Monday, June 22, 2015
Not Forsaken And Unforgotten
Not forsaken And Unforgotten
By Curtis L. Johnson, Sr.
There is a little town not very far off the beaten path. Neither gold nor silver has ever been mined in or near this town of fertile delta soil. No sweet crude runs beneath its ground, but a quiet and gentle place awaits those who toil
If you should determine to visit this town and someone meets you at the door with a frown, the chances are great that you took a wrong turn and entered the wrong town.
If you are greeted at the door with a smile and someone says to you, “Come on in for a while, and make yourself right at home, ' the chances are great that you are in the place where I used to roam.
If late at night you hear the sounds of crickets, do not be alarmed, for they bring peace and sweet sleep, and mean you no harm; or if on early mornings you hear roosters crowing, they are welcoming the dawn of a new day and offering you a wake up call; or if you see pig pins and chicken coops, I suspect that you have found the right place.
If in early fall you see white fields of cotton, waiting and pleading to be harvested;
if you see cotton gins, combines, tractors, and cotton pickers;
if by chance you see chinaberry trees near by and pecan trees in the distance;
if you observe a cotton or corn field where tin roof homes and out houses use to be;
chances are great that you have arrived at the place where kids used to run, playing hide and seek, jump rope, shooting marbles and popping sling shots, and never bothering about worries or fears.
It’s a place where time has left a trace.
It’s a trace of how the privileged with plenty contrasted with the under privileged in poverty.
It’s a trace of how people barely existed with help from God, and help from neighborhood friends who cared and shared.
It’s a trace of how a lot of times, people survived day by day, simply because they wanted to.
So, if you should ever decide to visit my little hometown, unknown by millions from afar;
If you should ever wish to tour a place unforgotten by me and others from Mattson, Mississippi;
Be focused to see a place of simplicity
Be ready to acquire a taste for humility
Be honored to walk on grounds of stability
Be prepared to pause and embrace less activity
Be wise enough to understand the meaning of civility
Be more determined to love others with all of your ability
Be sure to listen for the sweet sounds of quietness and peaceful tranquility
Topic(s) of this poem: home,memoirs