MarsEarth

Old world wisdom, new world insight – poems, poetry, philosophy, dreams, commentary, ideas

Balcony underlooked

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by Lawrence J. J. Leonard

This poem is nostalgic and futuristic.
It is also in Spanish below.

I stand on this balcony each morning
after a small cup of sugarless tea.
Even in the summer the air is cool enough to bite.

The foot bridge below has few families
making their way into the city.
I miss the children whose bright colored jackets
and stocking caps could be seen dozens of meters away.

There is a lone siren in the distance,
reminding the factory workers that production quotas await.
Yet, here I stand, meeting the sun,
the same when my father used to rise early
with a blistering hot frying pan in his hands.

Our old house was such a restful, comfortable place.
My hands are thawing out thinking about it.
Here comes a small group of men, arguing about something.
Rarely are people so loud as to draw attention to themselves out here.
I hope I didn’t forget to lock the front door again.

I am so hungry.
So hungry for attention.
I remember Mrs. Kowalczik had a large body
and a bigger smile.

She always baked cakes and sang songs when my sisters visited her.
They would take me along and we would come home
with large baskets of day old bread.

It has been 10 years
since they signed the treaties to end world war.

I have not seen anyone for such a long time now.

Flowers for the graves, perhaps.

Copyright © 1960-2015 Lawrence J. J. Leonard  All rights reserved.

~~~

Este poema es nostálgico y futurista.

Un Balcón Mirado Para Abajo

Estoy parado en este balcón cada mañana
después de una tazita de té sin azúcar.
Incluso en el verano, el aire es frío como gélido.

El puentito por debajo suporte pocas familias
haciendo su camino a la ciudad.
Echo de menos los niños cuyos colores brillantes chaquetas
y las gorras tejidas podría ser visto docenas de metros de distancia.

Hay una sirena solitaria en la distancia,
recorda a los obreros de la fábrica que aguardan a las cuotas de producción.
Sin embargo, estoy parado, me encuentro al sol,
el mismo que cuando mi padre se levantaba precoz
con sartén caliente en sus manos.

Nuestra casa vieja era tranquila y confortable.
Mis manos son descongelar cuando pienso en ella.
Ya viene unos trabajadores, discutir acerca de algo.
Rara vez hay personas hablan tan fuerte como llamar la atención sobre sí mismos.
Espero no me olvido de encerrar la puerta delantera.

Estoy tan hambriento.
Ansioso de atención.
Recuerdo la Sra. Kowalczik tuvo un gran cuerpo
y una sonrisa aún mayor.

Horneaba siempre tortas y canta cuando mis hermanas su visitaron.
Me llegaron y a la casa venieron
con grandes cestas de pan.

Han pasado diez años
desde que se firmaron los tratados de guerra mundial.

No he visto a nadie por mucho tiempo.

Flores para las tumbas, tal vez.

Copyright © 1960-2015 Lawrence J. J. Leonard  All rights reserved.

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