,
Their bulbs glittering in the firelight,
While we three lay here
On the frozen ground,
On this, the
26th day of December.
Roy W. Backes
© 1995
150 Day Project - Day 138
Many Roads Taken
Many roads were taken
Many roads were not.
I drove through my life
Like a blindman without a map.
I often picked the smooth road,
Straight and steady
Only to find myself lost
In an empty circle.
But I'm finding my way back.
The road is bumpy,
Full of twists and turns.
My tires are bald and
I'm low on gas.
Still somewhat lost,
I pull over to the curb
Crank my window down
And ask the bearded gentleman,
"Excuse me, sir.
Is this the way to my future?"
Roy W. Backes
© 1993
150 Day Project - Day 139
They Walked Away
They walked away.
Silent.
Didn’t say goodbye.
Didn’t say thank you.
Didn’t say anything.
They just walked away.
They walked away.
Silent.
I’m surprised at how much
I don’t miss them.
When it comes to them
My heart is silent.
My heart walked away.
Silent.
Leaving them in the silence
They left behind.
Roy W. Backes
© 2012
150 Day Project - Day 140
A Darker Shade of the Blues
Under a sky painted bright blue
I walk up the crowded avenue.
I’m surrounded by the hustle and bustle of strangers.
I’m just another stranger among strangers
With a painted smile on my face
And the blues beating in my chest.
In search of some silence
I step into a café for a coffee,
Whole milk, no sugar.
Surrounded by the aroma of caffeine
I push the remaining crumbs
Of a scone around my plate.
My heart, now beating faster,
I re-enter the ebb of the crowded avenue
And flow uptown.
Walking up the avenue
I look at the strangers surrounding me,
None of whom will catch my eye.
None of whom are you.
Walking up the avenue
Under a painted blue sky
I feel myself turning
A darker shade of the blues.
Roy W. Backes
© 2010
150 Day Project - Day 141
The Steelworker
His eyes snap open to the buzzing of the
Alarm and he wearily accepts the dawn.
His joints ache in the morning chill
While he fills his stomach and thermos
With hot coffee. Black.
He packs his lunch.
Two white bread sandwiches,
A piece of fruit and two snack cakes
Into a metal lunch box and steps into the mist
Of the morning air.
His aging auto, losing its battle with rust,
Carries him to the mill yard.
The familiar whistle blast screams
That another day of labor has just begun.
The man he replaces gives him a tired smile,
Relieved that his night is over.
Roy W. Backes
© 2000
150 Day Project - Day 142
Just You
I love to walk,
Especially through the city.
The crowded streets
They fill me with life.
Day after day
I have walked past untold
Hundreds of thousands of you.
I’ve shared a smile
With more than my fair share.
I’ve shaken hands
With thousands more.
I’ve even called many
Of you friends.
But no one has touched
My soul like you.
No one.
Just one.
Just you.
Roy W. Backes
© 2014
150 Day Project - Day 143
The Kind of Place
An old time bar.
You know, dark,
Not fancy,
With a small stage,
A good sound system and
Some blues filling the room.
A place filled with friendly people
Sipping good drinks
That don’t break the bank.
All sitting at a shiny bar,
Polished within an inch of its life.
Sitting on stools, padded
With no backs.
That’s the kind of place
I’m looking for.
That’s the kind of place
I want to spend my chill time in.
Roy W. Backes
© 2020
150 Day Project - Day 144
Singing the Blues
I’ve spent most of my adult life
Listening to singers sing the blues.
I’ve watched them live,
I’ve bought their CD’s,
I’ve even sung along, but always alone.
I’ve watched them play their guitars,
Cigarettes stuck in the frets
Burning down while two hands
Made great crying music
Filling me with joy.
I’ve spent most of adult life
Wanting to sing the blues.
It’s just not there.
No pitch. Nothing smooth and melodic,
Just flat sound.
So, I sing along, always alone,
Full of heart.
I’ve always wanted to sing the blues
Till I finally figured out that
I can do my singing, loud and clear,
No longer alone,
By using my acoustic fingers
And my electric Fender pen.
Roy W. Backes
© 2020
150 Day Project - Day 145
Trying to Write
I sit here in the local coffee shop
Trying to write.
Trying to write something.
Anything.
It’s a windy day today.
The wind blows hard and
The trees lean away, bending low.
Leaves blow,
Branches fall,
Plastic bags fly by.
I sit here in the local coffee shop
High on caffeine
Cookie crumbs on my shirt
Trying to write.
Trying to write something.
Anything.
It’s a windy day today.
The wind howls outside
Blowing everything around
Except the ideas in my head.
Roy W. Backes
© 2010
150 Day Project - Day 146
On Passing Winter’s Funeral Home
Dark sky,
The full moon backlighting the clouds.
A middle-aged couple, him with a paunch,
Her with a hair-do, walk toward me.
Both are looking inside themselves,
One hurts, the other can’t help.
Sadness surrounds these people like the night.
Roy W. Backes
© 1984
150 Day Project - Day 147
Spring Recess
A school playground full of kids at recess,
Running, yelling,
Screaming, playing tag.
Many on monkey bars
Many in line for the curved slide.
Some jumping rope
Some jumping in hop-scotch squares.
Amidst all this mayhem and noise
A little boy stands, tiptoed,
On a low-lying balance beam.
He reaches up and pulls down a branch
To meet his nose,
So he can enjoy the perfume
Of the flowering blossoms.
Roy W. Backes
© 2019
150 Day Project - Day 148
The Wind
Wind, the sailor’s friend, softly howling.
Wind…..Always the wind…..
Blowing…..Gusting…..
Shifting the currents in the cove
While moving the clouds east.
Wind…..Always the wind…..
Cooling, drying the sweat
From the sun on your skin.
Hawks and gulls just floating
In the sky with very little effort
Needed to coast along.
It’s late September,
Large V formations of geese
Heading south,
Their squawks heard long before
They appear over the tree line.
With whitecaps on the water
There are no motorboats,
No laughing or screaming children,
Just the sun sharing the sky
With the clouds.
And of course, the wind…..
Always the wind…..
Roy W. Backes
© 2010
150 Day Project - Day 149
About You
My writing
My art
Is not about me
It is about you
It is about how you feel
When you read it
It is about how you feel
When you look at it
My writing
My art
It is not about me
It is about you
Roy W. Backes
© 2016
150 Day Project - Day 150 (January 08, 2021)
Is This It?
Whoa, wait a minute.
Is this it?
Is this the end?
Is that the bright blue sea I see?
I think it is.
This journey is at an end.
Standing here with my toes in the ocean
The western wind is blowing strong.
I lean into the wind with
Great thanks for these past 150 days.
It is time to turn around
And begin another journey.
With the wind at my back
I’ll head east toward the other blue sea.
Toward the rising sun
And beautiful new days.
Is this it?
Yes, it is.
The end as well as a new beginning.
But, trust me, I will be back.
Roy W. Backes
© 2020
Roy W. Backes - Poetry 