Eclectic Harvest

Don Agey

Description

This book is a compilation of years of struggle not just in life but in learning how to hone my craft, such as it is, and create something that I’m assuming others would want to read.
When I was honorably discharged from the navy, I found myself in the situation where none of the people I came home to had any idea of what I went through. There was a pressure in my head and my heart that I did not know how to release until I wrote my first poem. I hold feelings in, and I don’t know how to articulate what’s going on. But that first poem opened a door, and I gladly stepped in.
Some of my earliest poems are not in this book because they failed the test of time and several moves and bad choices in storage. Some were rewritten to a certain point or they just diverged as my skills grew. Some are dedicated to my wife, Kerri, and the meeting, greeting, wooing, sharing and the painful exit where I was forced to say goodbye.

Sujets

• Poet
• Poetry

Informations

• Publié par: Xlibris US
• Date de parution: 26 septembre 2017
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781543453829
• Langue: English

Extrait

Eclectic Harvest









Don Agey



Copyright © 2017 by Don Agey.

Library of Congress Control Number:
2017914871
ISBN:
Hardcover
978-1-5434-5380-5
Softcover
978-1-5434-5381-2
eBook
978-1-5434-5382-9

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.




Rev. date: 11/09/2022





Xlibris
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Contents
Wretched Words
Life Stage
O.K., So?
Failed
My Heart
The Day Goes
What!?!?
Blank Page
I Guess Not
The Last Time
Blank Space
A Day in the Life
Import
Changes
December
Haiku Montage
Connected
Maybe Later
Ah, Weekend
Copia Verborum
So Close
Working
Oh Where
Tune Dancers
Face the Day
A Life Time
Way to Go?
Decisions
Go Where?
Good Writing
Somewhere
The Four Seasons
A Monday Morning Poem
Adrift
Zephyrs
Thoughts
When I Was
Hot n Cold
Cycles
Ponder This
Free to . . .
This Empty House
Wishes
Tomorrow
Where!?!?
No Clue
By an Unknown Author
Haiku
Oh, Fizzle!
Little Itch
Uh . . . O.K.!?
No Way Out
Journeyman
Full Circle
Freezin’
Monday, Ugh!
Our Father
Dry Spell
Connect
Challenge
Missing
Celebration
Territory
No Place
A Little voice
Dreamer
Alterations
All Hallows Eve
All Hallows Night
So Quickly
Proximal
Search
Symmetry
I Don’t Know
Truth!, Hunh!?
Timely Exit
Cold haiku
Dear Lord
I am . . . not
Dust Bowl
Deep . . . .
Time Line
December 08, 2012
Life Is
There Was . . .
haiku Page 10
Just Another Day
Skeptical
Simplicity
Another Day
Or Not
Other Paths
Rollover
Prospects
Once
Party Animal
Warm Memories
Grelch
Excelsior
Week at a Glance



Dedicated to. . .
My wife Kerri with whom I was allowed such a short time. She was the heart behind everything I wrote. This sounds trite now, but she was my muse; she made my life whole. She gave me the power and the strength to create. Took too many years to get even a part of it back.

And to. . .

All of those poetic sprites, wise and otherwise, who created the craft and, on occasion, abused it. Oh wait, that was me. Not that I’m comparing myself to those skilled grammarians, but since they opened the door I chose to stumble in.
















As you can tell by the dates these two odes to the writing struggle were not written at the same time, but when I started putting this book together they just belonged here. I’m writing this in March 2011 and nothing has changed. I still struggle to find the right words and when I do I struggle even more to make them work in a poem. Drat!!!!



Wretched Words
I’d love to write in tangled verse
And abstract solemn rhymes
So all would want to read my terse
And melancholy lines

Or maybe get my point across
In labyrinthine lines
And get my readers all but lost
With convoluted signs

But melancholy just won’t work
And neither will the rhyme
I so struggle spelling labyrinth
The meter is a crime

And when they read my poetry
My peers and those about
They call the bar for stronger drink
And throw the author out

But I’ll keep writing poetry
At least that is I’ll try
‘til the sun comes from the west
Until my mind runs dry

Short, but True

I think and ponder lovely thoughts
And paragraphs profound
But then putting pen to thoughts
No such thing was found
















O.K., before anything else some definitions. Denouement: the final resolution of all of the plot lines. This means that all of the questions are answered before the bows. Gran faux pas: Gran; large, great, grand. Faux pas: lapse, error, a moral fall, failure, decline. Adapted from the stage by the imnensaeble!?!? Don Agey, whew!



Life Stage
There was a time too long ago
When I knew what was what
I understood each act and so
I trod the boards with thought

I understood the part I played
What scenarios were mine
My mind was just a little frayed
But I mostly towed the line

A time or two I went off script
Or I simply missed my mark
The time my memory slipped
Or when my mind went dark

So all in all it wasn’t bad
This tap dance through my life
And all the adlibs to be had
Lent a fun sense to this life

Then things began to disappear
Like where to find my mark
My dialogue would not adhere
And why’s the stage so dark

So I approach the denouement
With one thing coming clear
Life is just one gran faux pas
And my exit line is here
















This is another curious case of not knowing where it came from, where it was going, or what it said when it was completed. There is a term for this and I think it is ’free association’. If I had to translate that I would probably go with—a loose mind on hallucinogenic drugs.



O.K., So?
Tangentially speaking
Or right down the center
With my voice squeaking
Like some holy repenter

I mumble egregiously
And twiddle a thumb
Or speak quite propitiously
While chewing on gum

Or yet overly courteous
I then bow and salute
Not to be discourteous
Or too dissolute

Yet speaking or mumbling
Or bowing from the waist
Although very humbling
Is not that well placed

Instead I should whisper
Or use a low tone
And make each word crisper
To which I’m not prone

Having said a lot of nothing
With a lot of words I fear
I should accomplish one thing
By mercifully ending it here
















All of us are flawed and all of us do stupid things. I do stupid things and make mistakes both big and small. When I do I pray for forgiveness. The problem comes when I can’t hear or recognize the answer.
I have this fear that I am deaf, or something is broken.



Failed
I make mistakes, I’m deeply flawed
And I do stupid things
The stuff I do no one could laud
Or all the crap it brings

It’s hard to learn from my mistakes
No matter what I do
Not sure now just what it takes
To start this life anew

But then You see it’s not my fault
You’re the one to blame
I prayed that it would all just halt
But You came up lame

O.K. so maybe that’s not fair
And maybe I can’t hear
I reach out and You’re not there
That’s my biggest fear

I’m not looking for exemption
For the things I’ve done
I’m afraid there’s no redemption
When I’ve run my run

I need help to make me whole
My cards are on the table
I am Yours heart, mind and soul
As much as I am able
















December 13, 1955—December 08, 2004
As I am putting this book together it has been six years and three months since she died. There is a hole in my life and a vacancy in this house. This dwelling is still not a home, but a house where I plant my body after work and my cat makes her home.



My Heart
I stood my post the other day
And received the sorry word
That my life had passed away
When a painful loss occurred

Cast from a crooked mountain
By a sorry, wretched hand
Like from a broken fountain
Her life did flow, disband

Three lives cast aside that day
As they left the mountain road
Really four were thrown away
Because my life with her rode

I left our home the night before
Said I’d see her in the morning
Now it’s just a house; not more
Where I dwell in mourning

Life that we had planned for two
And the promise and the years
Swept away and left one who
Abides in loneliness and tears

Days go by in a steady flowing
Marked well by what’s not there
I should, I guess, note their going
But I really don’t give a. . . care
















The daily grind. I don’t know how people can do this day after day. At work there is one night where I have certain things to accomplish in a timely manner, but the bosses don’t pile on more stuff just because I do a good job. Although, after many years on the job, doing the same thing day after day does get tedious.



The Day Goes
The day came charging from the east
All fire and molten glow
The people jumped to beat the beast
And join t