deepundergroundpoetry.com

Image for the poem Past and Present Things

Past and Present Things

There are degrees you don't know    
Like a whisper as yet unheard †  
A distant shimmering glow † †  
Though the way is yet unlearned † †  

*** † †  

I'm the son of a follower of the god of war † †  
A prodIgal son † †  
Descended of wayfaring souls † †  
†† †  
A strange pooling of names vaguely stirs † † †
Corsham and Dauntsey in Wiltshire † †  
Lane in Cornwall, and Berkshire † †  
Gloucester in Gloucestershire † † †
And somehow Haworth in West Yorkshire † †  
All distilling down to those last fateful steps in Dauntsey † †  
So they mingle and weave † †  
Now but faint traces etched in stone † †  
And on yellowed ink scrawled pages † †  
I don't know how they were then † †  
Anymore then how they are now † †  
My grandmother never said, "When I was a girl in Dauntsey before we sailed..." † † †
Never spoke of the voyage † †  
Just me with remembered remnants † †  
An accent dulled by America † †  
A garden out back and a time for tea † †  
† † †
My grandfather was another † †  
A fugitive, a refugee † †  
A non participant in a civil war † †  
How do the rebels, revolutionaries, and liberators differ † †  
From the governmental forces † † †
When both sides make the people suffer † †  
He never spoke of his childhood to me † †  
Or his journey...his English was thick † †  
As thick as his eyes were dark † †  
A machinist † †  
With a small shop in his basement † †  
† † †
He died when I was a child † †  
She, when I was a young man † †  
How did two souls from worlds apart † †  
Risking all on one turn of Kipling's "pitch-and-toss" † †  
Scraping to make a new start †  
Find each other in a new land † †  
Somehow the Fates had smiled

My family were goers † †  
Closing the book on their pasts † †  
† † †
The other side, here for centuries † †  
Coming first indentured and lastly free † †  
Had roots grown deep like trees † †  
In the rich harrowed soil † †  
A blending of English, German and Dutch † †  
With a wee bit of Irish thrown in for luck † †  
Farmers and men of the earth † †  
Plain working men for the working day † †  
No fancy titles just common folk † †  
Folk of the clay † †  
I come from a country people † †  
† † †
But always comes a passing away, †a sundering † †  
I walk among the reverbrations † †  
A soft echoing of distant truths † †  
These whisperings of twilight ghosts † †  
† † †
I was a military brat † †  
And a military man just like my dad † †  
So too my cousins † †  
We served our land † †  
We, a mix of the old and the new † †  
A paradoxical testimonial we were American too † †  
† † †
My hand a stranger to the plow † †  
A machinist now † †  
With a longing for gardens † †  
And dislike of tea † †  
Who learned to love wildflowers bright † †  
Along the washed out grey of old country roads † †  
† † †
And so I lived moving from posting to posting † †  
Postings, deployments and a few TAD's † †  
Til that life came to end † †  
Here a few degrees cooler than Hell † †  
And a bit farther south of heaven † †  
The deep south † †  
A pagan stranger to my soul † †  
Waiting † †  
A distance is calling me † †  
A yondering † †  
My feet grow restless on the earth † †  
Yearning to be free
AverageJoe
Written by AverageJoe (Average Joe. AJ. Joe)
Published | Edited 19th Sep 2021
Author's Note
Free use image from Pexels. Com
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 3 reading list entries 3
comments 7 reads 98
ImperfectedStone Summerrain75 Honoria
Commenting Preference: 
The author encourages honest critique.

Latest Forum Discussions
SPEAKEASY
Today 4:02am by Zazzles
POETRY
Today 2:38am by Casted_Runes
COMPETITIONS
27th January 2022 1:43pm by admin
POETRY
27th January 2022 3:31am by Casted_Runes
COMPETITIONS
26th January 2022 11:20pm by Keilani
COMPETITIONS
26th January 2022 9:10pm by Eerie