Randall Vanlandingham Poems

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,
...

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

In the twilight of amber moon,
Near the Bay of G'wain Loche Tun Thuyr,
Slept a lassie named Shaena Shaye,
'Tween the bogs of Isle Draas and its moor.
...

Copyright 2007 by Randall VanLandingham

Salted, fluffy, scrambled eggs, from golden yellow yoke,
Decorate the camper's plate, from which aromas broke;
...

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

(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.
...

(dedicated to my parents)

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

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,
...