Roger Darnell: On & Up » Poem

July 14, 1987: Beat

Roger D. — Thu, 15 Jul 2010 03:39:10 +0000

I’ve been thinking a lot about my personal writing projects lately. Thanks to the sage advice of Julia Cameron in “The Artist’s Way,” I have taken to journaling most days of the week… and those activities keep me in touch with my inner ticker, while maintaining my balance with Being. Looking through my database of poetic writings, one has jumped out to me tonight, due to the fact that I wrote it precisely 23 years ago. It makes me realize what a very long way I’ve come in this span of time, and how much I have to be thankful for.

It’s one of the few items from “just,” my first poetry collection, which I’ve published so far on this site. Though it touches many nerves for me, and hints at the place and station I’ve come from, somehow it feels good to expose it to the sunshine and fresh air which make up my life at present, with loved ones, friends and comrades many and strong. There was a time, not long ago, when things weren’t looking so good. Even then, the sense of better things to come was bright and clear.

Beat

by Roger Darnell

confusion is found
my world is unbound
again I must face
arranging this place

it’s something I dread
but just as I’ve said
this thing must be done
now that it’s begun

my big life grows small
short problems grow tall
’til I in my fears
start changing my gears

spurring ambition
spiting attrition
I know no defeat
my heart must still beat

Copyright Roger Darnell . All Rights Reserved.

July 8, 1985: Ask and Receive I still clearly remember the time, place, circumstances, and even...

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May 9, 2010: Granny Bea Photo Tribute, Ramble #7

Roger D. — Mon, 10 May 2010 04:04:45 +0000

I’ve written here before about my “Ramble” creative writing project. On Dec. 30 of 2009, I sat down to write a Ramble entry for my late grandmother Beatrice Ridings, who was widely known to many as Granny Bea, Aunt Bea, or Ms. Ridings. I had two wonderful grandmothers who have now passed on, and luckily for me, Grandma Eileen Darnell, who we called Bam, was also tight with Granny Bea, so on more than one occasion, I was able to enjoy them both together simultaneously. I am in the gathering process for a future post about Grandma Bam, but I’m very proud to finally share something with you that I feel is a suitable tribute to Granny Bea.

When I was studying communications at the University of Central Florida, I had a professor named Tom Morgan. One of the sage bits of advice Mr. Morgan shared was a suggestion that we do video interviews with our grandparents, parents and others we love while they are still around. I took that advice and sat with Granny Bea in her kitchen one day back around 1989 or so, asking her questions about her life and recording her answers. Much to my dismay, I have not been able to locate that videotape since she passed away in 2001. Since going through that experience, I recorded an interview with Grandma Bam before she left us, and I look forward to sharing that with others who knew and loved her. In the meantime, for Granny Bea, we have pictures like the ones you can hopefully see above, some great video footage my cousin Bart Ridings shot during the time of my and Beth’s wedding in May of 1992, and lots of warm stories. In my Ramble project, I also wanted to dedicate one of the few remaining entries to this phenomenal human being, who is still in my thoughts so often. Jan. 8, 2010 would have been her 100th birthday, and I was hustling to prepare this entry at that time, but the photo research has taken this long for me to complete. And so, it’s my sincere pleasure to share these words in honor of Granny Bea on what for the next 10 minutes remains Mother’s Day, 2010, when the absence of her and Grandma Bam in our lives is once again especially felt.

Ramble #7
by Roger Darnell

Always stirring up food for those to come,
making each arrival feel right at-home…
otherwise busying herself knitting love into
treasures for so many she yearned to hold
there with her in her quiet place, forever…
these scenes of Granny Bea at home give
off such a glow, it still warms the heart.

April 20, 2010: FOR AUNT HONEY We are dearly missing my sweet Aunt Helen Ridings, affectionately...
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Urban Lee Ridings and “Who Lives Alone?”

Roger D. — Thu, 11 Mar 2010 01:43:19 +0000

Recently I was going through a folder I’ve held onto over the years, which has some of the poems I wrote the old-fashioned way, with a piece of paper and a pencil or pen, along with some similar keepsakes. Among the other pieces in the collection, my mother is a major contributor. She has always had a great way of giving things that feel special enough to make me want to keep them forever.

Flipping through that folder, looking for something to share with Mom when we visited in January to celebrate her retirement, I found a handwritten poem that’s not mine. At the bottom, the writer signed the piece “Terrapin Ridge,” which is that lovely area in Illinois everyone in my mother’s family remembers as being “home” for a very long, short period of history. I sent this poem, entitled “The Joy of Words: Who Lives Alone?” to Mom, with a query… she replied to say she had not seen it before, and felt surely it was her father’s handwriting. How did I come to have this? While I’m very sorry to say that I don’t have a clear answer, the poem is very special to me, as another of my Grandpa Urban’s gifts that, like the many I’ve received from his daughter, I just want to cherish and keep forever.

Mar. 13 Update: I am embarrassed to have to report findings from my brother (thanks Scott) confirming that “Who Lives Alone?” is actually the work of the gifted poet, Grace E. Easley… and I regret not having better researched this myself before jumping to the concusion above. We live and we learn, and I beg forgiveness. Though I am disappointed to learn that the poem below is not the creation of my grandfather, what remains true is that it was very important to him, and others in our family, and he is very deeply connected to the poem’s poignant sentiments, and to the poem itself, in my family. Spirituality, poetry and written words were of clear interest to Grandpa Ridings, and his passions remain alive in me and my family. I will relate more details on the handwritten poem which made it into my collection as I get a better handle on them. In the meantime, thank you very much for your interest, and I hope you’ll be encouraged to explore other works of Ms. Easley.

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July 8, 1985: Ask and Receive

Roger D. — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 02:21:31 +0000

I still clearly remember the time, place, circumstances, and even the paper that I wrote on, when I penned the following short poem over 24 years ago. I was headed to Champaign, Illinois, to complete the technical school component of my initial U.S. Air Force training. It was my first real freedom since my last previous airplane rides had delivered me from Orlando into Houston into San Antonio, whereupon my basic training promptly began. I recall finding it odd that I was scheduled to arrive on a Friday afternoon… but it was worse than I could have imagined. My flight wound up having to begin our training on a Friday night, but the first day that “counted” in our six week commitment was the following Monday. We eventually finished our training on a Friday, but we were not allowed to leave until the following Monday. That’s how U.S. Air Force Flight 456 served seven weeks of training during the six-week bootcamp. I had made it as far as Chicago O’Hare, and I was awaiting my last flight. I remember sitting and having a beer, having a strong feeling of accomplishment and independence, pulling out the official Air Force writing pad I’d picked up during basic training, and writing these words, which continue to give me pride and strength to this day.

Ask and Receive
by Roger Darnell

There is a light in every window.
There is happiness in every smile.
There is a silver lining,
How could you miss it?

There are friendships unquestionable.
There is meaning in every utterance.
There is opportunity at every turn
Waiting to be reckoned with.

Here in life I am happy.
Hear my thanks, oh Lord.
There I go…
They’re expecting me.

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October 3, 2009: Amelia, Eightish

Roger D. — Sun, 04 Oct 2009 03:16:30 +0000

Ramble #8: Amelia, Eightish

Sweetness in the flesh, sunshine itself,
in feminine form, the essence of youth.
Deep of spirit, light of heart and touch…
her happy meditations are illuminating.
Her calm is radiant, her troubles tempests.
Stand in her way at great personal risk.
Anything might come to pass in her lifetime.
God loves Amelia… eight and growing.

August 27, 2009: For Aunt Max I learned today of the passing of my Aunt Maxine...

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August 27, 2009: For Aunt Max

Roger D. — Fri, 28 Aug 2009 03:10:13 +0000

Circa 1985, Roger, Maxine and Bud.

I learned today of the passing of my Aunt Maxine Ridings. Talking about her with my mom this evening, one of the things that came up was how she has just always been part of our family, forever. Also, for her nieces and nephews, I think we all always knew that we would get her smile, her wry sense of humor, and her easy laughter, each time we saw her. She seemed to laugh as easily as she breathed… and for my Uncle Bud, whom we all respect and love dearly, she has been the perfect match. Our thoughts go out to Uncle Bud, and to Dena, Janie and Keith, Bill, Marilyn, Blair and Josh.

I wrote the following poem 21 years ago, at a time when “home” had a very special meaning to me… implying certain places in and around Greenville, Illinois, security, and many specific people in my family. Aunt Max was certainly part of the family that I carried with me everywhere I went, that was constant, loving, and an inseparable part of my self-identity. Of late, her health had taken a turn for the worse, and so it seems mostly a blessing that she is now at peace. She will be missed; she was a great lady in my life, and in the lives of many other people I love. We will remember her laugh and her smile always….

Aunt Max, thank you for your love, and for helping to make me who I am.

The Different Drummer
by Roger Darnell

I don’t know why I had to go
Back home in summer’s early glow…
But in my feeble state of mind
I felt a loss I had to find.

The great escape some said I made—
And true: to sense the solemn shade
Of home, and leave the world behind
Which made me cold and scared and blind.

In all pursuits I pushed myself
Beyond the pack that somehow shelve
Their hopes and dreams for social norm
And fear the lonesome, ruthless storm.

In battle-youth, I made my way
Through acid rain of dream decay,
And while the storm’s calm eye drew near
My bravery was turned to fear.

With summoned strength I fled the storm
And limped in semi-shattered form
Toward the place where life began
To find The Answer to The Man.

I found the place I’ve always known:
Aunts, uncles, grandmas, cousins grown,
The trees that fell that I know well,
Whose echoes clang a rusty bell.

The native country took me in—
It mattered not where I had been;
It saw me as I was, and still
Gave praise for all my vital will.

I rested there, and took my time.
I slept amid the dew-cool thyme.
Serene, I saw what life could be…
Then spread my wings and flew off, free.

I don’t know just what made me go
Back home in summer’s early glow…
But on the heartfelt, wholesome track
I found my strength and brought it back.

…

August 14, 1997: Not Tonight “Not Tonight” by Roger Darnell The things I find entertaining...

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August 14, 1997: Not Tonight

Roger D. — Thu, 13 Aug 2009 23:43:34 +0000

“Not Tonight”

by Roger Darnell

The things I find entertaining aren’t things I can write about.

I like to imagine stories about our cat, taming her world,

unafraid and attitudinal, eccentric and, well, beautiful.

Our other cat inspires her own happy go lucky devil-may-care

cavalier and friendly tales… which are still just cat fancies.

Romantic stories from Europe, South America

and Pennsylvania Amish Country beginning to take pixel-life

in my imagination, are hopefully the right stuff and will someday

prove worthwhile things I will have written about. For now

they’re still in the layer just above my vision, in a place I can’t see

because, looking, it rises above. Yet I can imagine it and,

without looking, see it perfectly. The work I’ll create, in a night

where the vein runs longer than this one.

Much longer….

– August 14, 1997

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June 18, 1988: clear blue light

Roger D. — Wed, 17 Jun 2009 03:50:57 +0000

Tomorrow it will be twenty-one years since I began writing the following poem. That’s another story, and perhaps, another post… maybe one for twenty-one years from tomorrow.

I selected the poem this evening after searching through the spreadsheet containing an archive of my poems with the date I wrote each one, collection information, and a column for me to track reviews underway with publications. The document was put together at another time in my life and career, when I was more diligent in submitting poetry to prestigious print publications and presses. Not sure if this one was ever submitted to magazines, but either way, I know the rights are mine :^). It’s part of my first collection, entitled “just.”

In the Clear Blue Light

by Roger Darnell

In the clear blue light
slipping in behind the night
dawning daybreak shines in glory…
glowing glory giving sight

to the eyes closed tight
facing darkness in the fight
that will make the losers winners
when light enters, making bright

hopes for one more chance
in this joyous world to dance
just to wake up in the morning…
welcome morning, new romance!

Urban Lee Ridings and “Who Lives Alone?” Recently I was going through a folder I’ve held onto...

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April 27, 2009: Stage might from Daddy…

Roger D. — Tue, 28 Apr 2009 02:49:00 +0000

Late in this busy day, I surprised myself by opening up my “Ramble” writing project. There are nine entries remaining in the full project, which counts down from 65 lines to one, where each line has 38 characters or less. When I began the project in 2003, one of my goals was to challenge myself to write simply.

Tonight, writing this, I was thinking about my conversations with Amelia and her recent performance. Maybe these words, written on a piece of paper in her pocket, might help?

Ramble #9

by Roger Darnell

There’s a way of playing, when safe with
favorite cousins, wherein we find extra
bravado, which fuels our most colorful
descriptions of personalities or lifeforms.
Cousins may wish to interject ideas and
observations you should consider. Waiting,
your turn arrives. All are watching you…
and you nail it. That is performance itself.
Concentrate on your message, and have fun!

October 3, 2009: Amelia, Eightish Ramble #8: Amelia, Eightish Sweetness in the flesh, sunshine itself,...
August 27, 2009: For Aunt Max I learned today of the passing of my Aunt Maxine...

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April 24, 2009: Daughter, son, play station….

Roger D. — Sat, 25 Apr 2009 01:41:00 +0000

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