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Heaven-taught Plowman and Other Poetic Devotions [With Pen in Hand Book 2]
by Joel L. Young
Category: Romance
Description: In Book 2 of the With Pen in Hand series, Mr. Young pays Poetic Homage to his poetic heroes, family and friends who have inspired and enriched his life, from teachers to sports heroes and more.
eBook Publisher: SynergEbooks, 2001 SynergEbooks
eBookwise Release Date: October 2004
 
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Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [54 KB]
Words: 9338
Reading time: 26-37 min.
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED
Wandering With a Roadside Prophet (For Francis)
I borrow from Francis Thompson with countenance, firmly indebted in admonition, that eagles gasp with winded breath upon a roadside diner where meals are uniformly free. Dressed in lace and frills arrested to a hungry eye gilded daydreams shine in the heart of heavenly stars from whence their brightness comes. I am a minstrel to my own folly wandering with a roadside prophet grasping grapes of ardor from farmed out groves of over abundant fields left ripening in their happiness but despairing with petty needs, in tears of falling dew decaying roots of long planted histories distilled from wines of faith endowed. I'm left to wonder the irony grapes hang like clothes upon a line. Francis takes his time to the clear opium like haze from his window seat staring out into meadows fresh with cabbage memories bunched in heads of armies still in battle raged against a madness only devils and demons fear A man of faith bides his time with honor humility enclosed with in his heart meekness reaches forth to grasp the clouds to ring them dry falling into golden meadows, summers full of fruitful hours not wasted but complete with physical and mental beauty exercised in joyous miracle and loving the gentleness. My how the wind loves to laugh when the sun has shown her grace painting gold a noon day sky in creation's glory. Inside Willie Nelson's Guitar Sitting and thinking with an old beat up acoustic a man can't spend his day all the time, alone. I hear him in his Teatro playing and drinking Singing up a storm of dreams Leaning out a greyhound bus yelling good-bye Fort Worth time just carries on slow and surely I drift outside the lines with Jack Daniels by my side. Night life is just another scene for playing Broken angels play their hearts like harps Acrobats prance around doing handstands It's all just another scene for burning memories Just the like the old songs go It ain't nobody's life but mine writing him more songs. That was then this is now. Time is burning and fading fast. A man can't spend his life all the time alone surely destiny must have a hand in this somewhere like an old blind man, cane walking down the boulevard whistling a sweet refrain about Mrs. Georgia on his mind. A Spanish angel who sits in her garden her tears fall in rainbow colors cause her man fell to the ground a vaquero once brave and sure has gone to meet his maker where no devil ever would. He sits in his Teatro singing and drinking writing of a broken heart about a man who was lonesome and mean he just couldn't get used to spending all his time alone He found a girl whose kisses tasted fine they found a spread along the red river had kids and raised a family along the Texas/Oklahoma line. Life in Synopsis Two become one in love For life; a synthesis in Creation, beautiful in Splendor where heart endures. Tranquil bliss; a glimmer Of an eye; an aura glows Trimesters of pain and sorrow Months pass by like tomorrow. Images glow from a screen Baby, child, pubescent teen Learning, growing, loving Touching and unknowing. An awakening from a synaptic sleep From a genetic loving soup The world awaits a smiling grace And her parent's embrace. Dignified Zombie "Every thing is Different now" Don Henley His breath is stale but he's a dignified zombie. Sitting there with his olive martini waiting for some great thing to happen to him. But it won't. Everything is different now. His friends have gone back to their caverns the voodoo market place has dwindled Generations have grown older, wiser put their dead past behind them. Looking into cryogenic balls of crystal futures bleak eyes look back at them and wonder why. What was I thinking? What failed youthful exuberance enthralled such experience of thoughtless stupidity to waste my years on frolic exultations and youthful expenditures, The memories seem vague and unexciting now. The laughter false and congenial, unlearned through example of role models who knew less than I Yet acted with unending disgrace and decorum in the name of vanity and retreated when pride was questioned. So he sits in his recliner with his olive martini his pool and mansion surrounded in black attire haunted by his friends who are just as dead as he in their gothic fashion way- yet the world they knew has changed. Everything is different now.
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