Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

Holding Hands with Reality: Poetry and Prose
Holding Hands with Reality: Poetry and Prose
Holding Hands with Reality: Poetry and Prose
Ebook80 pages38 minutes

Holding Hands with Reality: Poetry and Prose

Rating: 0 out of 5 stars

()

Read preview

About this ebook

Birth, life, death, the passing of generations, addictions, religion, faith, sex, politics, war, jobs, hurricanes, technology, reality--all of these things touch our lives and are a part of who we are. Holding Hands with Reality records poetry and prose spanning fifty years of observing, participating and living in these realities.
LanguageEnglish
PublisherAuthorHouse
Release dateFeb 13, 2006
ISBN9781467814515
Holding Hands with Reality: Poetry and Prose
Author

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

Related to Holding Hands with Reality

Related ebooks

Related articles

Related categories

Reviews for Holding Hands with Reality

Rating: 0 out of 5 stars
0 ratings

0 ratings0 reviews

What did you think?

Tap to rate

Review must be at least 10 words

    Book preview

    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

    Enjoying the preview?
    Page 1 of 1