Reticent and Tranquil

by Randal Weston

Overview

Reticent and Tranquil presents an inspiring poetry collection that embraces a spiritual passion for everyday life. Author Randal Weston conjures the emotions that life’s journey brings at every turn. Inner strength is evident in his poems, along with his love for others and an appreciative attitude for those around him. Throughout our years on earth, we trek many roads. Good and bad situations are guaranteed, but the way we handle them reveals our faith and core.

From the patriotic beauty of “Old Glory” to an intriguing poem about “The Wooden Chief,” Weston’s unique voice resonates in each of his poem as they bring his innermost thoughts to life. With tones ranging from realistic to fun to dreamy and visionary, the verses of Reticent and Tranquil present his peaceful energy for all to share.

Night Stared

All was silent and all was still,
as night stared at the two men.
One wore a muddy gray uniform;
the other, a muddy blue uniform.
Both lives had ended due to
circumstantial fate. Neither
soldier would return home, marry
or have children. Had the men
met in another time, another
place, perhaps they would have
been friends. But now, all was
silent and all was still, as
night stared at the two men.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781475980905
Publisher:	iUniverse, Incorporated
Publication date:	03/27/2013
Sold by:	Barnes & Noble
Format:	eBook
Pages:	154
File size:	294 KB

Read an Excerpt

RETICENT and TRANQUIL

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By Randal Weston

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2013 Randal Weston
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4759-8089-9

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Excerpt

CHAPTER 1

Spirit Drifter

He sleeps and his spirit drifts
Through a town or countryside
He knows no one, the area he sifts
Inchoate visions, destiny collide

Spirit drifter saunters streets
Sometimes strolling known routes
Strange to him is everyone he meets
That he's in the present, he doubts

Sometimes noticed, other times unseen
Occasionally, he seems to walk astray
Remembering old days, where he's been,
But finding uncertain places quite gray

His trek never leads to his hearth
Is there a secret purpose to his jaunts?
To reasoning there's a peculiar dearth
As the roamy dreams puzzle and haunt.


Passing By

Dreaming, as though I were
not dreaming, I pensively
think about the numerous
times I have served as a
sad, dutiful pallbearer

I often wonder if the
spirits of the deceased
ever view their mourners
and, perhaps even being in
a better place, sympathize

Someday, I'll be the one
carried in the casket;
absent from my body, yet,
present with our Lord
the grave won't be my home

Hopefully, family and chums
will keep in mind that
this rube
has lived his years on
earth and has advanced.


(There is a natural body, and there is a
spiritual body. I Corinthians 15:44)


Peculiar Call

Call from a musician deceased
Legendary rock band singer
Conversing no detailed topic
A cordial online visit
Speakers finish conversation
Remembrance of words now vanished
Brother soon passes to next life
Purpose of dream-spirit world fine.


Foes Of Israel

Dead bodies stacked high and far
Disconnected arms and legs
Carnage amazes dreamer
Benign force walks behind me
Angel of God speaks easy
Briefly explains the reason:
Unbelief, ungodliness


Departure

Of its appointed time
Nothing can quite quell
The spirit's final pantomime
Departing the mortal shell

Into the unknown they fare
Voyaging unchartered regions
Answers to life, they share
With ghosts of past seasons

Perhaps a vague visitation
With/without our realization
An unexplained emanation
May incite trepidation

Spirit world's mysterious realm
Contains no peripheries
Our Holy God at the helm
Guides through all tributaries


Temporary Departure

I ascended from the bed,
aimlessly floating about
in the house. For a small
child, this was particularly
confusing; yet, I remember
that I wasn't frightened.
I suddenly realized that
My sister was alone and
I wanted to get back to
that room. Eventually,
I returned, and as I
descended beside her,
I said with a reassuring
voice, "Don't worry, sis,
I'm back."


Tiny Purple Flower

This small meadow full of wildflowers
has captured summer's heat and humidity
for the day. No breeze, but bees waft
and seem rather friendly. Soft and long,
the approach of early evening. Just
outside my tent, I sit on a hollow log.
The lazy stream casually pushes along.
A ghostly lady appears near the giant
beech tree. When I was small boy, I had a dream of being lost in this meadow.
A young woman (I believe she is here now)
quelled my fear and pointed in the direction
that would lead me home.
"I remember you," I said.
"And I remember you," she replied.
The benign specter sat beside me and we
talked. She wore a lei of tiny purple flowers
on her head and her beauty was radiant.
As the sun was descending, she told me
she had to go.
"Where are you going?", I asked.
"Beyond the sunset", she replied
"Will I see you again?",
"Perhaps sometime. Keep in mind,
the Light is always with you."
I awake in my tent early in the morning.
Steam was lifting from the stream and as I
was packing my gear, I noticed a small object
on the hollow log-a tiny purple flower.


Inner Serene Strength

Working hands cut and callused
Climbing trees, staying focused
Exercise often, age to compensate
Holy Bible, my sacred apparatus

Marine Corps lessons, appropriate
Always remain strong, passionate
Being myself, wearing no costume
Fair temperament solid, innate

Brew, tequila for me to consume
Boasting not, deserving no plume,
But my heart resembles no stone-
Nay, it's warm with ample volume

My inner self, I could never condone
If to ungratefulness I became prone.


Where Faith is Void and Dreams Fade

Where faith is void and dreams fade,
fragments of defeat replace aspirant ambitions.
The heart's desires become uncouth detritus,
lying idle in the soul's dry riverbed.
Soothing water does not flow to refresh one's being,
or to allow smooth stones to be skipped,
as in reaching the other side, and consequently
achieving success. Drought stifles even the
smallest hope of a light drizzle, pervading the
languid inner self, producing a vapid,
chasmic desert. Heated wind blows sandy wishes
across the barren depths of the spirit,
where faith is void and dreams fade.


Inner Cleansing

During my morning walk, I begin
to feel better. It's inevitable.
Cherry trees (apple trees shouldn't
be far behind) and redbuds are
abloom. Dandelions and
wildflowers compliment the
greenery anew. Mown grass
and spring odors are invigorating.
Nature and God's word draws out
Negativity from my depths and
cleanses the inner man of my heart.
It is impossible for any form of
depression to linger in my soul.
I know I'm forever forgiven.
Even the birds praise the
Almighty's creation.


Dirty Water- Clear Water

When you look into dirty water,
you cannot see your reflection.
When the water is dirty, you
are unwhole mentally, physically,
or spiritually.
When you look into clear water,
you can see your reflection.
Being healthy mentally, physically,
and spiritually is like looking
into clear water: your life has
meaning when you see your reflection in clear water.


Skeleton and Child

Sitting on fence with skeleton
Nighttime chat in remote darkness
Talking bones threatens young boy's life
Fiend presumes domination
Child proclaims his faithful ally
Demon disputes God's existence
Lad remains adamant and calm
He awakens safely in bed.


The Distraught Demons

Sometimes in my dreams, they challenge me
Trying to take over my body and mind
They're unaware that Christ has set me free
And I abhor fiendish company of any kind

The distraught demons stalk me in vain
Doomed spirits have nothing else to do
The ghastly ghosts should return whence they came
For them, I've no sorrow, solace or rue

I prefer dreams containing positive features,
But bad visions don't daunt my outlook on life
My dreams may be haunted by demonic creatures
To remind me of my faults and spiritual strife

The diabolical devil foolishly tempted Jesus,
Yet, he couldn't defeat God, who is ubiquitous


Night Stared

All was silent and all was still,
as night stared at the two men.
One wore a muddy gray uniform;
the other, a muddy blue uniform.
Both lives had ended due to
circumstantial fate. Neither
soldier would return home, marry
or have children. Had the men
met in another time, another
place, perhaps they would have
been friends. But now, all was
silent and all was still, as
night stared at the two men.


Twin Tragedies

A torrential amount of tears
cascade from her youthful
visage, as she stands in a
gloomy alley, leaning against
a decrepit structure,
wondering how her once
cheerful life ever toppled
to such a seemingly hopeless
condition. Complete
consternation wedges deeply
in her mind and soul as
suicidal thoughts invade
her disoriented brain.
Equally as sad is the
human beings casually
walking by who, though
noticing, feign not to, and
look the other way.


Memorial Day Race

Fresh flowers, mown grass and inchoate hay
Accompany this solemn, honorable Memorial Day
Speedway fans congregate at the Indy track
Many recuperating from last night's soiree

Visitors purchase memorabilia to take back,
Hoping their favorite drivers will lead the pack
With professional and friendly pools on the line,
Of ample anticipation, there isn't any lack

Our American flag stands, towering and sublime;
Proudly representing victories across the brine
Butterflies stir inside the courageous competitors,
As anxiety heightens close to the starting time

God bless these drivers with confidence and vigor,
And all those who serve, protecting America's shores.


Old Glory

The morning's zephyr stirs Old Glory,
Complimenting those from a patriotic sect
Proudly representing the home of the free,
As we reticently pause in retrospect

Our colorful ensign bursts with radiance:
A symbol of values we share and deem
Often the object of shameful remonstrance;
Yet, adamantly displayed on respectful scenes

Inclement weather may tarnish our banner,
Along with the sun's lustrous rays;
So nurture her with the utmost manner,
And remember she's not just for Memorial Day

Blood, sweat and tears preserve freedom and liberty
Let's show our appreciation, unfurling Old Glory.


The Old Veteran

The old veteran sits quietly with a lonely face,
As he slowly sips on the frosty mug of cold brew
For his war-scarred soul, he seeks brief solace
In this club that upholds the red, white and blue

Many fond memories of his past aid the pain;
Yet, several heartaches he's had to withstand
His national service acquired him no fame,
But thanks to him, freedom's alive in our land

Some unthankful people don't value what he's done,
And very few offer him a warm, sincere handshake
Now, solitude's the enemy which renders him numb;
Ignoring and forgetting him would be a mistake

A veteran myself, I will always respect his kind:
They deserve honor, and shouldn't be left behind.


Uncommon Exchange of Salutes

An early morning mist was passing through,
As I sat in a woods near my home
My intense wariness, I could not construe;
Nor the eerie feeling of simply being alone

A mysterious atmosphere environed about,
Then a ghostly marine emerged before my eyes
It was indeed, a rare contingency, no doubt
To see the leatherneck, whom now demised

Stalwartly he stood, with an austere face,
And suddenly I recognized the young man
Logistically we had served, in a dry, remote place;
Though, later his life was taken in another land

The unexpected visit, at first, seemed unclear;
Yet, rendering a formal greeting, I couldn't deny
He returned a quick salute, perfect and sincere;
And before fading away said, "Semper Fi."

For Tom, one of my roommates in 29 Palms, and an
outstanding Marine. Also, for the special memory of
throwing all those peculiar c-rat cans in the dumpster
because he said, "Nobody eats them, anyway."


Shadow Man

Shadow man exists in his dark recess
In the lonely depressed depths of his mind
Anchored to low self-esteem's abyss:
A sunken battleship in the deep, dusky brine

Shadow man speaks only when he must
Such a pity, this troubled forlorn soul
Hopes and dreams have been demoted to dust
AWOL is his ardent ambitions and goals

In seldom used alleys he scantily survives
Sleeping on a makeshift bed of cardboard
Flashbacks of saving and taking other lives
Raid his dreams, promoting disruptive concord

Stripes and ribbons once adorned his uniform
Respect and honor embraced the vet's essence
Now, his clothes and fortitude are worn and torn
Stoical ennui, olive drab is his confidence

Hidden in shadow man's spirit is a light
A candle that merely requires a little air
Pray for shadow man and he just might
Find an ally and conquer his torturous despair


Progress

Pristine salt waters once waved
To the natives of this land
Before the inevitable deluge
Of various myriad settlers

Dense forests and fresh air
Plenty of game to spoor-
All a natural heritage for
The tribes of North America

A dogmatic brand as an
Impediment led to the impetus
Behind an eventual and complete
Takeover of the inborn Americans

Polluted environment and scattered
Timber is the wry consequences
Of man's greed and passions
Progress-a trellis complications


The Lone Wolf

Feral and aggressive, this creature lupine
Justifying his existence simply by survival
Undoubtedly, he is no ordinary wild canine:
Others aloof ignore his lonesome call

Once a dedicated member of the pack,
Seldom scrounging for much needed nutriment;
Now he prowls the outskirts of my bivuac,
As the cooked salmon emits a powerful scent

The lone wolf is isolated from his own variety
His keen, independent improvisations accommodate
Innate habits bred from his animalistic society
Prove to be beneficial to his solitary state

Cautiously, I leave some victuals near the stream
This predator, like me, is one with the night
I fall asleep and in a visionary dream,
I'm the lone wolf watching an old spiritual rite.


Grave Consequences

Southern man, so avaricious
The black folk to enslave
Bold and cruel injustice


Your own spirit, you deprave
Rape the helpless female
Unfaithful, vile crime
Her dignity you impale
With your arrogant grime

Own the native African
Declare them unequal
Irk 'I Am That I Am'-
They're also His people

Selfish years soon spent
Mercy you've not found
Too late to repent
Six feet underground

Authors Note:

Though this great country's antebellum days are long gone, sadly, prejudice still exists. God isn't prejudicial, and he is never wrong.

Malachi 2:10- ... hath not one God created us? why do we deal treacherously every man against his brother ...?

Natives of The Spirit Land

Ghostly images emerged in front of me, as I awoke
My sleepy eyes recognized them to be a native congregation
By greedy, spiteful men, they were immorally provoked,
And bravely fought for, what is now called, our nation

Several tribes were represented, as their numbers increased
Every warrior was arrayed in his own special attire
Each felt my apprehensiveness and raised a hand in peace,
Then the eldest one motioned to assemble by the campfire

One by one, they united in a perfect horizontal sphere;
From the land of ghosts, visiting my lonely bivouac
I understood their purpose, though words I did not hear
Our souls were harmonized: we shared a mutual pact

A love and respect for nature is truly noble and grand,
But the earth was mostly appreciated by natives of the spirit land.


The Wooden Chief

If this chief made out of pine could truly pine,
What would he mostly yearn and pine for?
It would be to roam this land of yours and mine,
Rather than idly stand in this antique store

To join his fellow natives in song and dance
Maybe fish, hunt, and smoke the calumet
Perhaps enjoy piebald horses run and prance,
Or find a cave that hasn't been discovered yet

Possibly commune with those from the land of ghosts
Catch sight of a hawk seizing its slower prey
Attend tribal celebrations and eat fresh roasts
Oversee energetic youths in a playful fray

If I could give the wooden chief a name,
Wooden Tears would be my only choice
I'd add painted tears to his piney frame,
A sad wind would blow in a pensive voice.

He would not be my idol to adore,
Just a statue depicting a tragic epoch
Lost in the past seems to be native lore,
The wooden chief remains a symbolic relic.


Snow Walkers

Snow walkers trudged frozen ground
Painful tears met the bitter cold
Inhumanity surely did abound
Natively, the saddest story told

Merciless travel for many a mile
Took its toll on the native race
Inclement weather was extremely vile;
An object to encumber their pace

Survivors suffered more defeat,
Upon reaching their assigned land
Scarce was game for garb and meat
The soil, not much better than sand

Snow walkers now visit open plains,
Where the lonely wildflowers sway
They dance in the warm summer rains,
And disappear beyond the misty gray.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from RETICENT and TRANQUIL by Randal Weston. Copyright © 2013 by Randal Weston. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse, Inc..
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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