Raindrops
Cling
Plants
Grow
Gargoyle
Watches
Waits
Anticipates
-
My garden as of May 7th. I don’t know about the gargoyle, but I am certainly anticipating.
~jon
Poetry
May 072012
Hats On the Peg
Twenty-eight years
a long time to hang one’s hat
on the same peg
Nearly three decades
together
Good times and bad
we’ve seen it all
you and I
Now we grow old
together
Oh sure, we’d make
some other choices
But one choice
Would remain constant
Together
I’d have it no other way
The picture is of our hats hanging by the back door. Saturday is our 28th wedding anniversary.
~jon
© 2011 by J. M. Strother, all rights reserved.
Photo by J. M. Strother
Almost Home
J. M. Strother
I know these hills, these valleys,
Those old familiar trees.
I know the house in yonder field,
The smell upon the breeze.
I know these roads I walk down now,
The byways of my youth,
My spirits rise as I approach
That old familiar roof.
And as I tread upon these feet,
Which have seen many a weary mile,
I see an old and familiar face
That greets me with a smile.
As I round the final curve in
This path that I now roam,
My heart swells in knowledge that
I am almost home.
Not all of my poetry is free verse. This is a rather old poem of mine, and I included it here because it also happens to be one of my personal favorites. As I mentioned at the beginning of the month my poetry is often an emotional outpouring triggered by some outside stimulus, such as a news story. Like many people, I was gripped by the rescue of Jessica Lynch from an Iraqi hospital in 2003. I wrote this poem while out walking the dog, trying to imagine how she must feel coming home in the midst of the firestorm of media coverage around her. I suspect her thoughts may not have been too far from my imagining. Of course at the time I did not realize that her feet required follow-on surgery, and she probably wasn’t doing much walking – except of course metaphorically.
~jon
© 2003, 2011 by J. M. Strother, all rights reserved.
Photo by Hubert Stoffels via Flickr Creative Commons.
Driving In the Rain at Night
Wet pavement reflects myriad lights
Streams of red from taillights
Splashes of greens and yellows
Rivers of white, flowing
Straight into my eyes
Wide with the night blindness
That comes with age
Night driving, no longer a joy
In a driving rain at night – a nightmare
The eyes of youth are gone
It’s Hell to get old
~
© 2011 by J.M. Strother, all rights reserved.
Photo by Calvin Dellinger via Flickr Creative Commons.
Apr 192011
Dog In A Storm
Winding underfoot
Breath panting
Tongue lolling
Panic in his eyes
He looks to me
For comfort
For solace
Me, an ineffectual guardian
We cower together in the basement
He quivering in fear
Me annoyed at the storm
Yet we comfort each other
In our own ineffectual ways
~
© 2011 by J.M. Strother, all rights reserved.
Mary
J. M. Strother
I did not know her well
Old, but far from frail
Known in passing only
For months
Years
We shook hands once
Exchanged introductions
Mary
That’s all
Only a name
Yet somehow a foundation
A name bond
Roots
In an often hectic world
It’s three months now
Since last I’ve seen her
Disappointment
Vague worry
How I wish I had come to know you better
Mary
~
© 2011 by J.M. Strother, all rights reserved.
Apr 032011
April is National Poetry Month. To get in the spirit I will post two original poems a week, on Tuesdays and Thursdays, all month. You’ll all have to bear with me. Unlike the fellow to the left, I am not a great poet, nor even fair, but I do like to dabble now and then. For me poetry is written emotion – that is my best poems seem to flow from me unbidden just after I’ve experienced a deeply emotional event. Since I can’t conjure deeply emotional events at my whim, you’ll have to take whatever happens to come along at the time.
Today you get a reprieve. I thought it best to start out National Poetry Month with a work by an acknowledge great in the field. To avoid copyright entanglements, I also thought it wise to choose one who passed away long ago. The photo above is of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow taken by Julia Margaret Cameron in 1868. I give you one of his earlier poems, one that seems particularly fitting for an early April poetry kick off.
~jon
AN APRIL DAY
By Henry Wadsworth LongfellowWhen the warm sun, that brings
Seed-time and harvest, has returned again,
‘T is sweet to visit the still wood, where springs
The first flower of the plain.I love the season well,
When forest glades are teeming with bright forms,
Nor dark and many-folded clouds foretell
The coming-on of storms.From the earth’s loosened mould
The sapling draws its sustenance, and thrives;
Though stricken to the heart with winter’s cold,
The drooping tree revives.The softly-warbled song
Comes from the pleasant woods, and colored wings
Glance quick in the bright sun, that moves along
The forest openings.When the bright sunset fills
The silver woods with light, the green slope throws
Its shadows in the hollows of the hills,
And wide the upland glows.And when the eve is born,
In the blue lake the sky, o’er-reaching far,
Is hollowed out and the moon dips her horn,
And twinkles many a star.Inverted in the tide
Stand the gray rocks, and trembling shadows throw,
And the fair trees look over, side by side,
And see themselves below.Sweet April! many a thought
Is wedded unto thee, as hearts are wed;
Nor shall they fail, till, to its autumn brought,
Life’s golden fruit is shed.
Longfellow wrote highly structured poems with set rhyme patterns. Most of my poems don’t do this. What kind of poetry do you gravitate toward?
~jon
May 052010
Mother’s Day – Twitter Chats Blog Tour
Welcome to the Twitter Chats Blog Tour, organized by Mari Juniper at marirandomities and Anne Tyler Lord at Don’t Fence Me In. Today’s theme is Mother’s Day.
You’ll be traveling with us through the blogs of some of the fantastic authors and writers who participate in our weekly — funny, entertaining and educating — Twitter chats. This tour will feature writers from #writechat, #litchat, and #fridayflash.
You will be directed to your next stop at the end of this post. Please feel welcome here.
Enjoy the tour and have a happy Mother’s Day!
A Poem, Of Sorts
Mom
Depression
Then war
Then marriage
Then
Bob
First born
First to die
Twenty short years
And gone
Bill
Second son
Second pea in the pod
Now elder statesman
Head of the clan
Barb
Third child
Third joy
So much like dad
Bright and alive
Betty
Two boys
Two girls
The perfect family
Perfect life
Jon
A surprise
A worry
Brown eyed baby boy
Sorry sis
A hard life
A good life
A long life
And true
Through joys
And sorrows
Always strong
Always loving
Always loved
Miss you, Mom
Dedicated to Marie E. Strother
1918-2003
To continue the tour please visit Carolyn Burns Bass, the creator of #LitChat, at Ovations and the Red Room. Follow Carolyn on Twitter as @carolyburnsbass. Or start your tour from the very beginning with Anne Taylor Lord’s, The Precious Gift.
The complete list of participants can be found at the host’s blogs: Mari Juniper and Anne Tyler Lord.
Happy Mother’s Day, all.
~jon
Nov 252009
CYCLES
Skeletal fingers
Yearning for life giving warmth
Await the new year
Nov 112009
The cobbler’s son
The lawyer’s daughter
The baby’s mom
The student’s father
The black, the white
The rich, the poor
The Hispanic, Asian,
The native born
The peach faced youth
The grizzled old
The limbless
The homeless
The ones still whole
These are the ones who served us well
Remember them, and the ones who fell.
~jon
