Jim Yerman Poems

I'm not sure how one explains old age…I'm not sure what rules apply.
At the funeral when my Grandma died…I remember how they tried…

I heard them say how she was a friend to many
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When you hold the hand of a child…you cannot help but smile
two hands joined that once were two apart
There's something innocent and pure once they put their hand in yours
you feel it all the way down to your heart.
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If I may be so bold…when you start to get a little old
you find yourself waking up in the middle of the night.
But for whatever reason…depending on the season
you may be treated to some fascinating sights.
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He was brought up to think miracles were uncommon…in his parents' eyes anyway
highly improbable, extraordinary events…something you don't see every day…

He never thought much about it…those seeds his parents had sown
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We followed the path to the top of a hill
not knowing what we might find
What we discovered was a lone headstone
surrounded by a circle of pines.
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We love to walk in the morning…we know our walk is not complete
unless we walk the way the native Americans did…
as if we're kissing the Earth with our feet.
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The last thing I do before I get into bed…is remove my glasses from my head.

When young my thinking was innocent…my emotions raw…I assumed everyone saw the world I saw.
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Is there an artist inside each of us? Of this I have no doubt.
It's just a matter of reaching down… and pulling that artist out….

"Mom…I have something to show you! " Christi said.
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We adults tend to lose ours innocence as the years unfold…
which is why the innocence of our children is a beauty we behold.

Children sing before they realize there even is a song.
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