Seven Poems by Nolo Segundo

 

When I Leave You

 

When I leave you,

It won’t be out of anger,

It won’t be out of jealousy.

It won’t be for another woman,

And it won’t be for freedom.

 

When I leave you,

It won’t be with grace—

It will be hard, hard to do.

I could try to fight it—

But with what power?

Taken quick or slowly,

I’ll still be taken

Out of this world,

Out of your life.

 

Never out of your heart,

I know—I’m planted there,

A Gibraltar till time’s end.

Yet…yet

I fear for the weight,

The heaviness on you:

All the times you’ll need

A touch, or miss my breath

On the nape of your neck.

 

When the stars weep,

When songbirds die,

Then, only then

Will my love be left

By your lonely side.

 

Do I yet know how

Much I love you?

Will my soul chant

In mourning for you?

Will it long for this world

Of night and day only

Because you are still in it?

 

Memories Travel Without The Weight Of Time

 

I'm five: lying in bed in the attic room I share

With big brother (though 4 years older, he won't

Climb the creaky stairs at night unless I go first—

His fear of the dark gives me a secret thrill).

Before leaving for sleepland, I like to watch

The shadows flickering across the ceiling, a kind

Of magic made by the reflected headlights

Of the cars passing in the street 3 stories below.

 

At seventeen I'm making out with my first girl

On the plush sofa in her house while her mom

Sleeps  upstairs. We are both virgins, both clothed

And naïve. Suddenly, as I lay her down, I come—

My first orgasm as, strangely, I had never jerked off

(a mystery I still cannot fathom), but oh, wondrous

It was to leave my body and step briefly into heaven.

 

First came the girls, then the women, in droves,

For I was tall and fair and good with words, but most

Of all, I could make them laugh. And I loved them all,

in my way, and I could love none of them—for I was

afraid of the binding, the fastness that love demands.

It hollowed me out, this fear, and I could not see the

Utter blackness it led me to—and pain beyond pain.

 

At 24 I was reborn that moment I wept for the loves,

And love I had lost. I was not a new man, nor a good man,

But I was a beginning man, my soul taking baby steps

Towards God and the glorious love infused Universe.

 

In my 32nd year I stood in the nave of the little Anglo-

Saxon church, waiting as my bride came down the aisle.

She began crying, I began smiling—my happiest day.

Now 40 years later, it is still my happiest day….

 

 

In My Grandmother’s Day      

 

Nana told me once

How she and Pop-pop

Went courting in a

Horse and buggy.

 

How quaint I thought,

And was just a bit

Amazed how far we

Humans have gone—

From a smelly plodding

Horse to crossing a vast

Ocean in an afternoon

While six miles high.

 

Then Grandma told me

Something shocking:

She said they went out

In that carriage to make

Love! Nana! I gasped to

Myself, until I saw she

Meant the words literally.

 

My grandparents went

Courting to make the

Love that would hold

Them together for

Sixty-three years…

And I am here

Because two young

People took long

Buggy rides behind a

Tired, smelly horse.

 

An Aging Wife    

 

I look at her and I can see

A woman approaching slowly

The land of old age, her

Night-black hair invaded by

Lonely grey strands, stragglers

Of an approaching army, a

Relentless force built over

Sixty years, stealing bits of her

Beauty, loosening her skin,

Lightening her bones.

 

I now can easily see the old woman

She will become, and while I miss her

Light-stepping, insouciant youth

Which pulled both body and heart,

At last I can hear love's secret sound

As she draws my soul ever closer….

 

A Child And Eternity

 

When I was a child

Eternity scared me—

I was terrified when

 

I thought of it—a long

Line never ending,

On and on and on

It went till my mind

Felt like taffy being

Pulled through space.

 

Somehow I knew it

Was real, Eternity, so I

Lacked the mercy of

Doubt to ease me,

To lessen my fear of

That endless road—

(And now I know some

Grown-ups see it so, an

Unending line of time…)

 

But now I think time is

More like a ball, past

And present and future

Roll around together—

We call it a ‘moment’

In our world of clocks

And schedules to keep:

But that moment, that

Ghost called time, is just

Eternity visiting the world.

 

What To Tell The Children

 

When my young,

ever so young ones

asked, “Daddy,

why did that man

shoot all those kids?’,

I knew no answer—

Do I show them

The nightly news

Of murder and its

Ugly sister, mayhem?

Or do I protect their

Sweetness by hiding

The world from them?

 

When I was a child,

The world lay lightly

On our shoulders—

We were free, free

To ride our bikes

And free to fly

In both dream

And daydream.

Strangers were

Not dangers, and

The policeman

Was our friend.

TV was silly often

But harmless soft,

And we went to

School to learn.

 

Yes, yes, there was

The’Bomb’ and

We knew that

At an early age—

But what child

Can imagine a

Nuclear holocaust—

Or what adult

For that matter?

 

Today kids may

Still be free in

Endless play,

But too soon

The world

So cruelly steals

Their childhood

And leaves them

Adult in their

Fears but still

Childlike in mind.

 

It is one thing for

Me to know now,

As the writer said,   

That history is just

A nightmare from

Which I have not

Yet awakened—but

Why must a child

Have to see such

Hard truth so soon?

 

So I told my children

What I learned as a

Young and vain man

When my life was

Nearly lost in one

Of life’s rivers and

How I learned that

Other worlds exist

And each of us can

Never really die,

But journey for a

Time in a place and

And a body until

The time comes for

A new place and a

Different form: for

We exist always I

Told them, without

Beginning or ending,

So  everything we do,

Think, and feel has

Boundless meaning.

 

Some souls, I gently

Told them, will do

Bad things in life,

and yes, good kids

may sometimes die,

but evil cannot harm

A soul, unless sought

And darkness chosen

Over the light….

 

So I told those Beings

who came to me from--

where?

 

    

WHAT POETRY IS

 

What poetry is,

is magic

and words appear

and disappear

in profound meaning.

 

What magic is,

is God.

Freud and Moses

both agree,

God is magic

and magical

is our Creator.

He disappears

and then reappears

in meaning

deep as death.

 

What God is,

is creation--

it’s going on

everyday, everywhere.

Think about it.

Explain otherwise

fire and seed.

 

What creation is,

is poetry.

An infant wakes,

thousands perish,

a girl smiles,

wars rage,

a skyscraper grows.

 

All beings themselves

are poems:

bad poems or

beautiful ones,

poems of evil or

poems of holiness,

blank verse or

lyrical rhymes

but all creatures

live poetry.

 

What poetry is,

is magic

is creation

is God

is you

is I

is life

is death

is infinity,

and then some….

 

Nolo Segundo, pen name of L.J.Carber, became a widely published poet in his mid-70's in over 140 literary journals/anthologies in America, Canada, England, Romania, Scotland, Portugal, Australia, Sweden, India and Turkey. A trade publisher has released 3 book length collections: The Enormity of Existence [2020], Of Ether and Earth [2021], and Soul Songs [2022]. These titles like much of his work reflect the awareness he's had since having an NDE when as a 24 year old agnostic-materialist, believing only matter was real and so death meant extinction, he lept into a Vermont river in an attempt to end the suffering of a major clinical depression. He learned that day the utter reality that poets, Plato, and Jesus have spoken of for millennia: that every sentient human has a consciousness that predates birth and survives death--a soul. A retired teacher [America, Japan, Taiwan, and Cambodia in the mid-70's] he's been married 43 years to a smart and beautiful Taiwanese woman.