PLEASE PARDON MY POETRY
Friday October 7, 2011 5:57 amI am not altogether certain why (after all these years) it would still intrigue me why there are times I write a blog and I get very little or no response and other times I receive several emails. Yet, seldom do I get the response or lack thereof on the blogs that I would find more interesting. I mean, there are times I feel confident that I will receive emails because of something I wrote and I will get nada. Then, with this latest blog (for example) I expect zilch and I get several... go figure (:
To be fair they were all over the place: two wanted to know what else was placed on a trail by me, and why would I do that? The answer: “Sorry” it's personal ): One wanted to know what I thought of the person (today) who upon last seeing her in Louisville in 1990 I described her, as, “... beautiful with raven-black hair.” Today she is still “beautiful” and with any color hair, including grey.
Another one stated because of the last quote I had included, the one from my oldest daughter, they would now do something they had wanted to do for a long time... good for them! Then, there were four who said they never knew I wrote a poem and was it ever published? The second part of that statement is easier to answer than the first... “No.” It was never published and no likelihood it ever would be... you'll find out why as you keep reading (:
The first part is harder to answer because I am not a poet. By definition a poet is “one who is especially gifted in the perception and the expression of the beautiful or lyrical.” Well, that's not me: however, I am not a writer either but that has never stopped me from writing (:
In fact I have written a few poems. One I wrote for a book that will never see the light-of-day. Then, I wrote some that were very personal and could only mean something to the ones they were intended for and could have no broader meaning to anyone else. But, there were two I wrote that were very personal, yet, their application could still be useful to others... perhaps to someone I have never even met. Such as some who have followed this blog for a long time and yet I have never even seen your face or heard your voice.
To understand the first it is only necessary to imagine your life divided into four seasons. Springtime... birth to 20 years old. Summertime would be 21 to 40. Fall would be 41 to 60 years of age, and your winter years (the last season of life) would be 61 to 80 years old. See... I have given each of us a long life upon God's green Earth... 80 years (:
If you would like to know what day and month of life you are in all you have to do is compute your age into days: example, as I write this today October 7, 2011 I am in my 20,418th day of life. For you personally, without knowing your year of birth I can not be 100% exact that 80 years equals 29,220 days (because of leap years) but, it is a very close approximation for most everyone. Anyway, a simple formula shows that I have now lived 69.9 percent of my life and I am now in my 255th day on my 365 day calendar of life. In other words... if one year constitutes a lifetime of 80 years, then, for me today it is September 12th and I am very much enjoying the fall time of my life (: Yet, winter is fast approaching ):
With that understanding I will now post what I first wrote for a dear friend. Before doing that though I want to steal a title from one of my favorite authors. In introducing some of my poetry to this blog I want to use Dr. Hyle's line... please pardon my poetry.
Now:
TIME IS NOT MY FRIEND
There's springtime... so sweet, pure, and clear,
Yet it whispers lies which are too distant to hear:
E'en as the verdant fields are teeming with life,
The lie is believing that there'll never be strife.
Springtime belies that the long winter is past,
Yet we know we're mocked for this too won't last:
The Blue Jays with their happy songs fill the air,
And everything is right, for my darling... who's fair.
There is Chicory, Yarrow, and even Butterfly Weed,
And all of this magic is from God's tiniest seeds:
The air is redolent with perfume from on high,
Mark time, for soon this will disappear with a sigh.
The air is now hot, where have the cool breezes fled?
The answer I know, but tis this thought which I dread:
Has time marched on while I've frolicked and played?
Alas my dear it's true... but be strong and unafraid.
For there's joy in summer... as well as spring,
And there is this fact of which I'm not boasting:
If a season has past... then I've grown older,
Wiser I hope... and both stronger, and bolder.
The smell of fresh cut grass, and a warm summer shower,
Things that are wonderful, even as a late-blooming flower:
There are many sounds of summer, like children at play,
And squeals of delight, as the ice-cream truck makes its way.
The air is now cooler... in the morning and the night,
Betimes I'd like to flee, but where to take flight?
Another season is now here and dead leaves are falling,
Yet life still abounds... great news... my team is calling.
A deafening roar, a chant, and a raucous sound,
A stadium is the place where I'll be found:
I'll be the girl holding hands with my one true-love,
And we'll cheer for our team from high up above.
It's time for sweaters, blankets, and the fireplace glow,
I'll hold tightly to my dearest, for together we know:
That this too will pass... in but the blink of an eye,
Is that a sad thought... perhaps... but I'll not cry.
For I know a truth... still to come is another season,
Alas, it's not my favorite and I know well the reason:
It's the last stage of life, having lived... now we must die,
Therefore, live life to the fullest is what we should try.
Though winter is now here and I'm caught in its icy blast,
Is it the cold in my bones making me long for the past?
Could it really be true that just three short seasons ago,
My life was so much fun... as I hurried... to-and-fro.
Giving no thought to the season, the time, nor the day,
We just lived life and loved, ere... it's the only way:
Therein lies the great secret and the way to succeed,
Just live day-by-day, and never... never concede!
I am now looking forward to that ice and the snow,
Because I know it's not to be dreaded... as onward I go:
For there are still places to be and much people to see,
Snowball fights with loved ones... and stories, told with glee.
As the last snow is falling and there's no more laughter... nor tears,
And if God grants a few seconds to look back through the years:
As I'm remembering you... here is a truth that is sublime,
I'll be counting it all joy to have known you... my friend in time.
(Now you know why this blog is the only place my poetry would ever be “published.” The last poem I will include is for everyone who has ever... “loved and lost.”)
DREAMING
Soft sounds, a sigh... a lover's embrace,
Opening my eyes I see my darling's face:
Her lips are full and their taste is wine,
And I still cannot believe that she is mine.
Her breath is warm and her laughter is sweet,
There is no more... now my life is complete:
We dance and play... and talk and love,
A romance like this must come from above.
What utter happiness, excitement, and bliss,
I asked her to marry me and she said, “Yes.”
In this life, what good thing have ever I done,
That God would grant such joy to a lowly son.
In the distance we hear clapping and ringing,
It must be the church bells pealing and singing:
Her small hand in mine, we run toward the sound,
But, suddenly I'm afraid... of what will be found?
My heart is racing... as I gaze upon her face,
Her eyes are so beautiful... and full of such grace:
Yet, there is something more in that harried stare,
A truth is now dawning... and my soul is laid bare.
The beautiful bells that were so charmingly pealing,
Are now blaring, jangling, jarring... and reeling!
As before... I bolt upright and come fully awake:
Wiping sleep from my eyes, thus begins a familiar ache.
I silence the jangling clock, atop my nightstand table,
Yet, in spite of it all, I smile... for I know that I am able:
We can still laugh... and love... and play... and scheme,
Perhaps not in truth... no... but always in my dreams.
I hurry and dress and begin another hectic day,
As I must do what's right, and go on my way;
There are promises I have made, which I must keep,
Yet tonight, we will love again... as I slumber and sleep!
You can always reach me at clarkmatthews1@aol.com .. the poet: LOL
posted by Robin Johnson @ 7:43 AM
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