That distant valley
Far below
Was I...as a child
........Eons ago
...
Somewhere within dwells the soul of a boy
And childhood dreams of Illinois
....With thoughts.....of home again
...
Where would we go if told to leave
This land where our kidnapped forefathers grieved
For life as it once were
And not as destiny's mind perceived
...
So...long...the day......so short....the hour
Stolen moments....angst...........deceit
......Another night.....sooo....long....the hour
Stolen moments......bittersweet
...
Who was the villain
When it all began
Some fair-haired stranger
From a faraway land
...
Alone.........I sit
By the fishing hole
Didn't bring..don't need
...No fishing pole
...
There was a knock upon my door
…In…the light…was she
Grab your coat and in the rain
Come take a walk with me
...
All around us
Youths are dying
Victimized by greed
Of a WALL STREET kind
...
Devastation wrought
In agonizing ill
Of God's omnipotence
..Or..Satan's will
...
An emotional moment
For there in the mail
Was a bundle of cards
All..wishing me well
...
Woodlawn Cemetery...Santa Monica
…Just beyond the Palisades
Where eighteen souls…lay buried
…….Within a plot..beneath the shade
...
Friend - A single Soul Dwelling
Within Two Separate bodies
..................................Aristotle 384-322 B.C.
...
A faith with trust
This pledge to give
In thought and deed
As one shall live...
...
Is happiness...an illusion
...On the wings of time
Sought...and pursued...
Though impossible..to find
...
A frail…old Negro lady
…Born…in Lincoln's day
Who knew the taste of freedom
Only… when… she passed …away
...
Social injustice
....Commonplace
Denouncing a man
For simply his race
...
.....Might....life exist
Through sake of chance
......Some odd result
Of happenstance
...
'May his memory
Be measured
As his fans
Treasured
...
Romance sometimes
.....A fragile thing...
Perhaps...tenacious
...The spirit cling
...
Reality says........they've passed away
......Is not......perception.........reality......
For I feel...a living presence...as though
.......They stand....right next......to me
...
James B. Earley was born and reared at Mounds, within the rolling hills of Southern Illinois, nine miles north of the confluence of the Mississippi and Ohio rivers. A Californian since 1956, he resides in the San Francisco Bay Area. Having served twenty-one years in the employ of the Robert Mondavi Winery, Jim retired October 2006 from his treasured assignment...personal chauffeur to its legendary Founder and Chairman...Robert Mondavi. An ardent disciple of the Robert Frost philosophy of simplicity in style, and clarity of thought, Earley vigorously pursues that poetic vision, passionately navigating its intoxicating culture...in rhythmic verse.......... Subscribing to the spiritual notion...'poetry is the window to the soul, ' he enthusiastically embraces the medium, in any form, however the content. Welcome..to the portfolio..of poetically infused short stories. Mostly serious..occasionally contrite...some whimsical...a few wacky...others tacky....though all...consistently...of the soul. Please browse....or linger..if you will! ......For taking the flight, experiencing the mood, and sharing the passion.......thanks.. Author's Note: This collection is dedicated to my family...the Muskeyvalleys/Muscovalleys....and...to Southern Illinois, and the little town called Mounds...and all the people in it...in that time...which I thought...would last...........forever...... Email address: earleyjim@sbcglobal.net http: //www.authorsden.com/james-b-earley http: //myspace.com/moonbass89)
A Mountain Speaks
That distant valley
Far below
Was I...as a child
........Eons ago
I've known great happiness
Shared...such strife
As that of the dinosaur
Struggling for life
From a simple existence
I've seen Man grow
In the scheme of evolution
I'll watch......him go
I question......my being
Invariably...I find
.....A mere speck of sand
On......God's beach...of time
Author's note: The poem addresses Mt. Tamalpais, geographically to the immediate north of San Francisco's Golden Gate Bridge. (The Mountain is sometimes known as 'The Sleeping Maiden, ' of Native American legend.) From my home, overlooking the northeastern perimeter of San Francisco Bay, I am blessed with a spectacular panorama of this magnificent creation! Viewing the Mountain, north to south, one can imagine the figure of a reclining female with an abundance......of long...flowing hair.
During periods of intense reflection, considering the Mountain....its splendor...its circumstance...its aggregate history...its future...its reticent humility...and the arrogant juxtaposition of Mankind, I often wondered, should the Mountain speak...What would it have to say? This work is the manifestation of untold hours of meditative thought.......a spiritual rendition of extraordinary.....time....and place!
Thanks to Rani Turton......whose observation was the catalyst inspiring the author's remark....
James, First let me thank you for the beautiful comment about my poem..It's Been Five Long Years.Your poem to me is beautiful because when they have passed you can still feel them there.I truly believe it.Because I believe God let's them come to you to tell you they are ok. Again thank you
Touched by this poem of yours, James - it´s 'ancient'! My comment here is in a way a return to yours on my posted as 'Addict'. Let´s keep sharing! Sílvia, from Brasil (who visited South Africa in ´02)
nice poems. you are great in showing feels.that shows a good improvement. i invite you to read my poems at my poets page. that is a friendly invitation
Dear James I can't find your cemetery piece. Sorry. Try mine 'Headstones'
Hello Lee! Would you be so kind as to read my poem HEAVEN! Thanking you today, and tomorrow, and today! ! ! XXXKash
Jim is a warm and empathetic man and his poetry reflects this. He is a supportive, wise, understanding friend.
My wife once asked, 'Who is the most powerful U S public official - the President or Chief Justice Supreme Court? ' 'Neither, ' I said, 'it's the ordinary police officer. That person can legally take your life - at will.
The most 'UNGODLY' moment in America, perhaps, 'tis Sunday mornings.
Hitler would have been nonexistent, were it not for that lunatic fringe.
History will accord President Obama's legacy, in not what he accomplished, but what he 'sought' to accomplish; for that is the measure of the man.
Was it the President's color, or perhaps, something other; I'll just have to wonder, I guess!
'Critical question: Wondering why all the other animals not needing toilet paper, and Man....the mysterious.....exception? ' ~James B. Earley
As a society we suffer horrendously when not exposed to elements of critical thought. Whether or not one agrees is not the idea. It is about exposure, and from that exposure, make informed decisions.
James! Sounds so beautifully your name and your poem in the winds of the destiny! Congratulations from Brasil! When I visit California again I´d much think appreciate to meet you! Let´s keep in touch! Sílvia