Chapter 4
Early Poetic Attempts
I was first introduced to poetry via nursery rhymes at home and at my Grandma Jensen's home. My favorite childhood poem was Wynken, Blynken, and Nod by Eugene Field (1850-1895).
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| Eugene Field 1850-1895 |
Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night
Sailed off in a wooden shoe,—
Sailed on a river of crystal light
Into a sea of dew.
"Where are you going, and what do you wish?"
The old moon asked the three.
"We have come to fish for the herring-fish
That live in this beautiful sea;
Nets of silver and gold have we,"
Said Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.
The old moon laughed and sang a song,
As they rocked in the wooden shoe;
And the wind that sped them all night long
Ruffled the waves of dew;
The little stars were the herring-fish
That lived in the beautiful sea.
"Now cast your nets wherever you wish,—
Never afraid are we!"
So cried the stars to the fishermen three,
Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.
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| Wynken, Blynken, and Nod |
All night long their nets they threw
To the stars in the twinkling foam,—
Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe,
Bringing the fishermen home:
'Twas all so pretty a sail, it seemed
As if it could not be;
And some folk thought 'twas a dream they'd dreamed
Of sailing that beautiful sea;
But I shall name you the fishermen three:
Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.
Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes,
And Nod is a little head,
And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies
Is a wee one's trundle-bed;
So shut your eyes while Mother sings
Of wonderful sights that be,
And you shall see the beautiful things
As you rock in the misty sea
Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three:—
Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.
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| "The British are Coming!" |
My academic introduction to poetry came in fifth grade (grade 5). My teacher that year—at Hermosa Vista Elementary School in Mesa, Arizona—was Bridgette Owens. Mrs. Owens LOVED poetry and was unusually proactive in teaching and emphasizing poetry in our classroom. On a regular basis all throughout the year, she would introduce us to new poems by different authors. The two most memorable for me were Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's Paul Revere's Ride and Casey at the Bat by Ernest Lawrence Thayer.
Later on in middle and high school I learned more about poetry in English classes and was able to ply my trade in further attempts at the art. These early efforts clearly evince the work of an amateur; and some cases, were little more than doggerel. But they also indicate a growing interest in and penchant for an art form I would later spend a significant amount of time pursuing and practicing in elusive attempts to perfect.
The poems in this chapter were all written in my youth. Some of them come from that 6th grade project. Others were composed in middle school or my first year of high school (9th grade). In reprinting these, I resisted the urge to polish the punctuation and spelling. These literary errors and scars evince my growth curve as both a poet and writer.
Poetry is a pencil in hand,
Poetry is very grand,
Poetry is a soft sweet song,
Poetry is about right and wrong,
Poetry is the adjective big and small,
Along with happy, exited (sic), hungry, sad and tall,
Poetry is from the heart,
Poetry is thinking smart,
Poetry is food and money,
Poetry can be very funny,
Poetry is clothes and cars,
Poetry can travel very far,
Poetry is people,
Poetry is Everything,
Poetry is You.
Softly the doe eats,
as she looks over her young,
While the buck stands watch.
Note: This poem is indicative of the setting of my youth—southeastern Utah—where herds of mule deer were legion and it was not uncommon to see deer around town.
Snow:
Cold, Glistening;
Light, stately falling;
Snow capped mountain heights:
Snow.
Mountains
Mountains:
Immense, Picturesque;
Towering, Majestic, Serene;
Away from modern paraphernalia:
Mountains.
Note: These two poems are similarly indicative of the setting of my youth—at the base of the Blue Mountains, which rose to over 11,000 feet in elevation and held snow throughout the fall, winter, and spring months.
History is our past,
It is what our fathers did,
And what we will someday do.
Self-Esteem
Self-Esteem, anyone can,
It's all in obeying God's simple plan,
It's not obtained through glory or honor,
Self esteem's a point to ponder.
It all comes from doing what's right,
And doing good with all your might,
It helps to have some confidence,
Not to mention a little sense.
Why this all can come from doing good,
And fulfilling all the tasks we should.
A little service, some charity,
This will make us the best we can be.
You may say to me it doesn't make sense,
By doing god I'll gain confidence?
Yes it's true it don't seem right,
It probably seems quite far from sight.
Just take it on faith and you shall see,
That self-esteem can come from charity.
Seven hours we worked, from six til one,
As we cross the road, toward the bunkhouse,
The cows are driven, the brandins' done,
The horses begin to sense where we are going:
Through the gate, and onto the cinders,
We clip and clop down the lane,
Then off Troy goes at a wild gallop,
His horse in a mad frenzy.
I lunge forward, as my horse follows,
0-60 in about a second, I fly down the path,
Fear grips my heart as I feel a loss of control,
My hat flies carelessly off, just like the movies.
The horses [sic] will overpowers my control of destiny,
As vain attempts to slow the horse
Result in an increased sense of humility regarding
My mortality.
To dear life that is,
And hope that the horse will stop.
Faster than I have ever gone on a horse,
All becomes an unimportant blur around me.
Darn that Troy, to have started to gallop like that,
A while back I scream to him, seeing a possible
Way to stop the horses.
No dice, as all efforts of mine are drowned in the
Stubborn desires of the creature.
The ride is short, exhilarating,
and dangerously Frightening,
The stables are close now, as the horses come to a
Stop.
They just wanted to get home faster,
Troy tells me he did not try to go that fast,
I am safe, I am not hurt,
I stayed on.
It is over.
Note: This narrative piece is a work of nonfiction. It all occurred precisely as I outline in the poem one summer day in 1994 on my Uncle Hyrum W. Smith's ranch in Gunlock, Utah. I'll never forget it; it was one of the most frightening, adventurous, and memorable 30 seconds of my life!
Think Big,
For we only have one chance at life.
Do not suppose,
Because of doubt,
That thou cannot succeed;
For those who think that they will fail,
Will surely fail indeed!
Do not let others
Halt the way,
Whomever they may be;
Just press forward, with faith and zeal,
You'll win the race, and taste of victory!
It does not matter how distant the goal,
How far the journeys [sic] end,
With a noble heart and a workers [sic] grit,
With a soul that believes thou can achieve,
Nothing will stop thee from getting it!
Then doubt no more,
But set that goal,
And firmly work with a noble heart!
And if thou endureth to the end,
Thou surely will obtain what thou desired at the start!
For what thou achieveth,
And attaineth in life,
Shall forever be thine,
Through eternity.
We only have one chance at life,
Think Big!
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| Preaching "Noah's Ark" at the funeral of a dead bird. Monticello, Utah, USA Circa 1985 (age 6) |
The door shut, and the Ark was quiet.
The sunlight dashed, and gray covers clouded the sky
Casting a forboding [sic] darkness upon the face of the earth
Silence,
Subsequent droplets of rain began to fall from the heavens.
Quantity steadily increased until it was raining as it never had, before or
since.
Scores of thousands of foolish hearts vainly summated [sic]
Everything, trying to assuage the deathly fear and guilt
That had so gripped their souls.
Unable to free themselves of their predicament, they cried
"Shem!"
"Ham!"
"Japeth!"
The black army of the great deep swept forth to sever all breath
Of life.
Caesar cried, "help me, Cassius or I sink!" (1)
The rain abated and
All was silent.
The great structure floated monotonously
For scores of weeks as the luminescent
Sun warmed the gargantuan waters.
A dove sent out for days, weeks, and
Humbly asks Noah,
"Where am I? Where is my mountainous
Home?"
"I am the Lord, and let justice destroy the wicked."
Note: From an early age I felt a powerful predilection towards Holy Scripture. A favorite biblical story of my early childhood was Noah's Ark and the great flood. Once, while pastoring a funeral for a dead bird, I opened up the scriptures and preached this story over the fallen fowl. Apparently, the tale still held fascination for me in high school, as this piece—written in English class—attests.
Bitterness,
Why does it have place in the soul?
Why doth heart anger, and paunch fester,
At things we cannot control?
Why does when someone cross our line,
We seem to always linger,
To spread their fate, and spoil their vine,
And always point our own dirty finger?
Why could we not instead of spoil,
Just turn the other cheek,
Be the bigger man, don't boil,
Hence, are the wise, and the meek.
It doeth no good to fester and rot,
Deep down all know it's true,
So just let it go, be big, Act the way you ought,
Cause bitterness only harms you.
Their [sic] once was a silly young squire,
Who lit the poor castle on fire,
Then he dunked the king,
In some gasoline,
And that was the end of our sire.
Note: As I reflect on this limerick as an adult, it is admittedly a little disturbing and macabre—so much so, in fact, that I seriously considered eliminating it from this anthology. However, I decided to leave it in for the sake of autoethnographic authenticity. This poem evinces the eleven year old boy scout and pyromaniac I once was. It demonstrates that despite any and all precocious proclivities I may have exhibited as a child, I was also once just a little boy who (like most other little boys) sometimes thought, spoke, and acted like a puerile preteen. In other words, I've never had any inclination, impulse, or desire to burn anyone alive. This poem simply reflects a moment of childish levity and silliness. It also reminds me of a remark a college professor of mine would later make about how poets are apt to do whatever it takes to make their rhyming scheme work. This piece proves his point!
—Dr. JJ
June 7, 2023
Palm Beach Gardens, Florida, USA
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Notes:
1. From Shakespeare's Julius Caesar: Act 1, Scene 2, Line 118
Dr. J.J., this post I found delightful in every way. Thank you for sharing.
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