Jim Yerman Poems

I thought about Kintsugi this morning while looking in the mirror…feeling old…Kintsugi is the art of repairing cracks and breaks in pottery with lacquer dusted in silver, platinum…and gold.

The philosophy being those breaks and cracks are to be embraced…something everyone should see…a vital part of that pottery's essence…its past…its history.
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Chuang Tzu (pronounced shuwang zee) was an ancient Chinese philosopher…when one night a vivid dream appeared before his sleeping eyes…in his dream he was not Chuang Tzu anymore…he was a butterfly.

After experiencing a dreamworld where he flew from flower to flower…where he felt so innocent and free…he awoke only to find he was not that butterfly…instead he was Chuang Tzu.
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I have always counted myself extremely lucky to have been blessed with a wife
who agrees with me that it's the little things that make a happy life.

It's not only listening when the other person talks but hearing what they say.
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When we add a memory to our life…of a special moment…a special day…how can we ensure that memory will live on…that it will not fade away?

I imagine it's the nature of memories that some will bubble to the surface…never to dim or fade…triggered by a photo…an aroma……a word…that awakens the moment that memory was made.
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"Daddy...what is love? " His daughter asked with innocent, open eyes.
"Of all the miracles in life." he said, "love is the most wondrous surprise."

"Love comes out of nowhere…like a sudden summer rain…each drop of love is different which makes it difficult to explain"
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You never know when the day begins or until it is complete what twists and turns that day may take…or what people you might meet.

Today a nod to fate…or luck…or what many call destiny…this story revolves around two mechanics, some donuts…a soldier…and one dead car battery.
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I remember Grandpa…when our family gathered at his house…as our joy and laughter filled the air…we would always find him smiling…sitting in his favorite chair.

I remember how he'd smile…listening to new stories…or stories we retold…when I was young I figured that's what Grandpas do when Grandpas get that old.
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I once thought that being an adult meant being a child was no longer allowed…that trying to re-capture our childhood would be like trying to hold on to a cloud.

Now I know each day we rise…as we welcome in a new day…the child in us has been changed…but they are never far away.
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She loved those quiet moments together…loved the rainbow of colors they chose
when Mom would color her nails…and Dad would paint her toes.

It was during these quiet moments when it seemed to her like time suspended.
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The reasons we call her Mother Earth are easy to concede…not only does she give us life…she provides us everything we need.

If you're not convinced of what I say…from the Earth to the sky above…here are but a few examples…a sampling of our Mother's love:
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