St. Jules

Here, where the river divides, 

at the foot of a mountain, 

where the seed first took root, 

I come in search of answers.

If, as they say,

an apple never falls far from

the tree, this then

is where my moods must begin.

When I first gleamed 

the nature of the fiddler

returning, how the necessity

for familiar waters overrides

the yen for sea-full adventures,

my rebellious disposition snorted, 

the sneer of contempt

for winter nights boxed inside

an old-world constellation

hardly contained--

what half-wits washed ashore

to be contented here?

Now, a life spent

drifting through spaces

too small to contain the places

fixed in my imagination

I see the trees, the light

of being one of

the sons of a soil

grubbed out of an ache

to hold onto something 

dear, and why

this place, where the river divides, 

is where the roots took hold.

Ken e Bujold

Author's Note

St. Jules, population 527 and diminishing. Where my father's family has lived and sired generations for over 200 yrs. I am of kin, if not of soil and the seeds of those generations are in me

Reviews

[light and ashes]

Interesting write, very well written....
It must be cool to know that you are a part been of something that has endured for so long..
Most of us Americans probably don't know anything about that.

[W. Barrett Munn]

Definitely hit all the right notes on this accordion, opening and closing the sound of your thoughts. I absolutely had the feel of the Bard here, how William would tell in words the act of thinking it through to a conclusion, the very art of poetic expression done well.

Winston

[willweb]

Another wonderful piece of writing that I can relate to though, in my world that place where the river divides has finally dried up. I moved from the northeast of the U.S. many, many years ago to the Southwest region. For many years the northeast was my home, a place I looked forward to visiting, where my roots began. Sadly, every connection, every relative has either moved away or passed away and what was once my home, is no more. Though since reading your poem and thinking about it...I guess it will always be in me somewhere.
Really cool Ken. I like your style of writing so much. You are a poet I look forward to posting something new.

[Ken e Bujold]

thank you for kind words Will. St Jules for me is a special place, though like you and your roots, the living stems of my generation are few. My father's are all gone, and only a handful of 1st cousins, all older than me, live on.

[Lisasview]

Good morning dear Ken,
Such a lovely poem to read early this morning from across the world. I read your authors notes which are wonderful and really explain your thoughts...
So true your words that it made me (once again) think of my fathers family, (European) and the seeds ...that go on and on..
When we moved here (Spain) two years ago from the USA and found the house (Finca) we are in now...we felt a deep connection to it. Although no one from our families were born here... Anyway, last year I was speaking with my sister, who is a Shaman, and she said.. " I see why you feel this deep connection to the house, it is because you and Bob are of the land." " You have been here before" Not sure if this makes any sense to you Ken..but it does to us.. The feeling is so strong...
For some reason your words brought these thoughts back to me.
Thank you so much for that,
Lisa

[Ken e Bujold]

it makes all the sense in the world to me Lisa. I consider all of history to be part of me. the dna in all of us comes from the same stock which swept out from the savannah. if we wish to, and we can, the stories of all mankind lie within us

[Lisasview]

For sure..and so happy you understand what I was saying Ken...
Lisa