Long Familyfamily Poems
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My grandfather and I had a special relationship.
When I was young we lived near his home in Baltimore. But, my family moved away from
Baltimore when I was five and we lived most of my life in another state far away from my
grandfather. Whenever he called, however, I was the one grandchild he always wanted to
talk to so we could discuss his beloved Baltimore Orioles. I was the one grandchild who
followed sports closely and always remained a true Baltimore sports fan.
Later in life, I learned that my grandfather was actually a gifted baseball player himself when
he was young. In those days, he would explain, professional baseball players did not make
enough money to support a family so he had to make up his mind to either play baseball or
get married and raise a family. As it turned out, his love for baseball was only surpassed by
his love for my grandmother and, although he hung on to the newspaper clippings that
labeled him a “can’t miss professional baseball prospect”, he hung up his cleats and glove,
married my grandmother and went out to find a “real” job.
But his love for the game survived and year in and year out, he and I discussed the
intricacies of the game and enjoyed or lamented each baseball season based on the
successes and/or failures of the Baltimore Orioles. As crummy as the Baltimore bums are
today, I was fortunate enough to experience and share many more successful seasons than
poor ones during those limited years that I shared life with this amazing man.
I always felt sorry for my grandfather, considering him a victim of poor timing. Had he
been born about 50 years later in life, he would not have had to pick between being a
baseball player or earning a living – in fact, with his talent, he could have earned a much
better than average living while enjoying the one thing he loved most in life.
When my grandfather passed away, I was sure that he was joining a heavenly nine to once
again strap on his spikes and don the leather. Without a doubt, they must play baseball in
heaven. And I wait for the day that I sit in the heavenly bleachers and cheer on a young
grandfather playing this wonderful game with other boys of summer.
(Inspired by, “is there baseball in heaven”, by Constance, A Rambling Poet)
I am a white, middle class, American male; raised in a white, middle class American home. I would not say that my upbringing included a lot of diversity.
I remember talking to my brother, Jimmy, just before he told my father he was gay. Jimmy told me about the inner struggle he wrestled with in first admitting to himself that he was homosexual. He said he thought it was wrong; it was sinful and something he must avoid being. Once he realized that being homosexual was not a fault but an innate sexual preference, he decided that he would not live a life of lies. He, therefore, decided to tell his family about his sexual inclination. It took a lot of courage to tell my ex-marine father.
Afi is a beautiful, strong, black African woman; raised in a black, African home. Afi will admit that she is not overly charitable and not likely to do volunteer work. When she first came to the U.S., however, she was appalled with how our society treated its AIDS victims. In Africa, Afi would tell us, AIDS patients were embraced and cared for, not shunned and outcaste like here in the U.S.
Jimmy was not a promiscuous man. He only knew a few sexual partners in his too short life. Jimmy was a very intelligent and artistically gifted man. He was doing post–doctorate research in Iraklion, Greece when he first started showing symptoms of having AIDS.
When Afi volunteered to be an AIDS Buddy she made it clear that she did not want to be paired with someone who had full-blown AIDS. The organization was so hard pressed to find someone with a profile to match Jimmy’s intellect and interests that they begged Afi to just meet him, just once.
Afi says that within an hour she was no longer on a volunteer mission; she and Jimmy
would be friends regardless of a commitment to the Buddy system. Jimmy and Afi
remained best of friends for the two remaining years we were blessed with his presence.
It has been 15 years since Jimmy passed away. I am still a white, middle class, American male; from a white, middle class American family – only now, we have a beautiful, strong, black, African sister in our family.
-
Terence a Griffiths of Tyrone or Leitrim!
Did he know but later of 1820 he would be there born
A Flax Grower a renter from landlords of Lord Leitrim's domain
To thresh and sack and cloth and sow by wife and all but slavery go
A brother Bartholemew younger and two rented fields up
They toiled and cut their respective Dromahair tracks for family food and church
Imagined home of limestone scraw and thatch and little more
To Him and Mary had children born but died and died but - James a smile born at last
Year of 42 destined of birth and life much the same
With toil and despair like all the rest of this peopled land
A famine near but river trout and oats and eggs kept going without the potato plant
Blyte and desperation spared on none but those ready those prepared
Not prepared evicted on the lonely green lined road and board of works pittance
For those a fraction better or more a trip to port and bay to look across the sea
Without a family to meet or lodgings to lay
The night before a sorrowful wake of music and porter barrel there
With food and tears and pennies off never to see no more
Terence proud and sad James he sends America to go
And send some money home to mother to lowly sons
She creaks and breaks and steers the stomach
Up and down the drains of hungers pains
The deck to break of wave and sounds and New Amsterdam emerge
Better lands and money sent home to purchase 20 Acres and 2 roods no more
Never to return is not true. A loyal James to Landlord downed and to family too
He roots and spreads and family bear and atained a generation there
But cannot see to bear another ship for those he knows and hates the family split
A neighbour lined up at the poor house and green lane go. He can stand no more
And sacks the postman's bag with others and throws the notice to the ditch
The brutal notice of postman's summons blocks arrests the rabble and gaols the mob
I saw the picture of Limerick gaol a bowler hat not there but pride
Pride in a smile. - James a smile born at last.
Form:
My family is everywhere like wild seeds sown
On the whim and bluster of a wind
Some left for Cuba before the revolution
Bring green stalks of sweet grass to sugar
And are still there, root sunken in the earth
Grafted branches without memory now
Or recognition of ancestral home,
Separated by language and new history
Thick as the depth of our watery boundaries.
Some in Panama built the canal, but no bridge
For home when their meagre cents were spent
Too soon. I met a few with little knowledge
But no anxiety for early morning mist of blue
Over the mountain, looking still to see them
Coming home like birds when summer is done.
Some went to Venezuela to see the oil
They said was black as Africa in the new world
Brazil: there football is more than economy
Gladiators: bloodless troubadors of the new army
And many drifted into the squalor of Costa Rica,
Nicaragua, Ecuador, searching for light
Amidst old civilizations brought to ruins
By Conquistadores majesty and Roman might.
The only one who report are those from Canada
Is it because of the language, because they proper
As they do in America. Is there nothing in them
That longs for home, to leave the Mexico to her Aztecs
Her cactus lace with golden strands of sun.
When I was in Germany, Austria, France, far away
As Holland, Rhine and Danube linking invisble
Heritage, I met them, distancing the old decay
"We are thinking to move to Taiwan or Japan"
They told me, poverty does make a barren land
So I understand the boat people, not lying
Like Columbus, they seek the same treasure
And yet for their truth reap some displeasure.
I could package it for them to sell, but cannot agree
When the wind rattle the wattle of desolation.
My family is everywhere scattered like wild seeds
In fresh forests fretting with the burden of the wind.
Unhooking the chain
I opened the rusty gates
to Olive Branch Cemetery
Hallowed ground of yesteryear
Peaceful as the name sounds.
There is a place of comfort sweet
Near to the heart of God
A place where we our Savior meet
Near to the heart of God
Like a white butterfly fluttering from
One headstone to another headstone
where sweet clover blossoms rested their heads
protecting the ancestors of long ago—
Stopping by each one
I gently touch and wonder
Standing on rolling hills of countryside
Six-foot tall or five-foot short
giants of the soil
English honest proud
farmers tilling the land
children by their side helping
with French heritage mother
who listened to the tears,
cooked meals, washed clothes
lesser than the men but carried on.
Walking in time thinking, then
Seeing it!
I lifted up Nancy Emily’s initialed stone
N E P lying on the ground
young farm girl no state aid
rocking her baby boy
For when my heart is troubled, filled with fear,
Jesus whispers peace
Young lad gladdening saddened family hearts.
I wonder her pain kept a secret
Until descendants began to unearth
digging deeper than her simple grave
Nancy Emily, rest well knowing
your descendants are bright and fruitful
healing the sick
teaching children
keeping the law
at home and afar raising children to become.
Whispering hope, O how welcome thy voice,
Making my heart in its sorrows rejoice
Oh! Family of long ago
toiling planting reaping caring
lying now on former fields
with mottled stones announcing your place.
N E P stands upright.
Feeling like a mighty oak tree
faithful and fulfilled,
I leave
fastening tight the rusty gates—
past secured for future
It all began in the summer of 1876, in which Brother Clive Werthings had returned from
feeding the sow. He walked through the kitchen door and into the morning light shining in from the window. With great distress he uttered the following:
“The eyes of the pigs came alive!
Their dead eyes and ordinary pig faces
We’re preaching to me! Squealing
Away with you, away with you! They shouted!
I swatted them with my hands
And as my hand swung towards their pinkish flesh
My fingers turned to hooves!
My arms shrunk to the size of their front legs!
It was blurry, muddy, and I could not think straight
And so I started to pray and I forgave God for all the things
I swore against him if he’d just release me now…
Brother Werthings took a deep sigh as his family of on-lookers watched breathlessly.
He had been to the asylum once, his mother thought in communal privacy with the others.
And now this, she thought. She watched him finish:
“And then he did. He released me.
The next moment I was on my feet
Staring at the stupid pigs.
I simply turned around and
Walked back into the house.
A new man.
Brother Werthings took a profound step forward, consequently out of the ray of sunlight coming in from the window. He then repeated in the shadow:
“I am a new man now.”
The family lived on, living out their lives: a proud ship, slowly rotting in the vast sea. And years from now, one looking out, or looking in, could never know the full truth regarding the validity of Brother Werthings’ statements.
Though on his deathbed, struck by tuberculosis, he demanded on his
tombstone be chiseled:
Clive Werthings
1847-1897
The Eyes Of The Pigs Came Alive!
The first big family vacation, it was all so new
Mom found a dream ranch, a so-called “dude”
The kids were so young, a daughter not yet two
Our son only four, wanting to ride with the crew
Rafting, riding, and a real Mountain Man too,
This vacation was a hit - who knew?
As the years go by, we’ve made many friends
But over time this special week transcends
As families grow, things change
It can’t be helped, not really strange
Truth be told, our hearts aren’t ready
To agree on a change, on that we’re unsteady
Because memories are priceless, we’ll soon not forget
The ranch rodeos, Fat-Bat baseball games, and the brunch ride silhouette..
Of our annual family picture on a mountain out West,
Every year showing our kid’s growth, we are very blessed
It’s not with sadness that I write about when this might end
For it will surely open up a new door or trend
For as long as your heart, your family, and your thoughts don’t scatter
Where you go on vacation really doesn’t matter
Beach, mountains, wherever, one really shouldn’t mind
As long as you’re together, the time spent can be sublime
Oh, there are gripes, moans, and argument; it’s part of the quest
But I wouldn’t miss it, for who would have guessed
That in time as with all things, it too will naturally end
As children grow up and add their family blend
But If our good fortune continues we’ll be part of what’s next
In the knowledge that our time together is a gift not a test
An Abandoned Pioneer Cabin
By Elton Camp
There it is, way off to the right side
A home where a family did reside
I mightn’t have seen as I passed by
Except a chimney still stood high
I wonder who, with labor and care,
Took the time to construct it there
The best stones were set aside
All found on the mountainside
People could only use what was free
Chimney from rocks, logs from tree
Although he was not very skilled,
Each man his own house did build
I could see the dwelling had started small.
E’er the two could walk, they had to crawl
As the couple’s family grew,
They added rooms, one or two
A mortgage they never owed
Didn’t have a payment’s goad
Luxuries they never knew.
Nor any “Joneses” to outdo
It was much the same everywhere
People lived simply, free from care
There was not any reason to feel bad
You don’t miss what you never had
And it was still possible to tell
Where the family had dug a well
A heap of ruins did betray
Place where the privy lay
The family’s barn had collapsed long ago
Only rotted logs could its location show
The cabin had been empty many years
Never again to see either joy or tears
And when more time has passed,
There will be no trace of it at last
When the chimney crumbles away
To eras of time the place falls prey
To me it really seems a shame, though
A family lived there but none will know
While I live, I will always try
That place to recall with a sigh
Connecting In Cyberspace
One day I opened up an email that had been sent my way.
They were searching for their relatives who they had never met.
Growing up and thinking their was no one else around
But they had heard it through the grapevine there were others to be found.
I had written about my family and friends who had passed away.
“Gone But Not Forgotten”. was floating in cyberspace.
I had listed my brother’s name and other family members too.
I was missing all of them and my heart was feeling blue.
Then I got this strange email that said “are you the one”?
I am looking for my people-I want to meet each one.
He was stationed in the service way across the miles.
We exchanged our numbers and boy did his heart smile.
Another message came from a niece living across the mile.
We had never met although I had came to town.
She had heard about my visit but I had went back home.
So she found me on myspace and she was such a charm.
We corresponded time after time and then I went home again.
We ran into each others arms and a brand new relationship
began.
Oh Auntie-My Auntie was all that she could say.
I shall always remember that look upon her face.
So as write and send out messages into cyberspace-
We just don’t know who we will meet in this worldwide space.
It may be a loved one or just a long lost friend.
Just be ready to connect with the one who is searching within.
One Family
Parents, two daughters and a son
Children were young and loved learning about life.
Together, they explored the world…often visiting the zoo.
Lover of: the first child with her scientific mind; she loved to watch animals and hear their sounds.
Lover of: the second child and her big heart; she could make life-like elephant sounds as a child.
Lover of: a son with strength; he enjoyed the zoo from his stroller and listened to us make animal sounds.
Who feels: happy when orangutans swing close enough to almost touch, connecting.
Who feels: ecstatic when the elephant takes a peanut from little hands…imagining a safari on its back.
Who feels: uncontrollable laughter when a baby chimpanzee swings and flips around in trees.
Who fears: the pacing tiger’s glaring look.
Who fears: the alligator’s thrashing, splashing and swimming close.
Who fears: the grizzly’s growl as it echoes through the park.
Who would like to see: the whole zoo while riding on elephants’ backs.
Who would like to see: family parrot pictures with birds on heads and every arm.
Who would like to see: the king of beasts preening a little lamb.
Resident Visitors of the Jacksonville Zoological Society
Zoo-Ville is the place where my family found much fun.
© Dane Smith-Johnsen
September 18, 2010
NOTE: I stuck to the bio poetic form format as closely as possible to the Poetry Soup definition.