Seeker Magazine

RNeal

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Soup Beans and Cornbread | Sometimes…
The Ruby Moon | Our Poem... | For Me…

Born in West Virginia, and now residing in central Virginia, RNeal describes himself as a 'well rounded generalist'. He currently works in the information services department for a private university. Concerned about environmental issues, education, and economically disadvantaged children, he formed a group that has now placed over 200 computers into these children's homes, in several different states. He has also been very active in placing used computer equipment in schools, resulting in literally hundreds of computers and peripherals being kept out of landfills.

He says:

Although I have myriad interests in technology, I yearn for the simpler times of pencil and paper.

I enjoy teaching, writing, and playing with my grandkids. My writing is influenced by many fine classic and contemporary poets. A few of my favorites are: Edgar Allen Poe, of course, because he put the POE in POEtry (Annabelle Lee), Thomas Moore (How Oft Has the Banshee Cried), William Butler Yeats (The Song of Wandering Aengus), Robert Plant (Stairway To Heaven), Dylan Thomas (Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night), and Bernie Taupin (Candle In The Wind).

Soup Beans and Cornbread

I promised myself
that I would never eat
soup beans and cornbread
again, when I grew up.
That pancakes and homemade syrup
would never be served in my home.
That I would never wear
patched blue jeans
or a crew cut ever again!
Such is the promise of youthful
naivete of the real world,
in which my mother
raised nine children by herself.
She made it look easy,
as though wood cookstoves
and hand sewn quilts
were her lifestyle choices.
As though working in a coal mine
was her decision
and not the requirement
for earning a decent wage
in an Appalachian man's world.
Yes, I promised these things
as I squeezed in between
my 8 brothers and sisters
at the dinner table,
and watched mom fill my plate
with soup beans and cornbread
before gathering her hard hat,
boots, and breathing apparatus
to work the 2nd shift
In a West Virginia coal mine.


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Sometimes…

Sometimes in the evening's silence,
Sometimes in the light of day,
Seldom with a moments notice,
You often take my breath away.
And for that moment, I stand empty,
I watch the wind caress your hair.
Your brown eyes forever haunt me,
I see my reflection there.
And then the moment passes rudely.
Startled feelings take its place.
I find my heart's been racing madly
While I was staring into space...


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The Ruby Moon

I spend the night inside my soul
Beneath the ruby moon.
Amid the bouncing echoes,
Here, inside my solemn tomb.
Where each wall has a mural,
painted scenes with shades of tears.
And I sit in the corner...
I've been sitting here for years.
Today looks like tomorrow
and just like yesterday.
I can't tell the difference
from the corner anyway.
But I don't cry for yesterdays
I wear them on my face.
I earned each wrinkle proudly
as I fell from youthful grace.
And when my night is over
and the ruby moon has set,
I will fade from memory
How sad… we all forget.

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Our Poem...

My Darling,

I have suddenly
noticed that Fall
seems to have settled
upon us, somehow...
I saw it, this morning,
reflected in the
grandkids eyes,
as I paused
to catch my breath
while playing ball
with them.

And now, staring
at myself,
I realize
that I did not see
my mirror change
from boy to man,
because you
have always been
the girl I married,
and I have always
seen myself
through your eyes.

Yes, Fall
is upon us...
But I consider
our wrinkles,
to be lines
in Our Poem...
And, with
subtle gray tones
beginning to appear
as time changes
our font color,
our verses have
become shorter
with smiles
and glances
replacing words
that no longer need
to be spoken
between us.

I just want
to tell you
how wonderful it is
to write with you.
That our hearts
have always been
a matched set,
and always will be,
until our last words
are written
and we end
Our Poem
together...


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For Me…

I am always melancholy in the Fall.
It could be those memories of Spring,
Laying strewn upon the ground
While the bare bones above,
At the mercy of the wind,
Cast skeletal shadows in the moonlit pallor.
Everything seems more precious to me then.
And I breathe more deeply the morning air,
And I listen more closely to the evening sounds,
And I ache for something...
Or someone...
Or, sadly, perhaps
For me.


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(Copyright 2001 - All Rights Reserved by RNeal - No reproduction without express permission from the author)

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Letter to the Author:
RNeal at poetique1@hotmail.com