Happy Valentine’s Day
poetry
The Long Long Night #TBT
Ah, the December Solstice.
Those of you in the Southern Hemisphere are (hopefully) enjoying summer while us folks in the Northern Hemisphere are entering winter and the longest night of the year.
Though it is the Northern influence that spawned The Long Long Night, I wish you all a happy December solstice and warm poetic evening.
so without further adieu I give to you …
The Long Long Night
He would sculpt and I would write to get us through this thing called life – what seemed to be an aimless plight
The long, long night
I used pen and he used clay to cope with all the pain filled days which lived within our slow decay of
The long, long night
But in between the words and mud we found the art of making love and pacified the angst and blood of
The long, long night
Forsaken pages ripped and torn, spattered earth across the floor, graphite tales of love and war and
The long, long night
Come into my bed sweet angry lover, your tender calloused hands beneath the cover.
Find the place where none has been, beneath the ink and turning pin, get us through yet once again
The long, long night
The Long Long Night was torn from the pages of Getting Me Back ( The Voices Within) available at your favorite eBook retailer.
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LIFE BEHIND THE RAILROAD ( #TBT )
I have been doing a lot of reflecting these past couple of weeks. Convalescents affords me that luxury; and let me tell you all of life feels like a luxury- a new lease on life.
If you follow me on TikTok you know I survived being electrocuted late last month. The after effects are a pain and still manifesting. Still, I am sooo grateful to be on the topside of the soil.
Anywho, I thought I would share some of my reflecting with this poem from Getting Me Back.
A little aside: My last visit to the old place was about twenty years ago. It was one of those random stops; my youngest son was in high school and we were on our way home from a dental appointment.
I said, “Hey you wanna see where I lived once as a child?”
Being the adventurous soul that he is he said, “sure!”
So, without further adieu, here you go.
🖤~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~🖤
Life behind the railroad tracks
We called home a wooden shack
Lulled to sleep by passing trains
A tattered roof deterred the rains
Chilling winds crept through the walls
Carrying echoes of coyote calls
Two to three in every bed
With coats and quilts to cover our heads
Winter’s cruelty calmed us none
We unfurled early to meet the sun
Neither ice nor snow could hold us back
In hopeless times we crossed that track
Coon hunts and rat kills, boy we had fun
Don’t think it strange, it’s just what we done
June bugs and fireflies, the games that they sparked
Freeze tag and chase we played in the dark
We watched the train as it come and it go
The height of intrigue was to see a hobo
My life was carefree, the world a front door
I wasn’t concerned about being so poor
Our laughs outweighed most of the pains
Life came and went just like the trains
I sometimes reflect on that little old shack
And life behind the railroad track
Laughter rings over a muted cry
With a smile in my heart and a tear in my eye
No times are not tough but times are not fair
We done what we must to get here from there
For ice nor snow could hold us back
In hopeless times we crossed that track.
- True story. Forney Texas 1970 something
Poem from Getting Me Back (The Voices Within)
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Adieu Summer – Hello Autumn
You can’t tell it by the temps here in Texas but… It’s fall y’all. Here’s wishing you all a wonderful season and a plentiful harvest.
Poem from Getting Me Back (The Voices Within)
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About the Author ( #TBT )
1998 About the Author was literally the bio I picked for my first book of poetry Pose Prose & Poems (My Thoughts Exactly)
Ahhh I was so naïve. In hindsight even my most sinister & darkest moments at that time were no more than a cloudy day.
I was cursed with curiosity
Blessed with being poor
The fifth of seven children
Who could ask for more?
More fun than one should want for
More fights than one could win
More plates than food to go on
Yet I’d do it all again.
A SPECIAL THANKS TO all who have touched my life and allowed me into theirs. Remember, light casts a shadow, so stand in the light.
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Little Man
IT’S TIME TO GO to bed little man
Cover up your head little man
I’ll see you when the sun breaks in the morn
Say your prayers and close your eyes
I’ve locked the monsters all outside
She’d sang those words to him since he was born
He grew to be a brave young lad
And followed after his ole dad
Beneath a flag of pride his oath was sworn
They brought him home in silk lined wood And all around him soldiers stood
While Butterfield’s Lullaby played on the horn
It’s time to go ahead little man
I know that you weren’t scared little man
My heart breaks, I can’t see you and I mourn
I’ve said my prayers for your closed eyes
I’ve tucked my feelings deep inside
She sang into a folded flag of thorns.
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Hemingway’s Beloved (Friday’s Free for All)
Torn [first] from the pages of Horror Writer’s Association Poetry Volume 1
DID YOU SHAKE HIS HAND –?
the hand of a man’s man?
Did you see how his eyes searched the space around him as the world grew smaller?
Did you learn the secrets of Africa or discuss his tomes over drinks?
Of course not.
You could not for we were mere children –
our wedding day marking the twenty second anniversary of his exodus… his rise to immortality.
He won the Nobel Prize for Literature the year you were born – did you know that?
I was but two months in the womb when he placed the beloved twelve-gauge inside his mouth and obliterated the ciphering pheasants once and for all.
Did you see how he caressed her?
How her cold, soft metal against his finger was as pacifying as the perfect daiquiri… how she (his beloved) alas cured him of the demons.
In a flash she rooted them loose one by one
from their hiding place – a place liquor nor currents could mole; a cavern so deep no joule or watt could grasp.
Ahh, but she did.
She exorcized them, set them to flight riding on soft grey tissue laden with hemochromatosis and fragments of bone.
Christ might have offered the fiends a swine but not her or better yet not him…
A sacrifice for the Bay of Pigs?
It was all such folly—such unholy madness for a simple man and a literary saint.
*Hemingway’s Beloved was republished in Getting Me Back ( The Voices Within)
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Saint Patrick’s Day (Friday’s Free-for-All)
An old man once told me, “Saint Patrick ran the snakes out of Ireland and now they rule the world.”
I thought I would share that belief along with a little history. Oh, and a little poem.
St. Patrick’s Day, feast day (March 17) of St. Patrick, patron saint of Ireland. Born in Roman Britain in the late 4th century, he was kidnapped at the age of 16 and taken to Ireland as a slave. He escaped but returned about 432 CE to convert the Irish to Christianity. By the time of his death on March 17, 461, he had established monasteries, churches, and schools. Many legends grew up around him—for example, that he drove the snakes out of Ireland and used the shamrock to explain the Trinity.
Source: Brittanica
Poem by Janna Hill.
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The Long Long Night
On my side of the world the winter solstice is here. That makes for a long, long night.
Here’s hoping your’s is comfortable & calm.
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It’s officially Autumn (Summer Adieu)
BTW A happy belated birthday to Stephen King, the king of horror. 👑 Yesterday (September 21st) he turned 75 years young. Here’s to many more. 🥂
🎉🎈🎈🎈🎈 🎈🎂
I was going to post 75 candle emoji’s but my finger started cramping. 😉
Without further adieu, let us recognize this, the first day of fall, with an aging poetic piece.
Summer Adieu
It’s out of the flip-flops and back in the Reeboks
and long pants dug out of the dust
So long to the tank tops, bikinis and cut offs
and lawn chairs left lying to rust
Adieu to the sand dune, the pelican and plain loon
My loves, we’ll see you `fore long
Leaves drop as trees swoon, long past the crop moon
With the scent of a sweet autumn song
Let’s all take a big swill to ward off the night chill
Winter’s a season away
Crank up the camp fire; avoid the ole quagmire
With children perched high on the hay
More about the Autumn Equinox at National Geographic
The Real Janna Hill in 