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Jonathan Bellmann Poem
Not so long ago beneath a bright blue summer’s sky
There your eyes met mine how wondrous was the sight;
We walked together hand-in-hand long into the night.
Not so long ago I held you firmly in my arms
That we should never part or you wander from my side;
We promised then our love to share never more to hide.
Not so long ago in a hostile foreign land
I held your picture tight, and kissed your lovely face;
I wondered how you spent your day, longing for your embrace.
Not so long ago I heard your familiar, lovely voice
Though we couldn’t touch I wiped away your tears;
I’ll be home before you’ll know it to quiet all your fears.
Not so long ago you found me standing in a crowd
There our love embraced and never to let go;
I cherished every single moment more than you should know.
Not so long ago I watched the autumn’s setting sun
With shadows growing long and hours passing by
We tasted love’s sweetest nectar, and sorrow’s bitter cry.
Not so long ago beneath a bright blue summer’s sky
There your eyes met mine how wondrous was the sight;
We walked together hand-in-hand long into the night.
Copyright © Jonathan Bellmann | Year Posted 2013
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Jonathan Bellmann Poem
My feet are cold; my tiredness lingers;
My back aches from stooping so low.
Dampened by the frigid water below,
I breathed warmth into my numbing fingers.
Again, I dipped my shovel into the coarse gravel
Of the stream dredging up with a gurgle
A mixture of pebbles and sand;
Into a bucket I poured it, firsthand.
In this wilderness I'm not alone, there's bear.
Mindful I am of the sounds around me;
A churning stream, rustling leaves, an elk groan,
Snapping twigs, anything that would put a scare
Or raise my hair. I looked around for a tree,
Somewhere to flee before darkness set in.
Not far from here, I spied a log cabin.
Into this stronghold I placed my supplies;
Nature's calm was just a disguise.
I latched its massive door; and bolted each shutter.
In its stone hearth, I started a fire;
Basking in its warmth worries melted like butter.
Outside, darkness enveloped the cabin;
Strong claws raked its walls peeling away its skin;
Relentless growling resonated through the dusty din.
Suddenly, I awoke huddled next to a glowing flashlight.
Shivering against the muddy walls of a beaver's lodge,
I could hear the bear feverishly ripping
Through the muddy grass, and the disjointed timbers
Above me. Deep beneath the surface darkness arrived
Just, as my flashlight flickered, then died.
Copyright © Jonathan Bellmann | Year Posted 2012
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Jonathan Bellmann Poem
Among the flowers of beauty bright,
Upon leaves of green I sight
Graceful webs of intricate fashion
Of labor and of passion.
No architect so proud can craft this shroud;
Its sticky vines of ensnaring gloom
Tell little of an impending doom.
Hidden fangs await the unwary,
The thirsty, the greedy;
Entangled vivacity thrashes about
With a dreadful shout.
The spider’s banquet is short and rich
As it savors every twitch.
No prying eye will dare to spy
On death’s descending cry.
At dusk it drops from a canopy sky
To taste the spoils from its ravenous eyes.
Death wrangles a martyr, wraps it in twine
Then dangles it from a vine.
Flowering sprouts enjoy the morn,
Marveling at the horde of spiders born.
A cloud of spiders take to flight
On currents of air lassoed
Just right.
Copyright © Jonathan Bellmann | Year Posted 2012
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Jonathan Bellmann Poem
Lilies in the field nearby
Whisper to those who cry.
They give praise to empty graves
And solace to souls now saved.
The Seed of faith has sprouted,
The Word of God has spread
To all who hear and hold quite near
Our Lord’s baptismal shower.
The path we tread
Is strewn with bread
To guide our way
Through cloudy days of anxious dread.
The narrow way
From whence we stray
Is never far from sight;
Our Shepherd’s voice and outstretched hand
Plucks us from the quickening sand.
Reconciled to God,
Trusting in His grace we face,
Another day another way
To fall into contrition.
Step forward in faith
Across time and space
With every breath proclaim His grace.
Lilies in the field nearby
Whisper to those who cry.
Copyright © Jonathan Bellmann | Year Posted 2012
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Jonathan Bellmann Poem
Beneath the icy shroud
Silence is screaming - gasping
To breathe to survive
Copyright © Jonathan Bellmann | Year Posted 2014
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Jonathan Bellmann Poem
A button, one knows is held tightly by thread
Secured to its post unwavering, it’s said
That nothing, no nothing would wrest it apart
Or keep it from its dependable start.
Its lifetime, like ours is varied at best;
Too many buttons have been put to the test
Whether by stress, by anger or simply decay
Each thread of life was torn away.
Like surgeons we mend with patience pretend
To restore the bond to which we depend.
Our memories are woven, one thread at a time
Through various sizes some less than a dime.
We cherish and garner each stray away
Into glass jars we place them for another day.
So, cherish the thought that your buttons are taut
That nothing, no nothing remains so sought.
Copyright © Jonathan Bellmann | Year Posted 2013
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Jonathan Bellmann Poem
Long ago there was a girl;
She was my age;
We danced and played.
Many years hence over bridges
We went together hand-in-hand;
We danced and played.
Close and tight we spent our
Days loving each other
Wishing our love would stay;
We danced and played.
In the sight of God, we vowed
And prayed for Him to bless us
On our way;
We danced and played.
My every joy in her I found,
Her beauty deep within me bound;
We danced and played.
As days grew older,
And her hair grew gray,
We spent our last hour together to pray.
Across the bridge she said she’ll wait
Till in her arms we shall be
Together for all eternity.
Copyright © Jonathan Bellmann | Year Posted 2012
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Jonathan Bellmann Poem
My father's Roger Maris mitt
Was kept in perfect health.
It showed no wrinkles no blemishes
Nor flakes of skin.
Its limber fingers were sheathed in leather,
Its pocket was well stretched
As it yawned with each breath.
Bathed in linseed oil,
It was a dark jersey cow
As it slept like an oyster
With a pearl cradled in its palm.
My father's attention was precious as gold;
His time was well spent with little to spare.
He was my coach, he was my father
Playing catch on our field of honor.
Years passed by with a blink of an eye;
His fraying attention became unraveled
By his job, by money, his family's health
And his aging body.
His golden mitt seldom saw light;
Snaring a baseball was wishing
Upon a starless night.
With patience and compassion
My father guided my life,
By catching a baseball my self-confidence grew.
But, his life was snatched by death
His game forever ended.
He was part of my foundation
Which will never fade from sight
As long as I remember, a baseball
Caught on an autumn night.
Standing in my backyard, I see my father's mitt
Cradling me;
Like a baseball I recline
In his loving arms forever.
Copyright © Jonathan Bellmann | Year Posted 2012
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Jonathan Bellmann Poem
Time is a train speeding down a track
Never braking, never stopping, never to look back.
Copyright © Jonathan Bellmann | Year Posted 2012
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Jonathan Bellmann Poem
My box is like no other.
No tool, no food, no undesirable mood
Is stored in my box.
It’s not a drawer,
It harbors no smelly odors
Nor rusty nails, no heartfelt letters
Are left weeping like a thawing spring.
It’s not a bank, so don’t even consider
Harvesting its sumptuous treasure.
Its contents are waves of symphonic music
Left dormant like a seed,
Then awakened to blossom
With the light of spring.
Like a whiff of clean air,
I devour it like bread,
It’s like the dawning of a new day
Each time I open its lid.
I seldom disturb its deep slumber
Nor treat it with disrespect.
As I stare into its belly,
I see silent faces,
Places I know,
A fragrant rain – a melting snow.
The chill of living is set aglow
When visited by memories
That one never lets go.
Copyright © Jonathan Bellmann | Year Posted 2012
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