Chapter 8
Personal Odes
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| Bust of John Keats 1795-1821 |
It's impossible to calculate the impact and influence that great poets like Henry Wadsworth Longfellow have had on my life and career. I simply don't have the metaphysical measuring tools to quantify such blessings. Suffice it to say, the work of Longfellow and his literary associates (both past and present) played an important role in this work of mine, as well as much of the instruction, inspiration, pleasure, and joy that accompanied its inception, creation, and ongoing revision.
The great English poet, John Keats, died of tuberculosis when he was only 25 years old. He was not well known or monetarily successful at the time of his death; but in time would become one of the most famous and beloved of all the British bards.
Keats gifted us with some of the most memorable lines of language in the wide canon of English literature.
Ode to Grandma Jensen
Upon my bed two quilts are spread,
Reminding me of Grandma's love,
And though her body now is dead,
Her spirit smiles from up above.
While down below, her quilts they warm
My heart inside, safe from the storm;
And aid in keeping memories fresh,
Of all she did while in the flesh.
For me she true and deeply cared,
And of her time and cash she shared,
She lived for family, then died,
To join those on the other side,
And wrap the circle up complete:
A veritable heav'nly treat!
So when upon my quilts I rest,
Or cast my eyes upon their threads,
I think of she who loved me best,
And feel the love she downward sheds.
Ode to My Mother
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| John Keats Unnamed Grave in Rome, Italy, where he died of Tuberculosis in 1821 at the tender age 25. |
These lines include...
"A thing of beauty is a joy forever."
"Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter."
"Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art."
"The poetry of Earth is never dead."
"Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.
"I find I cannot exist without Poetry."
Two of his Keats most famous poems were Ode on a Grecian Urn and Ode to a Nightingale. An "Ode" is defined as a lyrical poem that is addressed or dedicated to a particular object or subject. This chapter contains several Odes I have written in the form of personal tributes to individuals who have played important roles in my life.
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| LaVerda Barton Jensen 1919-2006 |
Upon my bed two quilts are spread,
Reminding me of Grandma's love,
And though her body now is dead,
Her spirit smiles from up above.
While down below, her quilts they warm
My heart inside, safe from the storm;
And aid in keeping memories fresh,
Of all she did while in the flesh.
For me she true and deeply cared,
And of her time and cash she shared,
She lived for family, then died,
To join those on the other side,
And wrap the circle up complete:
A veritable heav'nly treat!
So when upon my quilts I rest,
Or cast my eyes upon their threads,
I think of she who loved me best,
And feel the love she downward sheds.
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| With Mama, age 7 Mesa, Arizona Circa 1986 |
I think that I will rarely meet,
A mother who's so soft and sweet.
Whose faith surpassed the tempter's doubt,
And rarely raised her voice to shout.
Her willing voice was there to cheer,
And always lent a listening ear.
Sonnet 21 (To Mother)
Pure refined elegance and cheerfulness,
Ode to Vaylene (My Ma-in-law)
Ode to Aunt Nedra
Second only to my mother,
Close to me as any brother,
Kind and sweet as any other,
Is my dear Aunt Nedra.
At her home we'd have such fun,
Holidays were a special treat:
Ode to Ida Joy
As generous as nature's giving,
As gorgeous as a movie star,
How fortunate that she is living
So very near, instead of far.
Ode to My Sister Jody
So mindful of her family,
And capable as any other,
A blessed sense of humor, see:
Is my sister, Jody.
And though she is my sister, free,
A chosen friend she'll always be,
An angel's blessing unto me,
Yes, 'tis my sister Jody!
She's always been there when I've had
Troubling times both big and small,
Like when dating made me mad,
Or dough—when I had none at all.
A true support through thick and thin,
She is one of my truest friends,
Who's cheered me on—win or lose—
No doubt she'll keep up til the end.
At times when I could not stand tall,
And needed some supporting,
She was there to catch my fall,
And nurse my wounds from courting.
It is not easy to express,
The meaning of a soul like Jode,
Who's always there to love no less,
Hence why I've penned this ode.
That somehow I might capture here,
The glory of my sister, dear,
Who's in my heart though far or near,
Her blesséd name is Jody!
Her darling girls and fine man Troy,
Mean so very much to me,
I'm such a lucky, blessed, boy,
And also an Uncle, you see.
Lest I forget her sweet boy Luke,
A debonair prince of a tot,
I know for sure he was no fluke,
As a boy myself I've often thought
What a shame it would be if
A universe filled with little boys,
None of whom e'er had the chance,
To call Jode "Mom," oh what missed joys!
As a psuedo-son at times, I think
I'm credible to appraise,
That the universe is back in sync,
Now that Jode's got a son to raise!
In spite of all this poem doth state,
It's only but a paltry rhyme,
That fails to capture just how great
Jode is—yes she's simply divine!
Yes, words are but a fickle form,
That ne'er quite catch the majesty
Of Jody's soul so bright and warm—
The part of her not always seen.
And while she is a foxy catch,
And her beauty's plain to view,
Her soul is far more lovely still—
As good as she is true.
Ode to the Churches
To brighten days and memories make,
Of a beloved friend—and cousin.
And though they will be lived without
And when that day of light appears
But, in the here-and-now it's true,
A mother who's so soft and sweet.
A woman of purest desire,
Whose endless love burns bright like fire.
Whose endless love burns bright like fire.
For she did raise me straight and tall,
And help me up when I did fall.
And help me up when I did fall.
A saint of grace, whose voice did ring,
When tenderly to me she'd sing.
When tenderly to me she'd sing.
For me, whom she did call her boy,
Did teach, and all my doubts destroy.
Did teach, and all my doubts destroy.
Whose faith surpassed the tempter's doubt,
And rarely raised her voice to shout.
Her early morning moving feet,
W up to fix us food to eat.
W up to fix us food to eat.
Those choice repasts midst candlelight,
Such memories do still burn bright!
Such memories do still burn bright!
And never shall I e'er forget,
Her cozy table, cleanly set.
Her cozy table, cleanly set.
Or how she always kept the rule,
To be home when I returned from school.
To be home when I returned from school.
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With Mama Monticello, Utah Circa 1981 |
And always lent a listening ear.
To hear the sorrows and the joys,
Of her two girls and all five boys.
Of her two girls and all five boys.
Among the things that meant so much,
Was Ma's sweet, gentle, tender touch.
Was Ma's sweet, gentle, tender touch.
Her healing art and friendly nature,
"Angel" is her nomenclature!
"Angel" is her nomenclature!
To her I owe my very best,
And thus I now must show the rest,
And thus I now must show the rest,
That I grew up to be a man,
Because of her choice guiding hand.
Because of her choice guiding hand.
And if my love for Mother's true,
I will prove it unto you,
I will prove it unto you,
By searching for a wife—no other—
Than a gal as good as Mother.
Than a gal as good as Mother.
And with her raise some girls and boys
To pay Ma back and boost her joys.
To pay Ma back and boost her joys.
That is what my mind thinks of,
To repay Mother's perfect love (2) (3).
To repay Mother's perfect love (2) (3).
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Mother in Honolulu, HI on the beach with Diamondhead in the distance. Mama was raised in Hawaii, and her heart never left the Islands |
Pure refined elegance and cheerfulness,
Marketh the heart and soul of dear Mother,
And when I pray, I do ask God to bless,
And prosper this woman—like no other.
Her talents are many; her will is strong,
Her love grows for me each day that passes,
Much of Earth's evil would not last too long,
If my mother were raising the masses.
Soul set to triumph and taste victory,
She presses on in spite of all trials,
Forging for grandkids a valiant story,
Teaching us to deal with life's wiles,
And angel of peace and goodness is she,
And if not for her, there would be no me! (4)
A stereotype has long persisted in various cultures of the "Nasty Mother-in-Law"—a woman who is to be avoided when possible because she makes a son-in-law's life difficult and miserable. As is the case with most stereotypes, there are, no doubt, some legitimate reasons for the existence of this particular typecast.
Fortunately, my personal experiences in this regard are about as far removed from this stereotype as you could possibly get. My "Ma-in-law" as I affectionately refer to her, is one of the most wonderful, lovely, and guileless human beings with which I have ever had the privilege of associating. She is an angel. What is more, she is one of my sincerest and truest friends. I love her as I love my own mother. My respect and admiration for her holds no bounds.
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| Vaylene Hansen Tucker My Wonderful Ma-in-law |
A pure sweet angel of a soul,
A goddess she will someday be,
How blesséd I was to have stole,
Her daughter's heart to be with me.
I'll ne'er forget how from the start,
You were championing my cause,
Helping me to win Lina's heart,
In spite of age and spite of flaws!
An advocate on my behalf,
A finer fan there could not be,
You overlooked each ill and gaffe,
A mother true you were to me.
So fully focused on your brood,
And all others in your purview,
You are always in a good mood,
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| My Ma-in-Law, Vaylene Tucker doing what she loves best... Grandmothering |
As you love, serve, and then renew.
More than a dear sweet Ma-in-law,
A cherished friend you have become,
I am continually in awe,
Of all you are—so vast a sum!
Your whole life's been a gift to God,
Your whole soul sings praises in Hymn,
Your only goal is to e're plod,
In the perfected steps of Him.
Your faith: it is unbreakable;
Your conviction to God stands fast;
Your testimony is so full;
You will be exalted at last!
To be with you is to be near
Unto the holy and divine,
In your presence there is no fear,
Just love in it's purest design.
One could search the whole world through,
And be hard pressed to ever find,
A character as true as you,
Who loves so pure and loves so blind.
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| My Aunt: Nedra Jensen Bunker In front of a bench honoring her, her daughter, and her mother (my paternal grandmother) for 80 years of service at Monticello Elementary School |
Second only to my mother,
Close to me as any brother,
Kind and sweet as any other,
Is my dear Aunt Nedra.
Across the street she lived from me,
Her sons, my friends, how we'd roam free,
Advent'ring on dad's land you see,
In view of dear Aunt Nedra.
Her sons, my friends, how we'd roam free,
Advent'ring on dad's land you see,
In view of dear Aunt Nedra.
Fun sleepovers were oft our goals,
On the floor we'd make our bed rolls,
Laughing, joking, as the clock tolls,
Upward until midnight.
Next morn she would make us breakfast,
Her pancakes or french toast would last,
Us til lunchtime or even past,
Fueling fun til supper.
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With my cousin Julie (left) and Preston (who shared a birthday with me), and Aunt Nedra on my third (and Preston's first) birthday, August 21, 1982. The sheet cake with white and green frosting was baked by Aunt Nedra. This birthday party is my earliest life memory. |
Movies and games when work was done,
Animals fed and sports were won,
In the yard at Nedra's.
Us kids'd eat apples and build dams,
Pet the dogs and chase the lambs,
Feed the chickens; avoid the rams, (5)
Outside at Aunt Nedra's.
We'd run at the track and swim at the pool,
Eat Reeses for fun and sno cones so cool,
Then saunter home past Edith the mule,
Over at Aunt Nedra's.
On Sunday after church we'd feast,
On mashed potatoes and roast beast,
Such perfect fare without the least
Hint of ostentation.
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| With my younger sister, Jessie, and Nedra's two youngest sons (my first cousins) Preston (left) and Ryan (right). |
Rhodes rolls, pie, or cake in a sheet,
With some form of taters and meat,
In Aunt Nedra's kitchen.
A gifted teacher, she'd impart
Countless lessons from the heart,
Gifting her students a fine start,
In Aunt Nedra's classroom.
So much goodness and so much love,
Like a spirit sent from above,
Guileless as a pure white dove,
Is my dear Aunt Nedra! (6)
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| Ida Joy Anderson Dr. JJ's maternal first cousin |
As generous as nature's giving,
As gorgeous as a movie star,
How fortunate that she is living
So very near, instead of far.
As talented as any other,
As thoughtful as a gal could be,
She's like a sister or a brother,
Oh, how much she's done for me!
As thoughtful as a gal could be,
She's like a sister or a brother,
Oh, how much she's done for me!
Through struggling crucibles and trials,
Ever pressing forward, she
Keeps going on for miles and miles,
Someday a goddess she will be.
Ever pressing forward, she
Keeps going on for miles and miles,
Someday a goddess she will be.
Oh how she's blessed my life to date,
And oh what service she has done!
I hope as great will be my mate,
When I've finally found my ONE.
And oh what service she has done!
I hope as great will be my mate,
When I've finally found my ONE.
The difference that her soul hath made,
Yes contributions made galore,
How many times she's come to aid,
A gal in pain, or a bloke who's poor—
Yes contributions made galore,
How many times she's come to aid,
A gal in pain, or a bloke who's poor—
Like me—and yet her goodness gives
A motivation to extend
My hand to another soul that lives,
When my fortune finds its other end.
A motivation to extend
My hand to another soul that lives,
When my fortune finds its other end.
A privilege and an honor see,
To be a cousin of this saint
Named Ida Joy, I'm blessed to be,
Her friend for all eternity!
To be a cousin of this saint
Named Ida Joy, I'm blessed to be,
Her friend for all eternity!
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| Being Silly with my Sister Jody Smith Family Reunion Gunlock, Utah Summer 2015 |
So mindful of her family,
And capable as any other,
A blessed sense of humor, see:
Is my sister, Jody.
And though she is my sister, free,
A chosen friend she'll always be,
An angel's blessing unto me,
Yes, 'tis my sister Jody!
She's always been there when I've had
Troubling times both big and small,
Like when dating made me mad,
Or dough—when I had none at all.
A true support through thick and thin,
She is one of my truest friends,
Who's cheered me on—win or lose—
No doubt she'll keep up til the end.
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| With Jody at the graves of our Smith Ancestors in Nauvoo, IL August 1991 |
And needed some supporting,
She was there to catch my fall,
And nurse my wounds from courting.
It is not easy to express,
The meaning of a soul like Jode,
Who's always there to love no less,
Hence why I've penned this ode.
That somehow I might capture here,
The glory of my sister, dear,
Who's in my heart though far or near,
Her blesséd name is Jody!
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| Jody and me on the Mississippi River August 1991 |
Mean so very much to me,
I'm such a lucky, blessed, boy,
And also an Uncle, you see.
Lest I forget her sweet boy Luke,
A debonair prince of a tot,
I know for sure he was no fluke,
As a boy myself I've often thought
What a shame it would be if
A universe filled with little boys,
None of whom e'er had the chance,
To call Jode "Mom," oh what missed joys!
As a psuedo-son at times, I think
I'm credible to appraise,
That the universe is back in sync,
Now that Jode's got a son to raise!
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| Jody and me Niagara Falls, New York August 1991 |
It's only but a paltry rhyme,
That fails to capture just how great
Jode is—yes she's simply divine!
Yes, words are but a fickle form,
That ne'er quite catch the majesty
Of Jody's soul so bright and warm—
The part of her not always seen.
And while she is a foxy catch,
And her beauty's plain to view,
Her soul is far more lovely still—
As good as she is true.
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| Kelly Church w/ Grandpa Jensen August 2003 |
(Upon our arrival in Bloomington, Indiana; August 2003)
The Jensen's have missed sweet, sweet Kelly,
The Jensen's have missed sweet, sweet Kelly,
Ever since she did move far away,
Cause she's sweeter than cakes at the deli,
So seeing her has made our day!
Her golden locks, oh how they shimmer!
Her eyes, how they shine in the light,
How grateful we are to have dinner,
With dear Kelly here in our sight!
We think Kelly's sweet, pretty Mama,
Whose cooking is second to none,
Has eased all our traveler's trauma,
And ensured a great weekend of fun.
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| Kelly Church (Minnie Mouse) And Uncle Jordan (Hamlet) Halloween 2002 |
And then there is Kelly's fine Pappy,
A bright and aspiring scholar,
He rides bikes and he's one stellar chappy,
And his tech ware is always top dollar.
So here we are all now together,
Laughing and having some fun,
Enjoying the Bloomington weather,
We'll be sad when it's over and done.
Note: This poem was a collaborative effort with my father, Rex Buckley Jensen, on our 2003 cross-country road trip together, which ended with Dad dropping me off to seek my fortunes in Atlanta, Georgia before flying back to Utah.
Ode to Shannon (on her 21st Birthday)
Shannon Long's a special lass,
Shannon Long's a special lass,
And one of my good friends.
She's filled with spirit, spunk, and class
And yes, she always tends...
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I cherish the time I spent and the adventures I had in the beautiful State of Georgia. Before I met Lina, many of these adventures were shared with Shannon and Company. This pic is of JJ at the entrance of Stone Mountain Park outside of Atlanta in 2003. |
Yes everyone who leaves her home,
Fun and happiness they take,
And now and then a tome.
On Singing Post Lane there is a place,
Where action rolls in from the street,
And there you'll find a smiling face—
A friend and a nice, soft seat.
And lovely treats and funny shows,
And lots of fun, joy, and mirth,
It's better that ribbons and bows,
Yes, one of the best spots on Earth!
But enough of lauding her folks' home,
When Shannon's the person we cheer,
Explaining to her with this poem,
How much we love having her near.
And glad, yes indeed that — — fails (7),
To recognize all that she's worth,
Leaving her with us, and all that entails,
We're the luckiest folks on the earth!
The difference one makes
'Tis truly a wonder,
And Shannon is always impacting,
Our lives for the better,
Through thick and thin fetter,
Dear Shannon: Our friend everlasting!
Ode on a Passing Friend (and Cousin)
Bereaved and grieving
Bereaved and grieving
O'er the loss
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| Ryan Jensen Bunker's Headstone (front) City Cemetery; Monticello, Utah |
A life cut short?
A tragedy?
A son who's met his end?
But no...
From somewhere deep inside
A greater light reveals
A vision of things as they really are,
That gives sight as it heals
Our wounded hearts,
Whose bleeding tears
Can't count all the memories
We'll always cherish
And remember
Throughout the years.
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| With my cousins, Ryan Bunker (left) and Preston Bunker (center) Circa 1990 |
A close proximity
To him whose precious soul we'll love
Into eternity,
The Master who created and knows all,
Who holds all in His power,
Who's graven us on the palms of His hands, (8)
Who inject eternal hope into
Our minds,
And souls...
Clasps us in His loving arms,
Reminding us He brings
All righteous, departed souls into His service,
Where their work goes on,
Making death
More like
Mission transfer
Than to extinction.
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| Ryan Jensen Bunker 1979-2005 |
To us who linger still
Upon this Earth
To toil
And till,
We'll see things
As they really are,
Then with joy our hearts will fill,
And with newfound clarity
We'll view the tapestry
Of our life that's weaved by God
Into eternity.
Then regardless what side of the veil
Our work happened to be wrought,
We'll know in truth,
It matters not,
As long as we prevail.
For He's already won victory on our behalf.
Now it's up to us.
If we succeed, as did He,
Then victory shall be ours at last
At some blessed, holy day
Then death shall be powerless
To stand in our way.
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| Ryan Jensen Bunker's Headstone (back) City Cemetery; Monticello, Utah |
That mostly it just hurts,
So, while this state of angst and pain
Doth last, O Lord we plead
For help to gain
Thy strength,
And may it remain
Throughout our time of need.
That with forward glances we may
Look to the realm where we, indeed,
Will once again be with our cousin—and friend,
To him and Thee, all love we send.
Amen. (9)
—Dr. JJ
July 5, 2023
Palm Beach Gardens, Florida, USA
Author's Note: This is the 331st Blog Post Published by Freedom Focused LLC since November 2013 and the 154th consecutive weekly blog published since August 31, 2020.
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Notes:
1. Grandma Jensen made me four quilts (three of which were full-size) over the course of my life. Two of them I still have and use. One was gifted to me in August 1997 as I was beginning my senior year of high school. I moved away from Monticello, Utah to Spokane, Washington, to live with my oldest brother and his wife for my last year of high school, so Grandma gave me my "graduation quilt" nine months early so I could use it as a bedspread for my bed in Spokane. It has traveled with me everywhere I have gone since (over 30 different moves all over North America). It has been my bedspread in most of these places. The second quilt I still have was given to me as a wedding present. Amazingly, Grandma Jensen died two years before I was married (before I had even met Lina), but an incredibly conscientious and organized person, she had my marriage present quilt ready years in advance.
2. This poem's prosody was inspired by Sergeant Joyce Kilmer's poem, Trees.
3. This poem was a gift to my Mama on mother's day in 2002.
4. This sonnet was a gift to my Mama on mother's day in 2005.
5. For blogpost about my incident getting chased by the Bunker's Ram, click HERE.
6. In composing this poem, I unwittingly aped the words and rhythm of part of James Whitcomb Riley's poem, Out to Old Aunt Mary's. I realized this fact after publication, and added the footnote to acknowledge the subconscious impact of Riley's work on my Ode to Aunt Nedra. This piece by Riley was included in R.J. Cook's 101 Famous Poems, further underscoring the enormous influence that single anthology has had on my own poetic works.
7. Shannon had failed in her attempt to gain acceptance into a University she had applied to far from home. We (her friends) viewed this failure as a "win" for us because it means Shannon could stick around in Georgia with us.
8. Isaiah 49:16
9. This poem was written following the completely unexpected death of my first cousin, Ryan Jensen Bucker. Only four months younger than me, Ryan and I lived across the street from each other and were in the same grade growing up. He died in an airplane accident while training a student to fly on May 23, 2005, in Conway, South Carolina.
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