I love today!!!

With breakfast eaten,

Day the height of a regal tower

The day well into half

Well written with my

Stories and fellowship

With world, singing

In the joy of record

Ideas flowing like sand

Through fingers of hands

So small I hardly remember

My little one hand in hand

OH, what a privilege

The memory now gives

So much joy, she accepted

Daddy now the joy returns

As transferred we both

Listen to my eighty-seven-

Year old father, grandpa

Still active, his body

Showing me what will

Happen when I grow

Old, no really old no

Some odd memory

A surface like a dead catfish,

Living next still forgotten

On edge of Racoon River

The other river in the capital

Wher I grew up when my brother

We first held stiff,  that dead

Fish; it weighed more than

One hundred pounds,

We let it lie

It was dead, but Oh my

Dear little four-year-old

Her smooth hand small

Clasping my fingers, smooth

As day-break, we trusted and walked

Pavement down the walk, Oh

This miracle of living tissue

Hand and hand to Social

Park, grass, trees, flowers,

Relevance, our memory

We now share, oh my daughter,

Oh my daughter, oh my daughter

Keep fingers from dead catfish

Stay innocent all your days until doth

You fin morning sun, breakfast

Meditate upon each precious

Momement like holding

Daddy’s hand, the trust

You still possess at twenty-nine

You are still alive and learning.

Charles Taylor C2018

 

Published by elgwyn

I was a University and community college instructor before retiring. I also worked in fast food restaurants, and retail stores. I am an ordinary man writing for because I want to write and because my education prepared me to write; BA English lit, MA English, EdS higher education, and MFA creative writing, free verse poetry and essays. Blogs are an answer to high-priced self-publishing. Walt Whitman had to self-publish his first 1000 copies of the 1855 edition of Leaves of Grass because in 1855 poetry did not sell. Most poets make a living in other ways than writing. Wallace Stevens was an insurance executive, and TS Eliot was a banker. Many writers teach, and always there have been writers who have written because they needed to express their thoughts and feelings. They wrote not necessarily to make money but to express "the old universal truths of the human heart" according to Faulkner. Here I reach a wider audience I missed than by self-publishing, and I stand a better chance to reach a wider audience for less expense than self-publishing. I self-published my first books, Winter from Spring, and Meditations on Gratitude; poetry and photo books which were easier to self-publish than to seek a not to seek a publisher company. This blog allows me to write for an interested audience because I write poetry and personal essays. I write for a friendly audience and present to you a slice of my writing. Perhaps you will enjoy what you read.

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