Dark Night and Brighter Days: ''Reflections to Myself''

By Kent Berry

WARNING!
ACHTUNG!
OPASNO!
This little book may be hazardous to your mental, spiritual, and/or physical health. If the author's measure is any gauge than it will almost certainly be hazardous to your financial health. No portion of this book should be taken as any type of advice, legal or otherwise. This book is merely the out loud musings of a Southern Man* with a southern heart from a U.S. Southern State, at the early part of the 21st century. Any similarities of any individuals are accurately attributable to the fact that we are all human beings, at least in theory, and therefore we all share similar experiences. It is NOT my objective to be cute nor is my objective to convince you or win you, or flatter you, or anything to you. It IS my objective to express myself as clearly, as honestly, as precise as I am capable. For as three comes before 4or score and seven years ago, our forefathers hung their harps on the willows and cried for Babylon. And with quills like chisels carved on the snarling face of time these words: Hello . . . . I love you . . . . wont you tell me your name?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 8, 2010
• ISBN: 9781462825066

Kent Berry

Kent resides and works in Central Arkansas where he is more popularly known for his carnivorous culinary creations. He is the owner of The American Dream Inc. which does business as The Meat Shoppe in Gravel Ridge, Arkansas, and as Kent’s Downtown in Little Rock, Arkansas. Kent was born in Little Rock, Arkansas in 1961. He is the youngest of six children. He is the proud father of two fine sons, Tyler and Samuel. He missed the opportunity to know his daughter, Emma, for she was born still.

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Copyright © 2010 by Kent Berry.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

Cover artwork, design and author’s photo by Julia Smith.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

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Contents

AN OLD MAN’S WINTER

EVENING

ARKANSAW

BAYOU METO

BIG BROTHER

BEAUTY

BIG

BITTERSWEET

CIVIL WAR SOLDIER

COLD NIGHT

COLD DARK RAIN

COLD

COMMUNICATION

COMMUNION

CORNBREAD

CURIOUS GROUP

DEAR MOM,

DICHOTOMY

DON’T KNOW WHY

FAIRY TALES

FAMILY

FEAST FOR A WEEK

FIRE AND ICE

FIRST MATE MESS

FORGIVENESS

FREUDIAN

FRIENDS

FRUIT

JESSE’S GIRL

GLIMPSES

I DON’T WANT

MY CHILDREN TO SEE

THE ROAD TAKEN

I REMEMBER

I RISE

I SAW JESUS TODAY

LAUNDRY

LAWYERLY

LITTLER

LOOK THE OTHER WAY

MAN AND MACHINE

MINDING HER OWN BUSINESS

MORNING DEW

MY DESIRE

MY MOJO

MY OBJECTIVE

MY TEMPER

NIGHTSCAPES

NOT RELIGIOUS, BUT

NOVEL OLD NOVEL

NUMBERS

ONE HUNDRED FORTY FOUR YEARS AGO

(4-15-2009)

PAYING TITHES

PIG-PEN

PUNKED

READING FACES

THE COUPLE

WAS IT ME?

STAR LIGHT, STAR BRIGHT

SHORE GOT THE BLUES

WELCOME TO THE USSA

SOMETIMES

SOS—SAME OLD SONG

STORM CLOUDS ON THE HORIZON

SWINGER OF TREES

THAT SLIPPERY HEART

THE AWAKENING

THE AZTEC

THE CARNIVORE

THE DAY I DIED

THE DIVORCE

THE EARLY WORM

THE ELEPHANT

THE FLOOD

THE LIVING PART

THE MOUSE

THE OAK TREE

THE ONLY THING IN COMMON

THE TRADE

THE TRIP

THIS VIEW

THESE TWO

DEEP ROOTED SHADE TREE

TOO MANY

TOO SIMILAR

WAS IT WRONG

WE TOO SHALL PASS

WHAT DO YOU DO?

WHAT FUN!

WHEN YOU LEAVE

WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?

WHY . . . ?

THE BLACKBERRIED LAWYER

PART II

ZOMBIES

WORKS

WOMEN

WHY NOT . . . ?"

WHERE DID IT GO?

WHEN PIGS FLY

VILLANOVA.

VEGAS

UPSIDE DOWN

TWILIGHT TRIMIGHT

TRAIN OF TOMORROW

TORN

TOO DAMN HAPPY

TO ERR IS HUMAN

THIS WORLD

THIS MESS THAT YOU MADE

THE TWO MARGARETS

THE TALL HOG

THE NOT YOU

THE NEXT TIME

THE MOSAIC

THE HEART.

THE HARDEST PART

THE FULL MOON.

THE FLAME

THE DOLLAR GENERAL

THE CITY

THE BEAST

THE ABYSS

SWEET SLEEP

SUNLIGHT

SUICIDE SLOWLY.

STRETCH

STORM

SOME JUNE NIGHT

SMOKIN’

SHE AND I

SEVEN YEAR DREAM

S/HE AND HE.

RUMORS

ROSES ARE DEAD.

RIBEYES

REMNANTS

PURPOSE

PUPPET

PUBLIC SERVICE

PRIZED TATTOOS

PRAYER FOR

PRESIDENT OBAMA

PLANE CRASH.

PERSPECTIVE

PERSPECTIVE

PARANORIA.

ON DATING

NOT THIS TIME

NIGHT DREAMS

NECESSITIES

MY SPECIALTY?

MY FRIEND.

MAYBE WE’RE WINNING!

MAY DAY, MAY DAY

MAX

LUCKY

LOVE IS MORPHINE

LOOKING AND SPINNING

LISTENING TO LOVE MUSIC

LIES

LAH-LAH LAND

KNOWLEDGE

KNOWING WHAT I HAVE KNOWN

JOUST

IT IS ENOUGH

ILLUSIONS

I WONDER.

I WONDER.

I WISH THAT I COULD CALL..

I THINK MY WORLD INTO EXISTENCE.

I HAVE BECOME

THE NOT ME

HOLE IN MY HEART

HEAVY.

HEALER.

HATE IT WHEN I HATE

GONE FOR GOOD.

GEMINI-PART II

FUNNY

FUNNY BONE

FORGIVE ME.

FDNH

FAIRY TALES

DON’T TOUCH ME THERE

DOCTOR

DECISIONS, DECISIONS

DEATH.

DARKNESS

DARK BLUE WIND

CHOICES.

CATCHING UP

BOB COX

BI-POLAR NATION.

BAD

AWAKENING TO SLEEP.

ART

ARLINGTON

AMENDMENT

ALL THAT MATTERED.

ALL SYSTEMS ARE GO . . . . ALMOST.

AIMING HIGH.

ACQUAINTED

A STORM II

A LOT OF TIMES

A LONG TIME

To my Mother Frances E. Berry, who taught me

the meaning of Unconditional Love

AN OLD MAN’S WINTER

EVENING

Snowflakes race in spiral lines

to gather on the laden pines

that humbly bow beneath the strain

of heavy snow and frozen rain.

Now and then a branch will break

beneath the uninvited weight

and is buried in a grave of snow

no one but I will ever know.

Though the path to Ison’s place

has for the moment been erased

I think that I shall always know

the way that is the best to go

with memories from so long ago.

There she lays, ole Ison’s pond

the one we used to gather on

where I’d bust my butt and bruise my head

and push and pull that wooden sled

that papa let us help him make

that time it snowed on Christmas day.

Faintly now I think I hear

the sound of children’s laughter near

and I become a child again

playing here with all my friends.

Over the hill comes a bundled bunch

I’m not real sure but I have a hunch

that’s old man Ison’s great grandkids

came home for Christmas like I did.

They came to play; I came to sleep

for now the snow is far too deep

and thoughts are heavy on me now

that make my wearied head to bow.

For soon I know they’ll carry me

with all my friends and family

down the isle and through the gate

to my plot at Aldersgate.

They’ll bid me bye; They’ll bid me well;

of after-life though; who can tell?

In the end I bend for fear I’ll be

A stone in the mist of stones

A name in a field of names

and who will ever know, but me?

kent

ARKANSAW

Arkansaw had a banjo.

He played it every night

we’d all listen to Arkansaw

and forget The War for a minute

some turned their heads to cry.

He never mentioned her by name

but he nursed a broken heart

called her names like darlin and sugar and honey

we could tell that she must of been something special

by the way he played and sang.

The War was a small thing for Arkansaw

he had bigger battles to fight

half the time he’d misplace his balls

or get his powder wet

but he wouldn’t part with that banjo

come hell or high water

he’d hold it above his head.

Ole Arkansaw had a banjo

he could pick it to a fair thee well

we all placed bets on what her name was

but Arkansaw wouldn’t tell.

BAYOU METO

Words are thoughts incarnate

ideas manifest

the liquid side of vapor

condensated into flesh.

Like the water that rest in the bayou

because the slope of the land is flat.

The water lays quiet and still and placid

and sometimes, I like to think, asleep.

But when the rain comes

and the water awakens and starts to run

sometimes the flow is swift

and the level rises up to the brim and then

over the bank.

Such running water everywhere

that one can hardly scoop it up

and most of it slips away.

And the water rises higher, up to the horses bridal

and hope begins to swell, that the horse too can swim.

But even a horse as good as he

can’t swim indefinitely

with me up high on him.

I get down to wade with him

and we walk gingerly through the murky water

he shakes his mane and gives a brisk snort

as if to complain or maybe explain

we’re both in this together.

The water slips down the bayou

and out to the river and down to the sea

and eventually up to the sky, even above the sky;

The firmament.

You can’t always see it there

but it’s there

waiting to return to me.

And when it returns

I like to turn my face upward

and open my mouth

and catch the remnants

that are lured to me.

Who could complain?

What mysteries explained!

The wonder and comfort,

recycled rain.

BIG BROTHER

Everyone needs a good poem

Who could disagree?

So the Bureau of Standards in Agreement

of what we all doth need.

Established a law; all by themselves.

The law