Among the Evergreens

Stately they rise majestically,
A top the hill along the road.
Towering on high, we see them from afar;
A landmark amidst the rolling fields.
Through the opened gate we drive
Along the attending juniper heralds;
Back into the palace court where
Stately Pine Lords hold council and watch
Over the stones neatly arrayed in rows,
Amongst both shaded grass and sunlit lawn;
As Guardians of the sacred hill,
Where laid beneath the sod,
Are the family and friends we knew.

A peaceful place this sacred court
Where from blue sky with scattered clouds
The sun shines warmly down.
So we wander through that sacred ground,
Noting a loved one there,
Or there a neighbor found,
Or ancient ancestor of a generation
Long before our life began.
Here they lay, reposed serene,
Among the evergreens.

J. William Newcomer, March 2012, Copyright © March 2012, all rights reserved.

We Tell the Stories

We tell you the stories
So you will know
How it came to be.

We tell you the stories
So they not be lost
To collective memory.

You want to know why we are the way we are,
Or maybe you do not care.
We tell you the stories anyways;
You need to know we were there.

The things we saw with our own eyes
Have become now's history.
We tell you the stories,
And pray and hope,
Perhaps someday you will see.

(Copyright © April 2010. All rights reserved.)

A Dallas Street *

Remember, remember,
That day in November
When on a Dallas street,
Three shots rang out,
Clear and loud,
And the President
Was dead at our feet.

Remember, remember,
That day in November
When on a Dallas street,
Our lives were changed
And never the same
After the day
Of that dreadful deed.

Remember, remember,
That day in November
When on a Dallas street,
Our Nation assulted,
All the events that resulted;
The things
Since then we've seen.

(Copyright © April 2010. All rights reserved.)

* This is a take on the traditonal Guy Faulkes poem. Given what Guy Faulkes intended to do, I refuse to give him an apology...

This Field

This field I trod upon.
This field I plowed.
This field I dragged and disked.
This field I cultivated and harvested.

I sunk my bare feet into it’s soil.
I watched
....It’s corn grow,
....It’s wheat turn golden,
....It’s soybeans ripen in the pod.
I mowed it’s hay.
I sweated under it’s sun.

Watched the rain soaked up by it’s cracked ground;
Watched the evening mists rise upon it;
Watched the snow driven by the wind over it’s stubble.

Seeing it’s fence line silhouetted against the moon;
With the stars glittering as diamonds
And pearls against the velvet night.

This field holding early years of my life;
This field where I worked, thought, prayed, laughed, wept.
This field, a part of my life not forgotten.
This field, a part of my heart and being.


(September 8, 1998, Copyright © 1998. All rights reserved.)

Ghosts

They haunt the edges of memory;
Images floating through the mind,
Far back from long ago.
Some no longer breath.
If others do,
I do not know.

They lived and breathed
In my life at one time;
Passing acquaintances,
For a brief or longer moment
Our lives were once in-twined.

Then our separate ways we went,
By death or living providence;
Only memory to remain;
The ghosts of my life
Floating through my mind.


(Copyright © July 2009. All rights reserved.)

Days Gone By

I remember way back when,
A long, long time ago.
Young we were and off we went
Into the world to go.
Our paths went here.
Our paths went there,
Life did so quickly fly.
And now a lifetime latter,
We remember days gone by.

(Copyright © February 26, 2010. All rights reserved.)