Roy W. Backes – Poetry

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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