Episode One of Breaking Words is finished! When I have three episodes, I’ll release them. This is going to be a weekly poetry podcast. I’ve been writing poetry seriously for about six years and now you’ll be able to hear me read them all on this podcast. I have found that I really like doing this, and I’ve got enough material for about a years worth of podcasts. So that means I better get writing if I want to keep up. I haven’t been writing much since Ann (my wife) died. Not sure why other than her passing has occupied my mind completely since then. I’m coming around now, slowly, so it’s time to get going. As always, I’ll post everything I write here. Each post for the podcast episodes will include some photos and the words to the poems on that podcast! Enjoy!
At the end of a dirt road with corn fields on each side and woods behind, sits a house.
Shingles are missing, windows are broken and the gate hangs by one hinge.
It’s been like that for some time now. Empty. Alone.
The house was built 100 years ago by a young man and his bride. With trees cut
from the property, love and care, a home was raised. There were 10 children. And
happiness and sorrow, laughter and tears, Christmas’s and birthdays and funerals.
And many years later, times grew hard and a Great Grandchild lost the house to the bank.
It sat empty for a time and then a young couple came along. There is a picture of them
in a broken frame on the floor. Two women and a young girl, their daughter.
And they made this house a home. There was happiness and sorrow, laughter and tears,
Christmas’s and birthdays and funerals. The daughter grew up and went across the country
to college. The couple moved to be closer to her. And the house has been empty since.
Until just this very day. A car was seen driving up to the old house. A man got out with a
SOLD sign in his hand. And also out of the car came a women, three children and a dog.
And there will be Happiness and sorrow, laughter and tears, once again.
The Trees And The Sky
The bare trees of Winter like ancient hands
with gnarled fingers, reach up out of the earth,
reaching for what they cannot grasp,
and observe the Sky above.
The bright blue sky taunts the trees, saying,
“Look at me! Look at my clouds and wind.
They can go anywhere! While you,
rooted to the ground cannot move.”
And the trees reply, “Our roots
grow deep and we are a part of this world.
Children play in our branches and leaves.
And you, can only observe.”
“Alas, it is so,” said the sky. “But without my light
and warmth in spring, you would not grow leaves and
would wither and die. What then?” said the sky.
“Where would the children play?”
“It seems We need each other” said the trees
and sky together. “So I shall go on,” said the sky,
“providing you with warmth and rain so you
will live, and children will play and grow.”
“And we shall grow and live,” said the trees,
“giving leaves and life and shade so people
will thrive, and you sky, will have
many things to see and care for.”
And so the sky and trees work together,
making sure that the world goes on.
But they need our help to succeed.
And these things we must teach our children.
At 1a.m. because he couldn’t sleep
he sits at his piano
cigarette in the ash tray
smoke curling up
trying to decide what he wants to write
what he wants to say, what he wants to play.
At 2a.m. the ash tray half full
his elbow rests on middle C
chin in his hand he tinkers with the keys
an F a C back to F
it’s not coming.
At 3a.m. he naps on the couch
the ash tray is full the room in a haze
eighth notes dance in his mind
like a playground full of children.
At 4a.m. he is hammering on the keyboard
the ash tray emptied the windows open
his mind is clear but he’s not there yet.
At 5a.m. a cigarette in the ash tray
smoke curling up, the notes are coming now.
At 6a.m. it’s done, he has it, and he sleeps.