Engravings
For John C. MacLeod, May 28, 1925 – Jan. 10, 2017
Sometimes my memories are as bright
as a high summer sun.
Suddenly they fade away, gray and distant
as the rumblings of a passing storm.
Sight and sound come and go
but my heart feels a brilliant beat.
My fingers tingle with long ago days
when our hours were immediate,
powerful, and fanciful as childhood play.
Even as the memories fade,
I clearly see the etchings on your soul.
Transmitted through the heady air of passion,
I share our indelible mark of love
— that leaves no scar —
— only joy filled times —
mixed with deep channels of quiet longing.
Growing old I store the engravings.
It is then I know — I still love you.
— Normajean (Ulery) MacLeod, Brown County
Driving Home
Is there such a thing as crying inside your heart,
Where every fiber in your being
Wants to let the tears swell in your eyes?
This is when I am most alive,
When my substance finds substance.
It is where my pride and shame clash like stars to their source,
Like bending willows
Leaning to the stream and wind
Yet deeply rooted.
I attempt to reach for what transcends me,
The early eastern shadows driving west,
The evening glow driving east,
With dusk’s orange moon and her pugnaciousness,
Proudly displaying an indifferent sign of omnipotence,
Like life’s sometimes ineffectual then tragic voice,
And my soul and this rolling road,
Taking me through more familiar moments and newness,
thoughts that make me alive,
As I drive home.
— Neil Frederick, Brown County
The Old Wood Shed
Remembering my family when I was a pup,
Life was filling and I drank it up.
Got in more trouble with my Uncle Sid
Ma said she’d whup me but she never did.
Tanning my hide was left to Pa
We’d go behind the shed and he’d pull out a chaw.
Laughing and grinning while Ma squeezed lemons
Perty soon she’d yell, “Company’s a comin!”
There was Uncle Harold who never took off his hat
His sweet wife Edna sat proper, hands in her lap.
Hated gittin dressed up jest fer them
Cept me and their son Russell would go for a swim.
We’d lay on the mud bank and tell each other jokes
Walkin back home we’d both sneak a smoke.
Life was mostly sweet cept fer school.
Teacher made me sit straight and follow rules.
Guess it didn’t hurt me none
I grew up and had my own son.
Sometimes me and Pa like to talk about the past
It’s a sure way to make the good times last.
Leaning back in his old cane chair
Pa scratches his head where there used to be hair.
Puffin on his pipe and watching the geese overhead
Seems like only yesterday laughing and grinnin behind the old wood shed.
— Judith Barrett Nulf, Delphi
Brown County residents or former residents can submit original poems to be published in Poet’s Corner on a space-available basis by emailing them to [email protected] or mailing to P.O. Box 277, Nashville, IN 47448. Include your name and town of residence.
