Current Poetry
by Rob Krabbe
There is a place of passion
It’s where the dreams lay waiting
Not the tiny dreams of man but the ones God plants
To rise up one day, and carry one away
There is a place of passion
Where the Jesus of the heart lives
He says, bring to the temple, your finest,
Bring to the temple, your best.
There is a place of sacrifice
Bring to the temple your offering of worship
Your life, your work, your finest creations
Your station in life is the child of the King
In the distance, the bells of the biggest Baptist church
In all of Oconee county rings
This is a day of dry ice air, still and frozen
Crystal clear, and bright in the dim morning
Tentative bursts of fog as they escape my mouth, surprised
Breathing burning ice fire as I walk the southern hills
A view of millions of stars, I’d never seen before
Gives way slowly to the deep blue of a South Carolina morning
Down the old road, looking into next spring’s forest
Between dead moss, leafless vines, and wintry spindly trees
Waiting for the full sun in hopes of a few degrees
Knowing that the old guy on channel 13 says it’ll be a “nipper”
Knowing that Monday a very nice man named Billy Ray Boggs
Will tune my piano, and tell me stories of front porch music
And at some point will slip in that he has a music degree
From London, and that his brother was killed by hogs
On with the polar walk through the land of the confederacy
Where brothers, and sons, gave birth to generations
Who remember the war with a distant vengeance
And yet, funny, in these parts it’s not about race
And fading are thoughts of how it should have been fought
It’s about how rude the people by the lake are
That they seem to need things more than kin
It’s about how northerners ought to go home
If they can’t stop telling people how to live
Pickup trucks, a missing tooth smile from 90 year old PHD
And frozen fingers lifted from the wheel
To wave, and say good morning to anyone could see
And a song of hope from birds who eagerly wait the spring
A car backfire, I jump and duck and cover, then rise laughing
That in L.A. would have meant a gunshot, and death
The thing is, I don't truly know how I ended up here
Except that God has ordained it and not fully explained it to me
So I wait and I’ll see, as the God of creation
Can park my sorry butt for generations if He chooses
Or uses my life in any way He sees fit, maybe even today
But I’ll be happy to sit, for an hour, a week or a day
In this new home, that feels like old shoes
And listen to my digital CD quality internet station of old scratchy recordings
Of bluegrass, flat picking magic and slide guitar blues
And me, oh me . . . I’ll wait on God’s ways
On big mommas front porch, thinking about a glass of sweet tea
In a memory, of a time, when I somehow ended up far, far away
Gus who drove the bus, never made a fuss
Until one day, out on Route Seventeen beyond the quarry
Each day he drove through the country side
25 or so students, and a lovely treacherous ride
Tires a paper’s width from the edge of the road
Forests as thick as jungles, and a road as narrow as
Two cars passing with only paint between them
He’d hum and he’d whistle and he’d bounce
Like a rag doll sitting on an unbalanced dryer
And we’d hold on for our lives
While telling stories of cats eyes
And the death of Sally Jergins from the lick of a toad
Air so hot and thick, it turned right into sweat
That wasted no time and just rolled down into your eyes
Gus would sometimes cuss, when we’d stand in the aisle
And pull over and threaten to set us all to walking
But he’d end up in a smile and say
Ok, could you just sit still and stay
In your seats, it’s hard driving this old thing when you shift the load
90 degrees in May, in 1966, and the storms came
So frequent we stopped noticing when the siren blew
Some say he had a temper, but I did not remember
Ever seeing him really mad, but just trying to do his job
If I knew then what I know now
I’d probably not have brought some two thousand
BBs and let them loose on the floor, while we rode
The rain would come sudden and fierce and the forest
Turned into a sort of a haunted and deathly place with snakes
Well that day, I’d thought it be real funny
If a thousand BBs rolled down the aisle like Niagara Falls
Right when old Guss hit the pedal
So I poured them all out on the mettle
And they sounded like a train about to explode
And I worried that the next killer twister would come
And suck me up, as I watched the bus roll down the road
He’d said all along, he’d warned us, and no one believed
Not a single soul thought he’d do it, ever, especially me
It would be a long walk all the way home
With no weapon except a pocket comb
Had Gus not waited, smiling, a half mile down the road
Since the summer of 1969 here is a partial list
Non-exhaustive and wholly inadequate, a collection
Of the things that would cause me to wonder
If Peppy the Wonder Dog was dead yet
Illinois, any mention of it, in fact the Midwest at all
“Man’s best friend”, canine stories of housetraining or chewing
Or stories of anything that dogs do to get human attention
Tornados and corn fields, and any story of what a baby was doing
Snow, or snow shovels and anything to do with Christmas
A convention of dog trainers in Las Vegas
And a movie I saw, and enjoyed but silently sad
Named “Best in Show” not only watching it but hearing about it
Any glimpse of a dog toy or dog store or grooming van
Bones half buried, or the local news adoption of pets special
Where they troll with the cute face of some stupid homeless animal
Slippers, newspapers, and Gains Burgers, especially the smell of them
Oh, yeah, smells, lots of them, including the one most people hate
The smell of wet dog which just makes me get sad and feel childish
My daughter when she forgets to pay attention to her dog
My secret visits to the side yard to Pet it, Carley
When I don’t really like animals at all
The sound of obnoxious neighborhood barking
Dog messes in the grass, ours or anyone else’s
And trees in the park which would have been great to have pee’d on
Not me, by the way, my dog
I got over peeing on trees when I was seven
The obviously obvious I won’t even honor with a mention
As watching someone walk their dog is too easy to say
Anything where there is a multiple of seven
The all too mindless “How many dog years” question
A philosophical talk about whether dogs go to heaven
A pet store, a grooming palace or fluffy cat
Peppy love to play “Nurf Ball” with any cat like that
Really dumb commercials for dog food, or even the clever ones
Any Elvis Presley song, since “Old Shep”
“When I was a lad and ol’ Shep was a pup”
Oh geez her we go again
Look I’ll save a bit of time, in fact a whole lot of it
For ten freaking years and another ten besides
And I’ll admit it, I was crazy, so just forget this whole discussion
But I would wonder if she’d finally died,
and anything at all that we did together or
That occurred to me in between 1969
And when we got her in the first place would cause me to wonder
And I mean anything, don’t miss the insanity of what I’m saying
Since we’re being real here, Fred
Anything . . . all things said or did would cause me to wonder
About Peppy the Wonder Dog and whether or not she was dead
She was a genetic stew, a dog of this and a bit of that, and possibly a bit of cat
She would never win a prize, I heard my mom say under her breath
Ugly as far as most would say, but that was ok,
“A mutt” my dad explained, and I loved Peppy and her one short leg anyway
When we were outside, and running fast through the corn fields
Down the street, or just playing in the long green grass in the yard
She knew what I needed and she was smarter than she looked
And while I’d lay there and save the world through cloud shapes she stand guard
“An elephant, do you see it?” She’d make the funniest sound
Kind of a cross between a giggle and the whinny of a horse
Well that elephant is peeing on me, it’s starting to rain
But Peppy knew that in a rain storm, getting fully wet was the best course
So we’d lay there and laugh as it started to pour, and a bit more
Until the lightening crack a little too loud and too close
Then she’d bark, and usually the only time she did, was at me, when
I needed to rethink something, recant, adjust or re-suppose
So, I knew even this year, and don’t ask me why
I can’t believe I’m saying this to you
I’m a reasonable man, decent IQ
And emotionally . . . better now
I’m 43 years old, relatively stable (now)
And I don’t have a reason to claim that
I have any kind of delusion about this but
I just simply said to myself the other day without warning
“You know Rob” . . . I said to myself
And ok, I’ll admit it, it even brought tears
That as of the writing of this poem Peppy, well . . .
“She would be 238 in dog years”
What kind of man? I ask you . . .
What kind of madness causes a grown man to wonder
About Peppy the Wonder dog
Decades after she been laid under
The green, green grass of home
No more to roam where she used to roam
Let it go Rob, silly man boy, let it go
Well I don’t know
But I can tell you the love of a nine year old
For a furry ugly dog with one short leg
A dog that he thought beautiful and loyal to the death
Was great, and stronger than my anyone realized
When they looked me in the eye, and said
“Honey, they have no place for dogs in the apartment”
And the day we rolled away
Moving day, the great adventure
Like any other day, she would chase the car
In a game that said, I know where you are!
Can I go too? Silly dog smile and drool
Jumping up on the side of the car
Stupid grin and panting like always
Like a silly stupid doggy fool
And follow us till we got pretty far down the highway
Only to be running through the fields
To try to short cut to greet us
When she knew our engine sound, our car noises
And yet this time I knew was different
Because a moving van was erasing our tracks
We’d have no way to find our way back
But happily stupid she jumped at the car
And running and jumping and panting
And stopping to pee on a corn stalk
Until we had gotten past the rise in the highway
And too far for her to hope to catch up or to see
But the thing that made me feel guilty for years
The things that brought me to illogical tears
Was that, when I got into the car in the first place
I said as I pat her lovingly
“It’s ok Pep, we’ll be back soon, we’re not going far.”
I fought back the tears and settled into the seat, because
“Boys don’t cry son, they’ll take good care of the dog
Now you boys, try to sleep, it’s a long drive to Georgia.”
Well, I know as a man that dogs don’t talk,
But as a child I knew they did, and I also knew
I lied to my dog, as I got in the car
And so when no one was looking I took off my shoe
And slipped it out the window to the ground
For Peppy to find later when she was lonely and chew
So just last week there was a fog
In Los Angeles in December 2004
Like one that came in rain and wind
In another world and time, so many decades before
When Peppy came to snuggle, when I was afraid
As if to say, It’s ok, it’s just a spring storm Robby
We’ll just get wet till the thunder starts
A deep kind of thick dark fog
Just a kind of emotional non-meteoric bog
As an adult, I have really only one question
And it makes me feel really childish and stupid
But I wonder who buried my dog
My Peppy
My Peppy, the Wonder Dog
Seemed like a slow-drawn-out kind of infinite-forever
Till the end-of-school-bell would finally clankingly ring
Could the teacher, a horrible ugly-loud creature, with horns and a tail
Say even one more single solitary useful or interesting thing?
Couldn’t the school just spin like a tornado out of control?
Just get to it? Man that would be great! Just move Toto, on your way!
Robby wanted independence, recently and elegantly earned
Boldly acquired and obtained
Walking home alone, trusted and proud
But not to begin till the end of the day
Cloudy, rainy black top day with seasoned yard Nazis and smelly cooks
Nothing could take the icing off the cake, or matter in the scheme of things
No socco in the cafeteria? No problem! Recess with old torn books, ha!
Who cares? Robby, me that’s who—but when the bell would ring
Not even a pile of broken crayons, dried out pens, or kite without string
No, nothing could take away the beauty of the day, once the fat lady sings
No distractions from the excitement of the hour, true independent power
Even science and cool facts about Jupiter or when Joey and Jay cussed
Oh sure, the stinky acid and sugar experiment, that was really cool
But not Saturn’s new rings, or when Jeff said the word butt to the teacher Or funny jokes about the name Uranus
“A moment class, before the bell rings, class . . . I need your attention”
The evil witch, he thought, she’s got one more stupid thing to mention
She had taken enough of Robby’s soul thought he-me
She, the dark evil tyrant, and 150 years old
“This is my time, don’t you waste my time” She would say
Well not one more thing needed be told
Why was she obsessed, about her “one more thing” it seemed
A tidbit that could wait, till the morning bell rings out another stupid day
But know this she ought, “Everything’s been taught!”
To her a nugget that must be important and sublime
What could she possibly be thinking these days
On a day with a poem about Martin Luther King, that didn’t even rhyme?”
In a month that had killed every creative dream, every good window gaze
“I would like you to all be careful and get right home, no dallying”
She pursed her prune face up like a cabbage with veins, and said . . .
“There’s been a nasty storm warning, we just got the word
There was a tornado sighting, so no loitering, no playing!”
To underscore her weather report, a lightening strike woke the dead.
Crack! Wow! Lighting up the room in broad daylight
It was intense like explosions in a book on the civil war we had read
And all the girls in class jumped up screeching and wailing
To be fair the boys did too, silently however, being of course, men
It was not the common variety seeming, but men in training
Instead 12 boys, gaping silent mouths open, like Robby when he dreamed
On the surface, with a bit of drool, trying to be cool
But frozen scared like death’s face in poses darkly divine
While inside saddled with frantic fear and quietly screaming
Except this really cool, quiet Jewish boy named Joseph Levine
“Now get going, and don’t stop to play” She was grossly slobbering
A handkerchief caught all but a dribble which ended up on her shoe
I noticed as I rose to get my coat and my red Tasmanian Devil Lunch box
She had one stocking fallen around her ankle, just laying there askew
And I was amazed that her leg was still wrinkled up like a highway map
And her skin was the color of a dead guy I saw once, named Mr. Feskew
So Robby, privately frantic, barely a 7 year old, trying to be a cool man
Walked quickly, no ran—under the barking and quickly darkening sky
It was as if, a black body bag had been drawn across the corn fed land
From the cold bowels of hell and a black horizon, the lord of the fly
The devil himself, laughing, chased a dense flock of black crows
Franticly trying to get themselves to a place out of evil’s mind
The sight like a scene from Hitchcock’s movie “The Birds”
Robby’s fear welled up inside, tasting like his last year’s vomit
Younger brother Greg, came running fast from behind
Looking like he’d seen a ghost and with a screaming voice
Yelled “hey, this is really bad storm, we might die!” and he wept
“Stop it, cry baby, shut up and walk with me or get lost, it’s your choice”
The boys began to run, for life, short breathing, silent and scared
The sounds of the storm were as loud as the afternoon old freight train
The rain, bounced off the ground completely unimpaired
The street, like a river, flowed toward North Charleston Lane
Wind whipped abuse to every stinging face and a few howling cats
Hundreds of frenzied frightened children began to scream or cry
Rain slammed out of the sullen murderous blackness
Thunder crashed and lightening deftly blinded and sliced
Like a sword, through the nearest 100 year old craggy oak tree
The sidewalk growing like a snake fading while growing into the distance
The final school bell ringing slipping into a nightmarish lifetime at sea
Tolling the end of their young innocent world and any resistance
Another child stumbled, brandishing a horrendous bleeding knee
The wind blew the scattering children like paper dolls
“What a day to for my first walk home alone”, thought he
A sheet of metal siding, flew by from a dead horse’s stall
He found the tears pouring, down his cheeks, out of control
The mastery of his man’s bravery now just tasted like unbridled fear
A police car sped by, urgently too busy to patrol
An entire newspaper exploded across the fragmenting frontier
A speeding car rushed by, towards haven, to live, or to try
Another leaping from curb to curb as fast as it could go
Yet another, but crashed a few yards ahead into a sign post on the side
And no one seemed to have enough gas to burn or enough horn to blow
Then a beautiful old car, screamed onto the sidewalk
Crashing across the boys path and stopped, tires screeching
The door flying open and familiar voice squawking
As good at yelling his name as pastor was at preaching
“MOM!” He yelled “Get in, now!” She yelled back as she gunned the car
They could not move fast enough to satisfy her adrenalin
Hearts pounding faster than fast and harder than hard
The sharp edge of the car door, like before, ripped his chin again
The door slammed shut from the force of the acceleration
The boys flew back into their seats, like astronauts on take off
The car lurched and threatened destruction from the vibration
Splintered boards bounced across the hood, from a fence and a pig trough
Through two miles of sheets of rain, like driving through the car wash
People praying, running, one laughing nervously like Phyllis Diller
A bird slammed into the windshield, looked like rotten summer squash
Shingles from a nearby roof, in the side of the car like a mad killer
Home finally, “hurry inside!” mom yelled, she slammed the car into park
Still moving about 30 miles an hour, the car grinded to a stop and died
The sky suddenly silent, like death, heavy still green and blood dark
Dad, ran from inside “get in here there’s a twister on the north side”
Mom screamed as she looked up and the silent sky was deafening
“OH MY GOD, there it is, it’s headed here, it’s touching down—in town!”
Grabbed my brother by the hair, smashed him through the porch swing
She made no noticed, threw him down the hall, he didn’t make a sound
“Quickly, your father’s big heavy desk, it’s all we have to hide under”
I followed, but my Dad scooped me up and carried me down the hall
Just then the silence was broken by the loudest ever crack of thunder
“I can feel it Bob, hurry get the windows open, Robby quick son crawl!”
My dad ran out of the room, and I followed to try to help him, heart beating
My mom screamed at me but stayed using her body to shield brother Greg
The window in the front room was easy, and the kitchen, but luck fleeting
He opened the front door and his hand on the screen, it tore off the peg
The Tornado sucked my breath out and tore the screen from his hand
Then just in time, the monster released my dad and he fell against the wall
His eyes on the spinning devil, he looked down the street, and . . .
The new neighbors house, imploded to rubble, to a pile two feet tall
“Oh my God” he cried, and I knew that meant someone might be dead
I started to cry, and he reached for me, strangely comforting, for my dad
My mom yelled “is it gone yet?”, my dad looked up, “yes, all clear!” he said
My mom looked relieved but what my dad had seen, made him very sad
“What’s wrong?” my mom noticed, because dad almost never cried
A single tear sat on his lower lid, no minor aberration
“I think I just saw a family of four, crushed, honey, I think they all died
“Across the street?” “Yes, look at the house”
“Honey the Lamberts are on vacation
“Thank God” he sighed. “it was the worst thing I ever saw in my life”
My dad walked outside, and I heard him laughing like a crazy man
“What the hell?” my mom exclaimed, and rushed to find out why
She started laughing too, and one look, made me understand
The tornado had picked up our family car, like an old tin can
And spun it around and set it back down, sideways in the driveway
Between two rows of hedges, that lined it, bumper to bushes it spanned
There was no possible way to drive it at all, till the bushes were cut away
I stood there laughing at the silly car, sideways where no car should be
I thanked God in heaven in a silent prayer, none of my family was dead
As I turned to go inside, my red Tasmanian Devil lunch box, floated down
From hundreds of feet in the air, and smashed me right on the head
As it turned out, only one person was killed in the tornados of 67
That ripped right through Geneva Illinois, and tore up the quaint little town
Houses destroyed, garages torn off, and flooding all around
But my rickety playhouse in the back yard, it’s flag still waving free
Had not even been scratched
Not a chip in the paint
From the top of the roofy roof
To the bottom of the floory floor
Where underneath I had buried my dead hound
And from the front to the back
All the way to the Looney Tunes trading cards
In a nice neat stack on the ground