Stringing Family Pearls: Including, Grief Encounters and Tale Ends and Tidbits
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A lot of thought has been given, as to, when and how the world was made. It s not my doing and I don t really care, no matter who s feelings it hurts. Sometimes though, I do question .When the Seasons come and the Seasons go, Which one is the first. Maybe it s because they change so fast, that I ponder why, they just don t last. Between you and me, I have favorites you see and to that I do admit. But calendars confuse me, more than they amuse me And you also must have noticed, I suppose. When awaiting April showers, to refresh us with May flowers .. Low and behold, it snows. No one can deny the fact, that Caesar was an Imperial act. A Conqueror, General and accomplished Politician. Successful in every focused mission, except one! He toyed with the months and days of the year, choosing the best for himself. But, his overall selections were dumb. 365 and don t forget the quarter day, that leaps up every four years. It was tagged on, to short changed February, Following the 31, splurged on January, which rings in with New Year Cheers. Last Winter finally melted away. Then Spring sprung, until it sprang, Right into the fourth of July with a bang. Labor day lasted for only a wink. Now Autumn is here, for a while, I think. Looking out the windows, we see the leaves, softly falling from the trees. And so for now, we can go back, at least for just one hour, For what is known as Standard Time, as we yield to Winter s power. While waiting for Nature to resume, once again, More comfortable, temperate ways, Some busy bodies, have penciled in, What we warmly refer to, as the Holidays!!! Well, you Scoundrel, Cynically portrayed, Sinister and Shadowy, with Sickled Blade, This time you emerge, from your murky lair, Only to snare, a mere waning life. You knew this very moment, at the moment of my birth. Did you think, I thought, you were not there? Did you hope, I hoped you didn t care and would forget me? Did you love, that I loved, with every breath And agonized each and every loss, Succumbing to your sorrowing, kiss of death? If so: Count me Human, you inhuman machine. Replenishing in numbers, we are innumerable, Remaining always, more than you. Respite hence denied, keeps you ever awake, In solemn commitment, to your unsung duty, For each and all of us to take. There beyond, this mortal ruse, Our Souls repose in Merciful, Eternal Peace. In fulfilled Redemption, through the Father s Son, Happy with God, we live again. Now it s done.
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About the Book
In this age of talking books, I begin by telling you, that I am a book of feelings, put into words, originally intended to speak only to family and close friends. Here, is a possible opportunity, to intice and expand the size of that audience. Depending, of course, on how many new friends, deem these spoken thoughts, worthy enough to lend me your ears. Some of these words are as a whisper. Some as in everyday chatter. Maybe too many are too intimately revealing. All are intended, to poetically rhyme. But, independent of numbers, of new "Listeners," who may tune in, be assured, that to me, every word does matter. I suppose, you could call me, "A Poor Man s Memoirs," that started out, as a belated diary.
About the Author
Only very recently, it would have been thought impossible, that this, or any other endeavor, began, not only in a past Century, but also in a prior Millennium. But, so did I. I spent over sixty years, trudging through, that last Era. I promise not to hang around that long, in this new one. Truthfully, I never really understood, what the last one was all about. Even though I am supposed to be, one of them, every day, I m intrigued, more and more, by people. By what they say and what they do. You ll probably get that realization, from these poems. What and who I am is spelled out, in many of them, based on my own interpretations and experiences. You won t otherwise, recognize me, by my name and abundant obscurity. Suffice it to say, that I am a practicing, devout, retired civil servant, still laboring at life s craft.