Randall Vanlandingham Poems

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Thoughts About Memories And Their Place

To die is to dwell in the past.
To live means keeping the past alive,
Bringing it to bear fully on the present,
Shaping a broad and complete future,

A Boy's Fort

Fingernail dirt,
Pounding nails until fingers hurt,
Fixing that fort,
Climbing pines' mid-branch's small perch,

A Trail

A twisted path, in shaded green, my feet began to follow.
Rolling waters, beside a trail, marked ways that I explored.
Scents of pine and fresh new flowers pulled gently at my soul;
My ears renewed by sounds of squirrel-chucks,

Granddaddy's Roll-Top Desk

Granddaddy's roll-top desk,
Sitting in the back-room Sun,
Memories flow through time,
Some as though they've just begun.

The Waltz Of Love

(dedicated to Mom and Dad: spoken in ¾ time)

One step, it will take you a little bit closer,
The other will step to the side and then slip


Ponder the imponderable, impenetrable forests,
Ancient, these bastions of needle and cone,
Hardwoods sail deeper through channels of maples,
Creatures peer swiftly ‘round branches and stone.

The Ingredients That Count

(dedicated to my parents)

Snakes and snails and puppy-dog tails,
That make-up, a little boy brings.

Mud Pies And Crawdads

Mud pies and crawdads on slow summer Sundays,
Wading, while wishing for time to stand still,
Sisters and brothers and friends, the real neighbors,
Eating the honeysuckle drops in those buds,

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