The Web Poetry Corner

Robert Brian Newbill

of

Hartselle, AL, US

Home Authors Alphabetically Authors Date Submitted Authors Country Submission Rules Feedback

If you have comments or suggestions for Robert Brian Newbill, you can contact this author at:
Ttm202@aol.com (Robert Brian Newbill)

Find a book store near you, no matter where you are located in the U.S.A.!

...the best independent ISP in the Twin Cities

Beauty

by

Robert Brian Newbill

Beauty is that thing
That comes from within a dream
Beauty is that which shows the truth
A truth before unseen

Beauty is a wish
To know the nature of I willed
Beauty is what I see in you
A wish from my heart has been fulfilled

Beauty is a life with you
A life I thought I’d never know
Beauty is any journey we take
Wherever it might go

Beauty is to truly care
Beauty is the love we share
Beauty is a wish come true
Beauty is what I see in you.

The Engagement

by

Robert Brian Newbill

I must have waited an hour at the station, sweating and nervous at the prevailing circumstances, wrapped up in a spell of torrid weather on the hottest time of the day.

"Trust me, Dear One...You DO NOT want to see me dance. And if I'm going to dance in my Wall Street boxer shorts (with the lights on that is), I need to spend a couple months at a gym."

It was the sound of his voice and his playful imagination that released me from all my commitments and caused me to enter into an engagement with him.

"But a video you were promised...Thus and so you will get one. But I have to wait to shoot it when I know my parents will be out of the house long enough. If they go to Birmingham to see my sister and "Gabby", which I can't believe they haven't done yet, that's when I will make it."

I laughed at the memory of his disreputable nature as he delivered the lines. The thought of him helped aleviate the sting of my damp clothes stuck against my skin through the burning sun.

"I take it "Gabby" is your brother in law?" I say with mild amusement.

"You got it! That's him! Loves to talk and to hear his own voice so much I'll bet he doesn't even clam up when he's asleep. Talk about a way to shoot an entire Saturday or Sunday straight to hell. That's even more mind-numbingly boring than when they come here."

He passed my mind like a shadow, out of view from where I stood. I heard clanging behind me as the bus came in, raising the temperature a few degrees and choking everyone in its wake with dust and fumes. A hundred hot people ran out to it, pressing so close, pushing and shoving that the passengers could hardly descend let alone board. The bus emptied itself slowly. As I stepped into it, I swept a glance over the crowd and saw how each person simply disappeared like drops of water on hot concrete as the oversized tin can departed the station toward its destination.

Two coffees in a hurry took the edge of the lofty cavern of luggage and cramped conditions. Under pressure of hunger I wholly entered the world of my dreams and our engagement to escape from the toil.

"Anyway, here's how a typical trip to see Mary Beth and Gabby goes down. I have to get up at some un-godly hour. I don't have to get "dressed up" but I have to get "cleaned up". Shower, shave, make sure my "coiffe" is not in disarray. And with an hour and a half drive down there, and an hour and a half drive home, there's already 3 hours of my life I'll never get back. No tunes allowed in the car...no air conditioning either. At least I get to sit in the front seat. Because if I ride in the back, sometimes I get car sick. Not all the time...but sometimes. I bring along my own tunes...A walkman or a discman. Even that is "restricted". I can bring it and I can use it, but more than once my mother has tapped me on the shoulder from the back seat and asked me to turn it down because she can hear it. I do it but the look that she gets could burn a hole through an inch thick plate of Titanium. Mostly because even though dad does like some of the music I like, mom does not. And eve!

n if she did, she would insist on such a low volume that you can't even really hear it. Also on these trips she's "Queen of the Car". She decides how warm or cool it should be, what if anything can be listo on the radio. And that's just the ride there and back."

"Wanna hear chapter 2?...What it's like when we get there?"

I smiled then, detached from the looming ,imminent conditions which surrounded me.

"OK:) It goes like this, and it is always the same. We get there, we go inside, the obligatory shaking of hands between the men folk occurs. My mother and my sister immediately become annoying. I'll explain further so you will be prepared. It's like they "sing" their sentences all the while putting 3 or 4 syllables into one syllable words. It's like fingernails on a blackboard. Then there is some casual conversation dominated always by Gabby while my sister with the attentive "musical" assistance of my mother puts the finishing touches on lunch. It's always the same freakin' thing...barbecue sandwiches, this bland potato salad and this really disgusting pasta salad that she makes because Gabby likes it.

They have a friendly cat who is really my only company when I'm there. A huge TV with an impressive video collection...but its never on. After lunch, and once again this is always the same, endless, boring conversations about people and places I either don't know or don't give a rat's rear about. No one talking to me at all. Then my sister will show mom first around the house then around the yard. Even from inside you can hear them "singing" their sentences. I really can't describe what that's like...It has to be experienced.

Then they want go "shopping", leaving me and dad alone with Gabby for at least two hours. No TV nothing at all for me to do but sit there and try to stay awake. Then finally they get back...more singing...then finally after a goodbye song we get to get the hell out of there. What a fun day it was for me. Another day of my life I'll never get back."

Those were my last memories and I blacked out.

I went to basic training in Fort Leonard Wood (Ft. Lostinthewoods) before being deployed into Operation DESERT SHIELD. I couldn't sleep, I didn't want to leave him.

"You may have been luckier than me if you couldn't sleep. I couldn't sleep either. I was worried that maybe I had upset you by pushing too hard again. (And if I did, I'm sorry Sweetheart...Please forgive me...again.) So I did what I used to in college, mixed myself a martini and picked up a good book. And it worked, I finally fell asleep. The problem was that I dreamed. And it was awful! It was another one of those dreams where I can't find you...And
this was the worst one yet:

I was in NY. I don't know how I got there, but I was there. My old landlords from Queens let me stay with them after I arrived. I immediately tried to reach you by phone to tell you I was there...I called and called, no answer. And no message leaving gizmo picked up either. After what seemed like a hundred attempts a recording told me that the number had been disconnected. I freaked. I raced over to the address. I don't know how I got there (but it was a dream, maybe I could fly). I knock on the door. No one answers. I knock harder and call your name...no one answers. At this point I am now in full panic mode. I am literally pounding on the door and screaming your name. Some old lady who must have heard the commotion opens her door. She says to me, "If your looking for the woman who lived there, she's gone." "GONE!!," I practically yelled at her. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN GONE?!" "GONE WHERE?!" She replied, "I don't know where she went. But she doesn't there anyone." And then she cl!

osed her door. "

"I'll be back as soon as I can, silly" I said with a giggle and that goofy laugh he always found beautiful.

Through the cracked soil of ambushes ,booby traps, encountering and returning fire ;morning arrived. All but dead of thirst ,I found myself on a mosquito netted cot in a vestibule assimilated into the shadows. It was his vision which haunted me, keeping me alive; so I took the only means possible of banishing it. I kept my word.

The first Gulf War was very successful, in my recollection. Basically, we blew the crap out the Iraqis who surrendered by the thousands-tens of thousands. Last time I can ever recall no resistance at all, just a lot of dead or dying Iraqis who never returned home to their loved ones.
At noon that day there floated over the roof-tops the silver ringing of a bell and in my thoughts I clung to his words silent as a wound.
"For My Angel...

The Vision

The forest, the glade,
she was there.
An ancient image in my mind
faded before the new reality.
The trees, the grass
the very air about her was beautiful .
I stood at the edge
absorbing her presence.
Only a short time ago
I had stood here before
the time in between
was a lonely dream,
both a moment and an eternity .

She wore a light green dress
almost translucent in the sunlight.
Her face was fair
and framed by the luster of her hair.
It seemed to flow both deep black and red
in a fascinating harmony of color.
There was a softness in her eyes
with just a hint of mischievous charm
but I was not afraid.
I knew I would be safe within her arms.
There was a gentle fullness in her figure.
Sweet soft curves I wanted to touch.
Her entire aspect suggested to me
that I had finally found
the promised one, my one true love,
that I’d been searching for so long.

Fire and water so often opposed
Merged there on that day
And then we walked away_

Together. "

The Cloak In The Storm

by

Robert Brian Newbill

Have you ever tried to walk through wind so strong that you could hardly move? I hadn't, until that morning.

I had seen extreme weather before. I grew up at the far ends of both the hurricane belt and "tornado alley." Better judgment and disposition would have cautioned me to stay home, but I had a job to do. I was a stockbroker and the market doesn’t sleep. Thus and so I had to get into the city. Hoboken to Manhattan, not far.

But I had never experienced anything like this. I stepped out of my door and the wind not only tore my umbrella apart but also ripped the headphones of my walkman from my head.

The Hoboken Terminal was at least three feet deep in water, the NYC subway lines were flooded. NJ Transit buses were giving free rides. That was the only way to get into the city. And once you were on the island, surface routes were your only choice.

When I finally made it to the Financial District, the slightly built narrow streets held elderly people stuck to buildings. Some of these city dwellers were almost 12 inches off the ground because of the wind.

I walked through the narrow streets paved with irregular cobblestones. When I arrived at my office, my boss told me that the market was closed and to go home. I didn’t know whether to hug her or curse her and I was too tired already to even make a decision, so I left.

It took me 3 hours to get back to Jersey.

When I got back my boss called me. She said she had called everyone on our team, all her "kids", to make sure we were okay.

It reminded me of the old folklore THE CLOAK IN THE STORM.

Once there was a wealthy lady who was named Madame de Maillefer. She was a woman of idleness and vanity and would often spend large sums of money on her clothes, carriages, gardens, and banquets. Poor people were starving all around her but she cared not for them seeking only her own selfish pleasure. One day a beggar came to her asking for help and shelter from a furious storm. He was ill and weak. She told him to go about his business! One of Madame de Maillefer's servants took the beggar into the stable for rest and warmth and there he died. When told of the events the Mistress was furious with the servant and tossed a black cloak at him ordering that the begger be buried, dismissing the servant from his duties. The beggar was buried but that evening Madame de Maillefer who was about to seat herself for supper noticed the cloak which she had thrown at the servant on the floor next to the elegant table. Demanding an explanation all the servants of the household professed t!

o know nothing about the cloak, except that they were all sure the beggar had been buried in it. Legend has it that since she had failed to show him compassion in life, he declined her cloak in death.

After a warm bath and a few cappuccinos I called my boss back and thanked her for her compassion.

A Rainy Day in New York City - Part One

by

Robert Brian Newbill

Today was the day I was to meet her. We chose a public place, a mall in the city. She said to meet her there.

I arrived, and for the first time we looked at each other face to face. We were both nervous. She was so beautiful. Just like I knew she would be. We walked around. We made small talk. Part of me was back in high school on my first date.

She was scared too. We had hidden behind walls for so long we didn’t know any other way to be. We stopped at a lunch counter and had ice cream. I finally had the courage to hold her hand and she didn’t pull away.

We left the counter and walked towards the door. I was so happy. She seemed happy too. We had just spent the best day of our lives together and hadn’t even realized it. It was pouring rain outside. She told me she had to go to the ladies’ room and would I please wait for her. I've waited all my life for her. She was gone for about five minutes or so. The rain had all but stopped.

All the while she was gone I thought to myself, when she comes back, I will kiss her. She emerged and walked towards me then past me towards the exit. Her whole appearance seemed to have changed. She walked very fast and her face was etched with a determined look that frightened me. She brushed by me, very nearly knocking me down. All she said was, "I have to go."

I followed her. I was calling her name and running after her. I caught up to her at her car. I begged her to tell me what was wrong. What was it that I had said or done, or not said, or not done? All she said was, "I can’t do this!" I finally said, "You sound like you want me to go away." She said, "I do want you to go away!"

She slammed the car door and sped off. I never saw her again.

The rain started. But still I walked home. Ten miles in the rain but I didn’t care. I walked from the Battery to West 112th street in the rain. It was perfect. No one could see my tears.

The Airport - A Rainy Day in Newyor City - Part Two

by

Robert Brian Newbill

It had been a long tiresome flight. I had just returned from visiting some distant relatives in Scotland. After what had happened just a few weeks ago, I needed some time away from the city. I stayed at a little Bed and Breakfast in the Highlands_I thought it would cheer me up. It’s so peaceful and beautiful there. But it didn’t help. There still too much "her" running through my head. All I could do was think of how much I wished she were there so I could share it with her. And I cut the trip short soon after I realized that not even a bottle of twenty year old Scotch whiskey and an ocean could separate me from the pain and the fear that I had lost her forever.

Still, I waited to get off the plane. As usual I had been stuck in a seat in coach over the wing. The only thing that ever made me nervous when flying was the way the wing flaps extended out so far during the landing. All the bloody marys in the world couldn't make that go away. Any more than they could make the emptiness in my heart go away.

But the wing flaps were the least of my concerns...I was going to see her_again...She was going to see me_again. She was supposed to be there when I got off the plane.

I exited the plane. I walked into the terminal. I was so afraid she wouldn't be there. I was almost as afraid that she would be. Because if she was, would she be angry? Would she run again? But she was waiting there for me...

And once again she was more beautiful than any dream of beauty I had ever known.

We approached each other. We couldn’t speak. There were no words that could express the power of that moment. We locked in a passionate embrace that went on long enough for airport security to ask if there was a problem_I said, "No. Not any more."