Poet and I Know It.

I got the chance to walk across the street today to the First Reformed Church and read some of my new poems to the Ladies Aid group over there. This was the second time I've been treated to an audience at First (the first time was the Keenagers), and once again, I had a great time.

When I got home, I told Andrea that my dream job would be reading my poems to groups like this - as they were very receptive and we had a lot of laughs. I'm getting a big kick out of writing poems, and an even bigger kick out of reading them aloud to folks. I've got to see how I can get shows like this more often!

Two that went over big:

The Youth Director’s Office

An elder met me that first week,
With arms held open wide,
He told me to expect a treat,
And beckoned me inside.

He took me through the church that day,
Past rooms of splendid grace,
Rooms for all the different grades,
Until we reached my space.

He pulled some keys out on a chain,
And tried one in the door,
He groaned as if in awful pain,
The lock stood ever more.

He tried the next key in the row,
But it stood just as tight.
He kicked the door; it wouldn’t go,
He gave up on the fight.

He pulled his knife out from his pants,
His sweat began to run,
Amidst a sea of coursing rants,
He popped a hinge undone.

Then he unscrewed the next in line,
Then the one right after,
It only took ten minutes time,
Ending with his laughter.

He set the door off to one side,
(To fix some time next week,)
He flipped a light switch on his right,
And beckoned me to peek.

The room was barely four by four,
And seemed a little cramped.
There was a dark stain on the floor,
The air seemed mighty damp.

Pictures were hung around the room,
Of pastors from old time,
A shelf held some curriculum
From nineteen fifty-nine.

There was a desk but it seemed short
A few essential ways,
He said the youth kids stole the drawers,
And probably the legs.

Yet still I thought I had it made,
A window o’er the desk!
It had a thick dark purple shade,
It’s cord hung down at rest.

The room was harsh, and that was true!
But this was worst of all,
I pulled the cord to see the view,
And there was a brick wall.

“We filled that in ‘round eighty three.”
He nodded with a grin,
“Or eighty four, now let me see,
When was that wing put in?”

“Well, it’s all yours,” he said and so,
He turned to walk away,
“That is except of course you know,
On alternate Tuesdays.”

“On alternate Tuesdays?” I asked,
Not sure I heard him right.
“Of course,” he said as he turned back,
“That’s Bible study night.”

“On those nights you should clear on out,
Some ladies use this room,
They’re apt to throw a fit and pout,
They’re mad we hired you.”

“And then there is the cleaning crew,
During the summer days,
They need this place for storage room,
And you’ll be in their way”.

He shook my hand and left me there.
He told me to have fun.
I turned to sit down on the chair,
And found there wasn’t one.

I’ve found a wooden crate since then,
To rest my derriere,
A coffee cup holds all my pens,
The walls are now quite bare.

And there’s the window don’t forget,
That had been filled with brick,
A poster of Hawaii fit,
A nifty little trick.

There’s talk I may not be here long,
I know, it’s quite a shock,
A shed out back on the west lawn,
Has got a broken lock.

The mower makes its home out there,
And since it’s now not safe,
I have been told to be aware,
That this is now its place.

The Flying Pig

I have before me quite the sow,
That I will tell you ‘bout right now.
That if my time in life allowed,
I’d surely break her will somehow.

It’s not that strange to see her kind,
All farms have them from time to time.
That certain pig with just the mind,
To think themselves a flying swine.

You see, no fence can keep her in,
No fence five foot or even ten.
It’s like she rides right on the wind,
This situation I can’t win.

There’s no one reason that she soars,
One day it might be neighbor boars,
One day it might be she wants more,
pig feed. (She knows just where it’s stored.)

And oh! It’s quite the sight to see!
As she steps back and takes the leap,
And just like that she seems so free,
Of our earth’s weak gravity.

And as she arcs right through the air,
It is as if she doesn’t care,
Of all the burdens that I bear,
Establishing those fences there.

So,
I ponder as I tend the crops,
I ponder in the machine shop,
At night I ponder and nod off,
“I’ll like her more when she’s pork chops.”

Til next time,

Jason