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.
For illustration to feed your imagination only XoXo
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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
From his seat in the rear he could see the entire café and a portion of the adjoining store, the same store he was determined to visit and purchase a decent bill of groceries before the day was up. ** Liam studied the room; watched as men felt blindly for cups and sopped dry biscuits in air while soaking up the news of investors going broke. All eyes were on Wall Street but truth be told, the market crash paled in comparison to the Navarro county drought. **He watched as a billion dust particles danced overhead, swaying recklessly in rays of smoke stained sunshine until the weight of grease and nicotine and worry forced them to settle. The grimy mist settled on everything – on everyone. It covered every field cap and fedora. Without prejudice it landed on burnt necks and white collars alike and no one, other than Liam appeared to notice. He listened to the moans and grunts that followed each turning page. Some lingered on the specifics, others on the gruesome photographs but at the end of breakfast they all shrugged their shoulders and went back to waiting.
I said I would try to focus on unknown poets this year, and I will, after this digression.
Merle Haggard passed away yesterday, he was known as “the poet of the common man” but we called him the poor man’s poet. It’s no secret that I grew up poor, and now the fact that I thought the name of this song was My Mama’s Hungry Eyes, is no longer a secret. These lyrics always made me think of my own mother. They make me think of her now, no longer with hungry eyes… her and daddy, no longer struggling.
Rest in Peace & Happy Birthday Merle. Say Hi to Mama & Daddy for me.
Merle Ronald Haggard (April 06, 1937 – April 06, 2016)
I honestly didn’t know who this man was (I’m sheltered like that) until Sara’s post exposed him here on WordPress. No, I do not live in a cave though I have often wished I did.
The thing that moved me other than his world renown photography is that Steve McCurry’s Simple Act of Waiting told in pictures is [chillingly] what I imagined when I wrote Waiting. I seriously got goosebumps.
If you’re like me (sheltered and horrible with names) or you are lucky enough to live in a cave, that doesn’t matter – I know you will recognize his photos when you see them. Who could forget the eyes of the Afghan girl starring out from the cover of National Geographic? Who would want to?
Waiting
For hopes that hung on a chicken bones
For hearts that lived in chains
For pods of green that died unknown
While waiting for the rain
For dreams left bare on empty prayer
For souls that wished in vain
For tears unshared in mute despair
While waiting for a change
For you and I and all mankind
For worlds where peace was slain
For faith and mind no man can bind
We wait and wait again
The Real Janna Hill in 