I hadn't read this one and it is so loaded with narrative, despite its paucity of words. It makes me about what I will or won't have achieved by the time I kick the bucket, and will it, or won't it matter a jot. A very touching and thought-provoking piece.
its effectiveness robs me of the appropriate words to justify my feeling about this writing. the laconic expressions are telling more than i even be able to listen.
What a wonderful poem. I think that the good Lord sits down for a chat with anybody who wants his attention. Somehow, he has to pass eternity, and I suspect that QT with his children is one of his top priorities.
I love your willingness to go against the flow of traffic and post work with religious overtones. I understand that this will probably drive away some reviewers, but some will love you all da mo!
Succinct and profound, in a religious way.
I like the imperfect rhyme of it, and how casually your narrator imagines this character sitting down to have a chat with the Big Guy In The Sky [i imagine them both with pipes, don't know why].
The tiny details that you've included work well to somehow give us a bigger picture.
Brevity is often beauty, and this poem is an example of that.
Something about it is nursery/skipping rhyme-ish...or one of thos short verses that our grandparents were taught by rote and can still recite over the sound of the TV.
What a wonderful character sketch and the simplicity of character is aided by the abundance of one and two syllable words. For some reason the man reminds me of Walt Whitman in his working clothes. Maybe that's an association of ideas with your recent post. Now wouldn't those words be worth listening to. But than again you make the reader want to sit down and listen to this man too in his 'worn-out overalls
and faded flannel shirt'. And those are great opening lines.
He's gone to meet God
with his pocket knife
and possum grin.
Emily, what a gem of a poem. I can picture this man exactly as you describe him and yes he has many stories to tell and all in a familiar voice and with a twinkle in his eye. I wish I could listen to him too. Thank you for sharing him with us.
I remember this and it sounds pretty close to what I remember. I am glad to see you are still sticking around and working on rebuilding your stuff. I am not sure how I would handle losing you from here.
to the Lost Boys
I am no Wendy;
but my voice brings you back to me.
And you sit around my feet,
anxious for a story
or a kiss.
Listening to my words
spinning adventures,
like so much g.. more..