My Journey
Dear Computer, have I told you what a great friend you have been?
How you tackle my emotions, turn them sometimes to a win?
Having retired from my career and job of nearly thirty years,
I'd already had my share of joys, more than enough of tears.
The computer age was just beginning, quite a bit too late for me.
I didn't know you were a brand new way of living vicariously.
Perhaps I had a latent talent that I hadn't recognized
And more of a yen for poetry than I had realized
When my son brought a word processor in Nineteen Ninety-nine
And asked me to write my memoirs. No way did I divine
The storm of words that would spew forth, the enjoyment waiting there,
Or the many friends that I would find, who would be glad to share.
In less than a month my son had died. He did not live to know
What a wonder he had given me. I wish that I could show
The honors I have garnered on these pages and on more.
My humble poems have been read in this land from shore to shore.
Poets from other nations have reached out to hold my hand
When I wrote of loss and sorrow, just to say they understand.
My first poems were sad and mournful, for I had lost my son.
It was a way of healing and soon I had begun
To try out the forms and flavors that would make me a poet true
I'm old enough to be great-grandma, but as a poet, fairly new.
Dear computer you now work over-time, every evening after dinner.
I'm happily entering contests and striving for a winner.
Rewritten: For this contest 4/2/15
Copyright © Joyce Johnson | Year Posted 2011
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