Beauty in Our Small Town

Again, the smallest yet not small

At all. Question–three-thousand souls,

Babies, farmers, children, wives, daughters

Sons, life unrequited living together

More harmony; when someone hurts

We remember morning kindnesses done to me
When I bother, I am old with stories intrigue
From gunmen, casualty, 
We gather as harmonics
Into our harmony, more than weekly
That becomes our tenderness our understanding
Of old men tied with frayed rope ends
Their own grandsons never
Leaving behind smallest money caught
Within four hours, forgotten fourteen years
Later, until I remember prison for these boy,-men,
Left to sit in sadness rest to live, nothing after.

I am 67-years-old, they said
To me as I faltered in Dollar
Store, "I would work if I could
I would care for customers,
Cashier their Christmas gifts
Their unusual and delicate items,
What they could afford!"

They said softly, "Not now dear friend
Is someone waiting for you? You
Deserve rest from weary travels!"
"Did you know when I was 19-years-
Old, I flew to Europe, had love this rose
In New York City, I gave her a rose. She
Insisted I stay overnight on her floor

While she sobbed for my fate, as
My wisdom within me said no
It was not time to blossom, be forgiven!" 
She guided me to The Old Crick Museum
Center of city, huge, wandering one
Day together, with me in bus to Kennedy
Kissed in public on that bus. Yes, insisted
To follow me to International Airport
Bound for Amsterdam, flew to Old City"
Only Memories as two children, me

Child vagabond, flying into Innocence
And Experience, walking, ridding bike;
Now reporting my old story to
Dollar Store to busy clerk, she took
Time to listen as she unbounded dozens
Of dolls for children, hot cars for children.
"Sir, you deserve rest, walked life's only
Journey. Now just do what's natural,"

Sit by my fire, write my stories good
Sweet memories, now of my beauty
My own sweetness." Of course, all she
Said was this, "You deserve , your arthritis
Does it hurt today, you're back, we love
Your stories." I make them fashion musical
Words into pictures of my past for my love,
For this woman I stayed eleven years later
Now from that point almost 37 years ago,

More than memory, this realty, better
Than any thing imaginably, mind
Thinking back ever back, she reminds
Me, "Dear, live now, live in 'The Now!'
Joy in Good Fortune, Let our hearts joyful
We rejoice in life itself joy in life itself."
So college girls 48 years ago, reminiscent
Of my pride gone before all those falls,
My wife for 36 years, "Dear one, I knew
What this meant on June 12, nearly four
Decades more than half our lives lived
Now memories don't count. It's now
Still fashion your poetry, poems of light!"

Published by elgwyn

I was a University and college writing teacher, now retired, so I write poetry, and essays, mostly free verse poetry. I love writing. Computers, tablets, and smart phones are the norm. When one sees university campuses with students looking at phones while walking to class, one realizes writing can be blogging. I am an ordinary man writing for artistic pleasure writing, and simple taste-- blogs are an answer to high priced self-publishing. Walt Whitman had to print his paper books himself, because in 1855, and 1860 poetry did not sell. It does not sell now unless you have a Pulitzer Prize and even then the poet usually makes a living in other ways than writing. In all ages there have been writers writing out of their own needs, and blogs are an answer to get rid of high cost of self creativity. I am an older man with fewer computer skills than my daughter who has been at computers since she was three, so here I can satisfy my need to write without spending too much on self-published books. All three blogs let me reach an audience missed by books and stand a better chance to reach a wider audience. My two books, Winter from Spring, Meditations on Gratitude, as Kindle books and paperbacks did not reach as many people as I wanted, and blogs can let me avoid the printer. Layout and design is expensive. For me writing is more like the charcoal jottings of preexisting civilization made only for posterity. Blogs face two problems as I see it. They might be submerged into a chaos of too much writing, and they depend on electronic storage. Yet, how's that different from electronic books which must have specialized publication? Paper disintegrates, blogs can be physically stored and organized for posterity in data banks. All organization becomes chaos at some point, but charcoal images on cave walls still exist after the author scribbled eons ago. So what if I reach only a few interested people, but hopefully, readers will reach out to me. Writing is essential for showing the ways of culture before history knows those ways. To record each individual is essential especial for billions of people who need to know enough reading beyond pictures to save a planet. Writing without profit isn't new to me. I'm not seeking to impress the audience. Poetry in general never sells, and personal confessional, and emotional writing exists sometimes like journal writings only for the author. At least here is my hope for wider audiences. My writing is personal and informal, but my writing expresses some serious ideas like the writing of contemporary writers to rise above chaos in my own simple way, above self-absorption, a meditation, the simple writing of an ordinary man. I hope to find my own way out of my own chaos and make my record stand alone if even in electrons. Though I hope never to express nightmare in my poetry, fiction, or essays, some serious considerations are important to me after centuries of mechanized nightmare. The next decade is probably of the same failure in our world. This decade looks to be another time of diminished individuals and the next as well. We all wish peace and hope will become normal. It looks like if hope reaches each individual, not governments there is satisfaction in making means of writing available to many. My hope is for each human being to give their own expression out of the abyss. If humankind is to survive in any common way, we must each be able to express maturity and take responsibility in something beyond self. Electronic media offers people these possibilities so long as computers can store individual lives. Here people can freely see what I write and what others write. Though I hold an MFA in creative writing my simple vision never found a wide audience. I was disappointed about this earlier in my life, but now it's just what one expects of such degrees. I found happiness in family and especially in love of my wife and daughter. Writing can be more than a pastime now that I'm older. I approach seven decades living with some disappointing times, and some satisfying times. I'm like most people, and I've been married more than 37 years, and we sent a successful daughter into the world. We happily live in a country where even the poorest have food. Often as a young man when I traveled for nearly one year through Europe, where does a culture begin to feed and house so many people, and how do all these people live in harmony since World War II? Maybe it's been a question of survival. Writers can hold a little corner with blogging, blogging for harmony and peace. This is my hope. This is my question.

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