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    Gilmer Poems & Stories
    Gilmer Poems & Stories
    Gilmer Poems & Stories
    Ebook120 pages1 hour

    Gilmer Poems & Stories

    By Hubert Crowell

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    About this ebook

    Our cabin in the mountains provides a quiet place to mediate and write. Gilmer County, Georgia is a great place to live or visit.

    View from the Porch
    View from the porch on Memorial day weekend,
    down the river they come in groups of five or ten.
    Some moving slow to stretch out the day,
    and others paddle fast looking for someone to play.
    The trees are full and I can no longer see,
    the neighbors that live across the river from me.
    River is now brown from storms in the night,
    swirls and curls spin from rocks now out of sight.

    Broken limbs hanging high and waiting to fall,
    Some are big and long, other short and small.
    Tomorrow will be a time to think and reflect,
    about the men and women who deserve our respect.

    Quiet evening with the smell of pork chops on the grill,
    A drive for ice cream to end the holiday thrill.
    A time to honor those who freely died to keep us free,
    and help make this wonderful weekend a reality.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherHubert Crowell
    Release dateJun 25, 2019
    ISBN9780463854952
    Gilmer Poems & Stories
    Author

    Hubert Crowell

    Hubert Crowell currently writes, explores caves, plays the fiddle and works three days a week. He has in the past panned for gold, served in the army, repaired TV's, microfilm equipment, video projectors, and other electronic devices. He has taught classes at Vocational School, Eastman Kodak and Church. He has worked at Lockheed, Kodak, BARCO, and RCA to mention only a few. Studied at Southeastern University, Kennesaw University, and Chattahoochee Technical College. Hubert's articles, poems, and music can be found at http://hucosystems.com/hubertcrowell/hubertcrowell.html

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      Book preview

      Gilmer Poems & Stories - Hubert Crowell

      Chapter Poem 1 A Good Week

      Time to get away from all the news,

      work, read, and catch a little snooze.

      Drive to the mountains, love the view,

      Ellijay and Blue Ridge to see what’s new.

      A week at the cabin to finish the chores,

      tearing out a few warped boards.

      Dry and hard with nails stuck tight,

      maybe I will just burn them into the night.

      Dig a hole deep and wide,

      pile the dirt around the sides.

      Pull up a chair to watch the sun go down,

      on the river just south of town.

      A good way to end the week,

      worked hard, a little tired and weak.

      Burning risk is posted as low,

      to ashes they must go!

      Chapter Poem 2 Time To Play

      Nap is over and now it’s time to play,

      take a walk and get on with this day.

      Where’s a good toy or my old bone,

      is everyone gone, am I all alone?

      The heat cut off and I’m cooling down,

      is anyone here to chase me around?

      I guess I will stretch out on the floor,

      where I can keep an eye on the door.

      Jump on the couch to see out the window,

      dig around and knock off all the pillows.

      Check the back rooms to find someone,

      maybe they will take me out for a short run.

      Chapter Poem 3 Number Five Spot

      The number five spot to catch a nap,

      is to snuggle up close or find a soft lap.

      In the late evening after treats and play,

      tired from all the activities of the day.

      Dreams of chasing squirrels across the lawn,

      as ears twitch and feet run till it’s gone.

      A sound or movement may open an eye,

      and sometimes he will let out a sigh.

      But until you announce, time for bed,

      will he rise or just lift his head.

      To the chair you think he became attached,

      until you offer him a tummy scratch.

      A whimper or whine to let you know,

      it’s time to play with a bone to throw.

      Chase him around the room a few times,

      or else just listen to that pathetic whine.

      Chapter Poem 4 The Marsh

      Still and quiet along the marsh for an afternoon walk,

      with long legs tiptoeing through the mud as they stalk,

      at the water’s edge, head held high and gliding with ease,

      egrets fish amidst the tall grass swaying in the breeze.

      Late in the evening after the sun goes down,

      casting long shadows from the tall grass around,

      and everything begins to turn a yellowish brown,

      then creepy things in the marsh go crawling around.

      A wave of crabs, moving across the muck,

      like a large army trying not to get stuck,

      darting side to side, waiting for the others catch up,

      with jerky moves, as I watch and sip from my coffee cup.

      If the marsh could talk, I wonder what it would tell,

      of battles fought about those who went through hell?

      Peaceful flowing grass moving with the evening breeze,

      come with me, and sink in the mud up to your knees.

      Scanning the marsh with my spy glass,

      a raccoon pops his head up out of the grass,

      dropping back out of sight and into the night,

      as I relax on my bench with a smile of delight.

      Chapter Poem 5 End of Day

      A walk on the beach at the end of the day,

      leaving tracks for the waves to wash away.

      Cares have vanished with the setting sun,

      ending a picture-perfect day of sun and fun.

      At the end of day when all is said and done,

      have we changed the world or touched someone?

      A kind word for all we meet along the way,

      may seem like a small and humble thing.

      Just a small start to show how much we care,

      for others we meet, as we smile instead of glare.

      Who knows what trouble the other may bare?

      Share a smile, kind word or even a short prayer.

      Chapter Poem 6 The Knot Hole

      Limbs that die, sometimes leave a hole,

      for birds, squirrels or just a curious soul,

      wondering what mystery, it might hold.

      A little hole caught my attention along the marsh,

      was something hiding in the smooth clean bark,

      a little touch of white caught my eye in the dark.

      A cord, dangling from the limb above the hole,

      tied to something left behind by some little troll,

      a brown painted little bottle with a white cap.

      Who left it there and why is anyone’s guess?

      Slowly I open the bottle, what might it possess?

      It was empty, to my great distress.

      Now I could not leave this bottle be,

      remaining there empty inside this tree,

      a little treasure I left for the next curious as me.

      Chapter Poem 7 Waves

      Waves come and go like thoughts when we grow old,

      who remembers a wave or all the things ever told.

      Crushing up shells and moving the sand,

      around my feet where I try to stand.

      Washing away all the foot prints left during the day

      leaving only memories where children ran and play,

      covering stolen pirate treasures lost over time,

      crashing onto the beach, changing the shore line.

      Building slowly off some distant shore,

      rolling on till it touches the ocean floor,

      then rising high as it comes ashore,

      to end its journey, wandering no more.

      Life is like a wave in so many ways,

      some lives are short and fast, up in a blaze,

      others long and slow touching many along the way,

      I pray that mine will be like the latter reflecting God’s ways.

      Chapter Poem 8 Troubled Waters

      Over the rocks swift and fast,

      reminding me of younger days past,

      carefree through the mountain pass,

      delivering thrills for a life time to last.

      Overcoming obstacles that get in the way,

      pulling me back into the

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