My poet friend Charlie James died one year ago today. He had a good run, making it to 92. We used to write letters back and forth to communicate as he was a many hour drive away. The last time I saw him was in 2019 when we stopped in Poughkeepsie with the RV on our way to Shenandoah National Park in Virginia.
He'd appreciate your reading some of his poetry in his honor today. You can read a sample on Amazon using the Look inside feature (click HERE). He wouldn't mind if you bought a copy, either. It did win the 18th Annual Writer's Digest Self-Published Book Award in the poetry category in 2011.
RIP, my friend. I miss you.
2 comments:
I clicked the link to read a poem written by your dear friend, but I couldn't find a poem to read. If you would send me a poem, I would love to read it. Thank you. And may your dear friend Rest In Peace on this the first anniversary of his death.
Here is one of Charlie's poems in case the Amazon link won't work for you.
4 July
she was ice skating down the main highway
on the Fourth of July
puzzled beyond quiet I asked why
why ice skate on an interstate
on the Fourth of July and she said
cause I just left D.C.
they was freezin me
right behind her
came a black Harley
even its spokes black
rider had a baby on the back
and a rope towing a wheelchair
I said man what’s the deal
who’s the baby on your wheel
and the lady in that chair
this whole scene
was gettin in my hair
ain’t no baby ain’t no lady
can’t you see it’s a composite
ridin me
thousands of D.C. starvees every week
in the D.C. call of freedom and peace
and the turnin’ of the cheek
we asked for food began to plead
said they had just what we need
filled our cups with plutonium and oil
then said get your feet off our soil
funny thing I says to me
thought we put you here
to keep us free
Then right there in the median
bold as a boulder
stood holding a spade a gardener
What’r you doin between all this traffic
with a spade on the Fourth of July
we all asked like we been rehearsed
diggin for roots he said
pushin his hat back on his head
this here’s where they once grew some
that knew where truth sprung from
wise roots they called em they fried em
ate em and seed the facts
Army flew in sprayed Agent Orange
three times a week they came back
but I don’t think them roots is dead
just underground We all got real quiet
lookin at the earth at our feet
when we heard this voice
moanin and half cryin,
there ahead on a rise
before our very eyes
there kneeled this pleadin preacher
Forgive me, oh lord, for hearing the rich not the poor
the possessed not the dispossessed
the colorful not those of color
the manipulators not the manipulated
and we all joined that preacher
gave him forgiveness when
we heard the marching of feet
and here they come
uniforms and flags and horns and drums
singing some kind of song
First to fight for whites and bleed them
first to whitewash what we mean
we are proud to claim a title
though things ain’t what they seem
It’s them said the gardener
And we started digging
It was the Fourth of July
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