I am a blue blooded Southerner
Jimmy Derrick was my best friend. And I was his. We were both named Jimmy and the same age. Our other friends and our family thought us weird. We were always together. They didn’t know everything though. We went to the picture show every Saturday and stayed through all the afternoon showings before it was supper time. Nobody knew and we didn’t tell, but when Jimmy got really engaged in the story, he would suck his thumb and play with my ear. Our secret for life. My right ear is bigger than my left. He was right thumbed.
Jimmy’s Grandaddy Bell owned a dairy farm not too far from our homes but he wouldn’t let us come watch until we were 10. Something about safety and disease. On that day, we were excited and were up early to do our first milking. On our way to the barn, I grabbed a few stalks of sour grass to chew. Jimmy didn’t chew it…thinking it nasty and dirty, which of course, it was.
We watched Granddaddy Bell milk three cows, Minday, Maudie and Maureen and then he asked me if I wanted to try. I was ready to go but he stopped me wanting to know what that green and red crap was around my mouth. I told him about sour grass. He made a face and pulled me closer to him. He ordered me to open my mouth big and wide and he grabbed Maudie’s teat and squirted a good amount of fresh milk right in my mouth. The surprise almost choked me but I swallowed it every bit. He asked if I liked it. I gave him a big head shake and smile and said More Please!
We don’t know
Next
in our minds
in our hearts
in our souls
we think we do
we hope
we dream
we plan
even then
we don’t know
Next
maybe yes
could be no
learned so much
use it well
wish for more
smiles
less hurt
manage damage somewhat
but still
we don’t know
Next
embrace what’s now
we don’t know
Next.
Note Not Sent
Each day I try to love him less
For soon he will be gone
A loss I fear I cannot bear
Not now of course not then
For so long close is what we’ve been
From day one my heart
Was pulled his way.
Through years and tears
In and out of touch we were
Just living lives we felt were right
With not much thought about our
Fights which surprised us both since
Love was strong, yet words not so.
The length of time and space
Kept us barely joined as the thread
Thinned down toward the end of the spool
But not so soon as thought by all
Sill here, still causing emotions
To dance then sit then go to another
Place of feelings mixed, like I should
Be holding close every day get the
Chance to see him, tell him, hug him
But I can’t, it would be too hard
And I am not ready to do hard.
Maybe never.. So I give messy efforts and am ashamed.
Knowing him, he will understand, and
Knowing him he will say
No, not this time.
even now.
after all this time
night comes before I’m ready
wrestling with sleep
mind playing a messy
game of pac man.
every day reviewed, weighed,
evaluated, even now
what I saw/didn’t see
what I heard/didn’t hear
what I gave/didn’t give
what I got/didn’t get
what I said/didn’t say
what I did/didn’t do
then turning to IF
about all of it
thinking I did alright.
No.
I am not yet me.
I am still becoming.
Listen
The mating hoots of a horny owl are
interesting to me now in pleasant weather
when open windows and screened-in doors
let the night come in
One of many sounds I never heard before
sounds drowned out by the busy drone
of living fast and loud and going who knew where
Now I hear more of what’s to hear
because I’m listening
Something I rarely ever did since
I was mostly talking.
But lately, just lately, I found sounds and
where they come from and what they mean.
Bee’s buzzes, a cat’s meow,
a dog’s whine for a pat, a child’s tired
whimper to find some rest
a mother’s cry when her baby is sick, a
relief sigh from a needed hug,
mom remembering my name again.
People sounds of wants, needs, longing
for someone to see them, get a little touch
to let them feel that there is a reason for being here.
When we began so much missed,
so eager for each day to come,
make that jump, get that next thing,
awkwardly dancing as fast as we can
to the changing beats that move us
then slower, the steps take longer,
the memories crowd the mind with
more time left to notice what’s here,
so much to see, to feel, to hear
Our good placement, to be one who
was born and live long enough to know.
Now I remember the sweet voice of a child humming
a lullaby her grandma taught her.
I think smiles make noise. Mine just did.
Did you hear it?
________________________________________-
Starts and Stops Along the Way: Sharing Some Stuff From the Road Most Travel was my first published book of poetry 14 years ago when I was 77 years of age. The subject of that book was the process of growing old and the ups, downs, sideways, and inward happenings in those years that go so fast. Two years later I published my second book of poetry, Looking Around which also was themed as observations of the world around us as seen thru the eyes of an 80 year old. I later combined those poems into a two-act play, Geriatric Monologues which was presented to sold out audiences at Piccolo Spoleto Festival in Charleston, SC. Now at 90, I just published a children’s book, Bark, Bark, Bark in the Dark, and two short stories and several poems, I find that as a professional Parenting and Family Life educator and a concerned citizen of our planet I am deeper into caring about those lost to all that is and so I write.
Jim R. Rogers, M.Ed., CFLE, Emeritus
Parenting and Family Life educator with still learning, inc.
