WHY POETRY?

Sometimes I feel I must write poetry

Sing of something I know or want to know.

I’m never sure of what drives as I write

Gibberish, at least some of it, seems to me.

Yet, when I happen to express something well,

My heart expands in joy at the words I see.

To be able to write so it affects

The heart, the soul or the mind?

That’s a goal I set for myself.

If I can reach that goal, I will feel

As if my life has been successful.

One subject for poems, love between people

Not just lovers (men and women), there’s also

I loved my Mom so much, that just

Thinking of her made me feel really good.

My Dad?  Well, he was so rough and hard.

Yet even to myself, I admit

That I loved him, also.

My brothers?  I guess so, and

My four sisters, a little easier

To say I loved them and even their kids.

I probably loved a few of my friends, too.

At least the ones to whom I told some secrets.

If any of this constitutes a poem,

I hope you like it well enough to save.

 

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THE YEAR I TURNED SIXTEEN

The great stock market crashed in 1929,

The year I turned sixteen.

Now I couldn’t be blamed for that.

After all, I’m not sure what happened.

 

Our high school basketball team became state champs.

None of the other teams did anything exciting.

Our track team was actually pitiful in wins.

I was a member and I ran the mile for them,

Even won a couple times and I had a medal to prove it.

 

Some sophomore boys and I

Did discuss that new type of government.

Communism.  That’s what they called it.

We discussed it over one whole semester.

Decided it wasn’t for us, not in our country.

Too many restrictions on travel,

where you would work.

But the worst restriction of all

Was the ban on any criticism

Of the official party chairman.

 

We had a lot of fun in the Ohio River.

Swam in it almost every day that summer

And none of us ever got sick in any way.

Considering how filthy the Ohio was those days,

That’s a remarkable record.

The Ohio in those days carried trash and sewage

From every city, town and village for hundreds of miles.

We swam on a small beach between two bridges,

The suspension and the one called the steel bridge.

We enjoyed ourselves so much that, bashful as I was,

I even got around to talking to a couple of girls.

One or two of the boys, showing off for the girls,

Would jump off the suspension into the river channel

That was the deepest part because of the barges.

They shipped all kinds of stuff on those barges

It was only about a forty or fifty foot drop.

 

That year also saw the death of my brother, John,

In a mine explosion.  I had idolized him a long time.

He was a gentle giant—six foot four, two hundred pounds.

Mostly he was always so kind and helpful

I sure wish he hadn’t died so young.

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A HEALING

Dust particles reflect sunlight

As the wind stirs the earth

From mounds left by harvesters.

Winter drops a dressing of snow,

A soothing ointment of rain

To heal the land before Spring comes

When life will renew Earth’s bosom green.

Similar somewhat to the struggles

We undergo to reach the goals we seek

That fulfill the hearts and souls

And make us feel wholly alive.

 

 

 

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I AM AN AMERICAN

There seems to be a quiet sense of strength

In the simple statement: “I am an American.”

It says so very much yet is so simple.

It implies pride, confidence, strength,

Joyous humanity, humility.  Yes!  Even humility.

A humble recognition of who we all are.

The bravery of rushing next door to help put out a fire,

Of soothing a child’s fear of the darkness of night,

Offering to and helping a neighbor in sudden trouble

Even when we don’t know them that well.

How often have we taken in the unfortunate ones?

I know what it says on the Statue of Liberty; I also

Know who my closest neighbors are and where

Their ancestors lived.  After all, they are friends.

We sometimes play together, pray together,

Even eat together at the same table.

What is it that makes me so proud of America?

America is not just a country, a way of living,

It’s a mystic coming together of living souls

That blends all the goodness, intelligence,

Simplicities and strengths and the dreams

Of a multitude of ancient families into

One mighty, great and glorious family.

 

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ALLEGHENY HILLS

I really miss the hills of the Allegheny.

The spirits of my ancestors were always there.

Each night I could speak to them of ages past.

Many centuries had passed since they first came,

Leaving behind places where their forefathers had worshiped.

Honored places of ancient heroes and distant family.

They dared all things to make possible a new way

True freedom to own their own lives, a dream of children

A chance to grow their own crops, to be free of oppression.

To leave a place for their children, to know as their own

To worship their own God as they felt was the truth.

There was music in the air that blew through

Singing of joyousness in family love and keeping close.

Part of my soul will always wander in those hills

With me, I have memories that fill me with joy.

Sometimes I can find a special place in the mountains,

Where echoes from my hills ring my ears full of music.

Send my body where you will when I go, but

Let my soul return to these hills for all of eternity.

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WE WERE FREE, PART TWO

We were young men from Wheeling–

Mac and Wally and Ted and I–

Thrown together by chance, or fate

When we joined the *CCC.

We had such good times

After we returned home.

We became life-long friends.

 

Mac and Ted lived alone in town.

Mac’s and Ted’s stepmothers threw them out after

They came in too many times after midnight.

Walter only had his dad who lived in Pittsburgh,

But he was able to stay with an older sister.

 

All four of us once tried to sell home appliances.

Mac was the only one who ever got really good.

He ended up always selling something.

 

Ted was the first to get killed in an auto accident.

Unfortunately, Mac ended up an alcoholic.

Lost his wife and children because he never quit.

 

Walter finally went into his dad’s trade—house painting.

He was phenomenally good at it, too.

He taught me (Bob) enough to earn a living.

Walt ended up in life very lonely. He had no children.

And his heart broke when his wife died.

 

I managed to get lucky, married an Irish gal

Who straightened me up. Of course, I wasn’t alcoholic.

We lived together fifty-four years, happily.

It has been very lonely since she died but,

I do have some wonderful memories to cheer.

 

*Civilian Conservation Corps

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A ROSE

When God planted that first rose bush

I think He knew that we needed that rose

To convey a special meaning to love

Between a man and a woman.

No other flower seems to do.

With this rose, I am trying to say

You are really kind of special

So, I am truly glad to have you around me.

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LILLIE MAE

I would never say that Lillie-Mae

Was what you might describe as a raving beauty.

Yet, she did have something very special

Because almost everybody was a friend of hers.

I suppose I most likely loved her, but

Only in the same way that I loved my sister.

Actually, she was a sort of sister.

She was one of the very few girls I talked to.

The last time I ever actually saw her

Was going up along side Steve and Thomas’s alley.

We called it that, but I don’t think

It was actually officially named so.

Unfortunately, she was nursing a broken heart.

She had fallen in love with a married man

Not knowing he was married until

He dropped her like she might be poison.

She was crying very softly as I neared.

So, I offered my shoulder and arm

On which she could unburden her battered heart,

Breaking out in heart-rendering sobs as I held her.

Some five minutes later, we started to walk

And to talk until she was finally in control.

I gave her a kiss and a big, tight hug and left.

Shortly after, she left for Wisconsin where

She became an old maid schoolteacher.

But she became such a top notch one,

That many of her children never forgot her.

She is gone now, yet I still remember her.

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THE RIVER

I am again in that river valley

If only in my spirit soul.

The call of the river is so irresistible

I have felt it in my bones all of my life.

The river seems to flow through my very soul.

Here, feel the smooth silkiness of its flow.

 

Deep pools, shallow draws and swift running ways

Reflecting a glorious sky, moon and stars.

All of its hillside borders covered with leaves.

 

Hidden from all but my fellow river lovers

Are glorious flowers and tasty plants to eat.

Blueberry, bleeding hearts, violets, apple blossoms and

May flowers, dandelions, Indian pinks, daffodils.

So many flowers, I can’t name them all, but there

In deeply hidden glens, grow spearmint and peppermint.

I scent the air as the leaves are crushed.

 

Take me back, oh, my soul to that river course.

Let me once again regain the sheer ecstasy

Of a youth, long since lost in utter foolishness.

Once more, let me stand on the shores and

Smell the heaven-sent perfume of my river way.

 

Nightfall seemed to accentuate the spell of music–

The evening train going somewhere west at dusk

Sounded its whistle with such a lonesome wail

It seemed to beckon me to go along to faraway places.

Downstream, the Bessemer furnace lit up the skies

In a fiery orange-red flame every hour

As it cleared its throat with a storm of air.

And when the Dixie Belle played its calliope,

The music bounded from hilltop to hilltop

With such glorious musical tones

It made me feel transported to distant cities.

 

And nothing could be better than a moonlit swim,

Drifting with the slow-moving river current,

And the love spoken back and forth in boats

Oared by star-smitten young lovers being close.

 

That’s all so far away now I can only

Picture it in my restless dreams after midnight.

 

 

 

 

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MONSTER?

Clear, clean swiftly flowing waters

Beneath which lay a fearful darkness

Where perhaps some strange fearful beast lay

Could one enter, not to ever leave?

Cowards would not dare attempt this stream.

From where will come the needed strength

To conquer the creature in that dark?

Bound so to the bosom had been this lad,

Afraid to venture in, impelled to try

Till his fate changed when two older brothers

Intervened, led him into this stream

Far out to where that fearful beast might be

Then stepped away from the frightened boy

Not too far for a quick return

But far enough to force our hero’s hand.

Looking down and all about the lair

Nowhere could he see any monster lurking there.

Joyfully, he leaped to the water’s surface

And began to swim as though he always could.

His monster had been an innate fear

Of failing to swim alone without helping hands.

Only now did the summer belong to him

As he swam and splashed with such quiet joy

Because his beast had been that inner fear

Of never learning how to swim alone.

 

 

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