Eclectic Harvest

By Don Agey

This book is a compilation of years of struggle not just in life but in learning how to hone my craft, such as it is, and create something that I’m assuming others would want to read.

When I was honorably discharged from the navy, I found myself in the situation where none of the people I came home to had any idea of what I went through. There was a pressure in my head and my heart that I did not know how to release until I wrote my first poem. I hold feelings in, and I don’t know how to articulate what’s going on. But that first poem opened a door, and I gladly stepped in.

Some of my earliest poems are not in this book because they failed the test of time and several moves and bad choices in storage. Some were rewritten to a certain point or they just diverged as my skills grew. Some are dedicated to my wife, Kerri, and the meeting, greeting, wooing, sharing and the painful exit where I was forced to say goodbye.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 26, 2017
• ISBN: 9781543453829

Don Agey

N/A

Book preview

Wretched Words

I’d love to write in tangled verse

And abstract solemn rhymes

So all would want to read my terse

And melancholy lines

Or maybe get my point across

In labyrinthine lines

And get my readers all but lost

With convoluted signs

But melancholy just won’t work

And neither will the rhyme

I so struggle spelling labyrinth

The meter is a crime

And when they read my poetry

My peers and those about

They call the bar for stronger drink

And throw the author out

But I’ll keep writing poetry

At least that is I’ll try

‘til the sun comes from the west

Until my mind runs dry

Short, but True

I think and ponder lovely thoughts

And paragraphs profound

But then putting pen to thoughts

No such thing was found

O.K., before anything else some definitions. Denouement: the final resolution of all of the plot lines. This means that all of the questions are answered before the bows. Gran faux pas: Gran; large, great, grand. Faux pas: lapse, error, a moral fall, failure, decline. Adapted from the stage by the imnensaeble!?!? Don Agey, whew!

Life Stage

There was a time too long ago

When I knew what was what

I understood each act and so

I trod the boards with thought

I understood the part I played

What scenarios were mine

My mind was just a little frayed

But I mostly towed the line

A time or two I went off script

Or I simply missed my mark

The time my memory slipped

Or when my mind went dark

So all in all it wasn’t bad

This tap dance through my life

And all the adlibs to be had

Lent a fun sense to this life

Then things began to disappear

Like where to find my mark

My dialogue would not adhere

And why’s the stage so dark

So I approach the denouement

With one thing coming clear

Life is just one gran faux pas

And my exit line is here

This is another curious case of not knowing where it came from, where it was going, or what it said when it was completed. There is a term for this and I think it is ’free association’. If I had to translate that I would probably go with—a loose mind on hallucinogenic drugs.

O.K., So?

Tangentially speaking

Or right down the center

With my voice squeaking

Like some holy repenter

I mumble egregiously

And twiddle a thumb

Or speak quite propitiously

While chewing on gum

Or yet overly courteous

I then bow and salute

Not to be discourteous

Or too dissolute

Yet speaking or mumbling

Or bowing from the waist

Although very humbling

Is not that well placed

Instead I should whisper

Or use a low tone

And make each word crisper

To which I’m not prone

Having said a lot of nothing

With a lot of words I fear

I should accomplish one thing

By mercifully ending it here

All of us are flawed and all of us do stupid things. I do stupid things and make mistakes both big and small. When I do I pray for forgiveness. The problem comes when I can’t hear or recognize the answer.

I have this fear that I am deaf, or something is broken.

Failed

I make mistakes, I’m deeply flawed

And I do stupid things

The stuff I do no one could laud

Or all the crap it brings

It’s hard to learn from my mistakes

No matter what I do

Not sure now just what it takes

To start this life anew

But then You see it’s not my fault

You’re the one to blame

I prayed that it would all just halt

But You came up lame

O.K. so maybe that’s not fair

And maybe I can’t hear

I reach out and You’re not there

That’s my biggest fear

I’m not looking for exemption

For the things I’ve done

I’m afraid there’s no redemption

When I’ve run my run

I need help to make me whole

My cards are on the table

I am Yours heart, mind and soul

As much as I am able

December 13, 1955—December 08, 2004

As I am putting this book together it has been six years and three months since she died. There is a hole in my life and a vacancy in this house. This dwelling is still not a home, but a house where I plant my body after work and my cat makes her home.

My Heart

I stood my post the other day

And received the sorry word

That my life had passed away

When a painful loss occurred

Cast from a crooked mountain

By a sorry, wretched hand

Like from a broken fountain

Her life did flow, disband

Three lives cast aside that day

As they left the mountain road

Really four were thrown away

Because my life with her rode

I left our home the night before

Said I’d see her in the morning

Now it’s just a house; not more

Where I dwell in mourning

Life that we had planned for two

And the promise and the years

Swept away and left one who

Abides in loneliness and tears

Days go by in a steady flowing

Marked well by what’s not there

I should, I guess, note their going

But I really don’t give a. . . care

The daily grind. I don’t know how people can do this day after day. At work there is one night where I have certain things to accomplish in