Holding Hands with Reality: Poetry and Prose
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Curran Jeffery
Curran Jeffery was born in Chicago in 1947. Attending the Univerisity of Arkansas and Illinois State University studying history and sociology, he has spent his life waiting tables and making poems. For Curran on line please visit http://curranjournal.com or http://blogbud.com/curran
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Holding Hands with Reality - Curran Jeffery
© 2007 Curran Jeffery. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.
First published by AuthorHouse 7/4/2007
ISBN: 978-1-4259-0651-1 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-4678-1451-5 (ebk)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2005910657
Printed in the United States of America
Bloomington, Indiana
Contents
PRELUDE
IMAGES OF CHILDHOOD
RAIN LESSON
GENERATIONS
NOVEMBER DAWN
NOVEMBER DAWN CONTINUED
THE FEAST OF THE BLESSED VIRGIN
MY FATHER’S GARDEN
MY FATHER’S GARDEN continued
WHEN I WAS SMALL
TEQUILA JESUS
THE DAILY PRAYER
G
O
D
CATHOLIC BOYS
STANDING ON THE CORNER
STANDING ON THE CORNER CONTINUED
STANDING ON THE CORNER CONTINUED
FOR MY BUDDY WHO DIED OF AIDS
AMERICAN HAIKU
WATERLOO
WATERLOO CONTINUED
I PULLED THE PLUG
ADDICTION
DANCING WITH JACK
SISTER LAZARUS
THE GREAT AMERICAN SOUTHWEST
BALBOA PARK HAIKU
THE SUNFLOWER
HOW TO TALK TO TREES
HOW TO TALK TO TREES continued
CENTRAL ILLINOIS
CENTRAL ILLINOIS continued
CAKE AND ICE CREAM
CAKE AND ICE CREAM continued
AMERICA’S CIVIC RELIGION
AMERICA’S CIVIC RELIGION continued
AMERICA’S CIVIC RELIGION continued
AMERICA’S CIVIC RELIGION continued
Robust Democracy
Robust Democracy continued
BREAKFAST AT THE MOON CAFE
THE WAITER
THE WAITER continued
LENT 2003
LENT 2003 continued
THE COSMIC KNIFE
COSMIC KNIFE continued
COSMIC KNIFE continued
COSMIC KNIFE continued
COSMIC KNIFE continued
COSMIC KNIFE continued
LET US WALK
THIS MOMENT
PRELUDE
The ancient oak keeps its vigil by the turn in the road
The mountain stands firm by the bend in the river
The forest changes its seasons like a woman her dresses
The house appeared new one summer
With a young man and his bride
And children came with the seasons
And they played
And they grew
And they left
The house grew old—
First the man was laid in the garden
Then his widow
The winter winds would blow through the open doors and windows
Summer winds brought cars with the children and their children
They put flowers on the graves
And walked through the silent rooms
And then they drove away
Late one winter
Heavy snows
Collapsed the roof
I am the wind
Come follow me
I am the father of winter
The mother of spring
I am the wind
Come follow me
IMAGES OF CHILDHOOD
The night air smelled of wood stoked stoves
The yellow light of oil lamps burned in the windows
Night noises of crickets, dogs and cows in the fields
We propped boards on sawhorses
And ran wildly on our makeshift mountains
From the porch, Grandfather laughed
I heard the clock tick
In my Grandmother’s bedroom
It was a big sound
In a big room
I should not have been there
But they were downstairs
They wouldn’t know
There was an ancient smell
Of camphor and face powder
And years of oil lamps
Burning in the air
All my child’s mind knew
Is I was where
I had never been before
Blue sky, clear and deep
We were suspended on the mountain
Between the patch blue lakes
In a sea of green
And the depth