Poems by john freeman   

John freeman's Biography I am born and raised, in pope county Arkansas, where I still reside. I live in a small group called Pleasant Grove, about twenty miles north of Russellville on hwy 7, a beautiful highway cut through the famous Ozark mountains. Russellville, a larger city, intersected, by I-40 is about ninety miles west of Little Rock, capital. I am a retired OTR truck driver as of 2009, certainly not a writer, as one may determine. In my life while I have written one poem prior to 2009, “The Tale of a Pig’s Tail”, when my confidence permits I may share on this web. Immediately upon my retirement, the first month of 2009, poems of the kind that I’ve shared on “#Poetry Soup” begin to emerge up from my heart, like a river that could not be stopped, as if I had something to write. Ha! Well anyway, you be the judge, but whatever the mind, I do not think it will stay this flow, sorry. The message seems to be, “God is Love, the power, of Truth which is his Kingdom”, the much larger picture of a reality, of which, the imitative will cannot conceive of by itself. I am single and have one son named Boyce, made famous by an honorable mention in one of my poems. Lol! Also, I have written true poems about my dear grandmother and granddaughter. I have many other children and grand children that I hope to write poems in honor of each member of my immediate family.

 I lovingly accept your warm welcome to “Poetry Soup”. Thanks so much, for your comments on my Poems, and the one Blog I have posted. My welcoming was fantastic, thanks! I am love, created to be, and that is what I write about, so one may say whatever one believes in comments, about my stuff. If my feeling are hurt my love will absolve, never allow yourself worry about that. It will not be a problem! Having not got some of the meanings in my stuff, feel free to ask questions. We all are touching some part of the proverbial elephant, the cosmic consciousness, of creator. I do not mind relating that I think he is the essence, love itself. We’re in this thing, the reality of life, together, as one bound by the essence. In finality, poets are poets because they are acting out, the creative nature of their creator, by the potential the creator placed with in the sacred heart. My opinion is that love is that capacity spoken of, though that is already known from the poems that I write, so who am I kidding! Ha! Lovingly, John Moses Freeman