This has been one of my favorite poems ever since I first heard it many many years ago. Maybe because it’s almost unbearably sentimental, and it makes one wonder what happened to Little Boy Blue:

Little Boy Blue

The little toy dog is covered with dust,
But sturdy and staunch he stands;
And the little toy soldier is red with rust,
And his musket moulds in his hands.
Time was when the little toy dog was new,
And the soldier was passing fair,
And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue
Kissed them and put them there.

“Now, don’t you go till I come,” he said,
“And don’t you make any noise!”
So toddling off to his trundle bed
He dreamt of his pretty toys.
And as he was dreaming, an angel song
Awakened our Little Boy Blue, –
Oh, the years are many, the years are long
But the little toy friends are true!

Ay, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand,
Each in the same old place.
Awaiting the touch of a little hand,
The smile of a little face.
And they wonder, as waiting these long years through,
In the dust of that little chair,
What has become of our Little Boy Blue
Since he kissed them and put them there.

~Eugene Field, 1850-1895~

RT has been writing poetry again. This one is about his mother and dedicated to his mother, Lillian.  I think it’s beautiful.

Sunflower Mountain

In the early morning sun
hands worn thin by time
and soft by the love
of giving and doing
for others

Pour sunflower seeds high
from a rusty coffee can
onto a weathered plank
atop a worn old cedar post
all dressed in clematis
planted years ago by those
same loving hands.

In moments one small
seed at a time is
given a brief flight
from feeder to limb

Some are stored in
crevices and cracks
while others are cracked
open and fuel the next
flight.

One by one the
sunflower mountain is
made low
As a reminder
that those who neither
sow nor reap
are cared for by those
who share
the love of heart
by the gifts of their
hands

Copyright 2008, RTJ

I told RT that he’s going to be like Grandma Moses and wait until his later years to give his artistic and creative side full rein.  Here is this morning’s poem – inspired by watching the birds on the bird feeders outside out family room windows:

RT wrote this poem this morning as a “gift” to bring a smile to my face.  I think it is beautiful.  What do you think?

Seeking Unity

A lonely flighted goose
wings across the
lighted moon

with grace and
mystery.

Flying high
above the wintry, barren
fields

He moves so
gallantly –

Moves to join
a forming vee
to build again
a
family.

~Copyright 2008, RTJ~

RT is writing a poem, and he needs your help.  Here is the setting:  RT is sitting on a ridge in Tennessee looking out on trees and the shedding process.  What should be the next line to this poem.  Any ideas?

Winter’s Why

Why do the trees shed their leaves

when facing winter’s approaching icing?

____________________________

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This weekend my mother mentioned the following poem by Leigh Hunt.  I remember it from a long time ago.  When we looked it up in my mother’s book on poetry, we found this poem is described as a trarnsition to the rondeau form of poetry.  The opening half of line one reappears as the refrain in line eight. 

It’s a wonderful poem, and reminds us that no matter what else can be said about our lives, we each have some of those special moments such as when “Jenny kissed me.”

Jenny Kissed Me

~By Leigh Hunt~

Jenny kissed me when we met,
     Running to the chair I sat in.
Time, you thief, who love to get
     Sweets upon your list, put that in!
Say I’m weary, say I’m sad,
     Say that health and wealth have missed me;
Say I’m growing old, but add –
     Jenny kissed me.

I just love that poem! Probably because it always makes me think of those little moments in my own life that stand out from all the others – moments that make my life unique.