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Everett Pruitt Poem
May I write, if you don't mind please?
It seems there's much I long to say,
Haul up the bucket of ideas from my deep wishing well
That reaches Heaven as well as Hell.
Break loose the constraints from the walls,
Chase all the forms down endless halls,
Catch the strange and toothless one And bring it out into the sun,
Hold down the letter and add it's parts until the work is done.
I love to write, what's wrong with that?
In the sound of words and rhythms flowing
I find what seems to me worth showing,
Real or not, cool or hot, whether thin or whether fat.
So I will write, as I do today, again tomorrow, read or unread,
We who write dress up thoughts as leaves adorn the trees,
Planting seeds in minds and hearts as we please,
Ascertaining and dispensing hope instead of dread.
If we choose to rhyme we may, but if not we may not,
We can pun just for fun or tantalize with care,
Immortalize or satirize, do as much as we may dare.
For it is a good thing to write now while still above the family plot.
Copyright © Everett Pruitt | Year Posted 2007
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Everett Pruitt Poem
As if it were the air, past the corner turning,
We bend as lifes' flowing moments go,
Age deep within the heart of memory burning,
With all we see and all we know.
Look! There's the youth we cherished so,
Up from behind, steady, slow,
Memory pursues us as a spiders' prey is caught.
Oh, the blue that arched above our heads,
As the sun beat down from above,
Our eyes reflecting azure skys, hearts ablaze with love;
We would play, in the sandbox, joyful without dreads.
All too soon the days grew cold,
Our friends dissapeared, shadows fell, we grew old.
Vanished now the place we'd play, all things seem to fade away,
Lost in times' embrace, the sandbox, the children and the day.
Copyright © Everett Pruitt | Year Posted 2007
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Everett Pruitt Poem
When at last I come to you
And this life , and it's petty cruelty is through;
When the sky above will open to your touch,
Then, this cold world will not matter much.
When all the wagging tongues and sparks and barbs are done,
I shall escape the rising sun.
In lying down I shall arise,
To meet my friends in pleasant skys.
The Master waits and his angels too,
They await me and they await you.
When mocking minds and mocking jests
Have ended we shall be His guests.
Rejected here and cast aside,
He will embrace us , arms open wide;
So when I sleep my final, darkest, night,
I know the Lord will be my forever, loving, light.
Copyright © Everett Pruitt | Year Posted 2007
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