Jim Yerman Poems

I ran across a poem Henry Wadsworth Longfellow wrote in 1845 entitled The Arrow and the Song...

I shot an arrow into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
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When the sun has finally slipped away
and the sky is devoid of light
I love to sit and listen
to the music of the night.
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In geography it's called a confluence.
It's such a lovely word.
It's where two bodies of water come together
and meet to form a third.
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I love old fences…they remind me of an era…
an age that was simple and slow.
They are rustic, pastoral…picturesque…
and harken to a time long ago.
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We discovered her this morning…as we walked along the street
A tiny bird with a spot of yellow…lying at our feet.

Deborah bent down and picked her up…not a feather disturbed on her head…
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As parents we made a promise to our children
the first time we held them in our arms:
To love them unconditionally
To keep them safe from harm…..
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People sometimes ask me how I do it…how do I find a way…
how is it even possible…to write a new poem every day?

There really is no one answer to my daily poetry.
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May we all be blessed to one day learn a second language
because as these new words in your unfurl
we find they open up another window in which to look out on the world
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May we all be blessed (as we often say in the poetry biz)
Not only to fall in love
but
to understand how precious that love is.
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This morning when I woke up…let me take a second to reminisce
I had an uneasy feeling as if something was amiss.
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