Roy W. Backes – Poetry

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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