Willie Walker

Willie Walker Poems

It is a dark and foreboding night.

The moon has run and hid its light

The setting sun in the winter skies
Reflected dimly in the old man's eyes.
On a patio porch in a plastic chair
Close beside him his dog lay there.

Night Terrors

Whippoorwill calls in the swamp at night,
Lonely soul, flies it's fluttering flight.

Little Baby, Little Toy,
Daddy's Darling, Momma's Joy.
Sleeping Quietly, Angel Eyes,
Never Laughing, Never Cries.

The Chattahoochee River is muddy and deep,
Rolls restless in her bed, and never sleeps.
She churns, whirls, and sometimes creeps,
But the Chattahoochee River never sleeps.

Grandpa was apt to play when Grandma was away.
She went to Florida with her siblings for to stay.
Grandpa shined his boots and donned a new white shirt.
He slicked down his hair and made sure his hat was square.

Beyond yonder hill is a golden glow that beckons you see,

Where a wilderness awaits and where someday I must be,

Willie Walker Biography

The son of an illiterate sharecropper who was raised in poverty. Finished high school in 1959 and moved to Florida, New York City, California and spent time in Central America. Went to college at Rancho Santiago College and Cal State Fullerton as well as classes in several other colleges. Retired as a mechanical engineer at age 54. Began writing poetry and short stories about his youth growing up in the red clay country of Coffee County, Alabama. Winner of several awards for short stories and national contests. Published poems and short stories in several anthologies and history books. At age 72 lives in Chattanooga, Tennessee.)

The Best Poem Of Willie Walker

Night In A Negro Graveyard

It is a dark and foreboding night.

The moon has run and hid its light

The pine trees stand shrouded in gloom.

Yellow-eyed owl forecasting his doom.

Gravestones lay broken, scattered about,

A good night for ghouls to wander out.

Deserted road snakes through the swamp

The earth lies moldy, soggy, and damp

A sound comes low, barely heard

It floats in the mist, Is it a word?

The owl goes quiet, cold with fear

It is the sound of death he can hear.

Words whispered I hear, “welcome home.”

My heart falters, there’s a clank of bone,

Upon my ear a message comes clear,

'We have been waiting for you here.'

“Come lay down with us forever more,

Your grave is dug, it’s an open door,

When you entered here you came to stay,

Your eternal journey starts here today.

From a dark cold grave I can see,

A black shadow rise and come at me,

Stares into my soul with blazing eyes,

Moans a sound like a woman’s cries.

Beckons me toward an open grave, it says,

“Enter here now, for you are already dead, ”

Loudly I cry, “I yet live as you can see,

I will as long as someone loves me.”

“Then say their name, ” the wisp was undaunted,

“For it is written, you are a man that’s unwanted.”

My heart falls as I struggle about

To find someone’s love I can tout.

But no one cares and my heart goes cold,

As the demon drags me toward that hole.

To those I leave and those who I love

Love each other while your still above.

So when the time comes you can give,

That name you can say that lets you live.


Willie Walker Comments

Unwritten Soul 18 March 2012

The green hand of you fertilizing flowers of words, to smile in the garden of poetry.. but in your other hand may also dancing in a sheet like a butterfly you did on flower, coz each of your poetry yo done with confident to share about your experiences, your sighted mind, witnessing for all time around you...just like a butterfly tell story for flowers about the journey that they cant go...Keep using your hands Willie to create a green land, aromatic garden in this poetry field _Unwritten Soul

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