Elder Verse

By Richard Leighton

"Elder Verse" is a collection of 100 poems. The book's name confirms that it is a book of free verse, written by an elder. The introductory poem cites the similarity of the book's name with the flower and song, "Edelweisse" which is depicted on the front cover. The poems cover topics of poetry, dreams, exercise and games, family and pets, happiness and guilt, history, medicine and health, modern life, nature and travel.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gatekeeper Press
• Release date: Sep 14, 2021
• ISBN: 9781662917240

Book preview

Poetry

Cleansing

Why would you read

a book of poetry?

Or even pause

in your busy day

to ponder a poem?

In his dedication of

The Robert Frost Library,

JFK spoke and said:

"When power narrows the

areas of man’s concern

poetry reminds him of

the richness and diversity

of his existence.

When power corrupts,

poetry cleanses."

Cleanses not just the

reader but cleanses

the poet, enabling

catharsis as he/she

considers the power

of words, spoken and

penned, providing an

outlet for feelings long

veiled, cleansing the soul.

Crossing the Fasciculus

When I envision a poem

in my right-handed brain,

it’s born in the left

hemisphere: in a site

described by Carl Wernicke,

a man after my own heart,

who died prematurely

from an accident involving

a favorite diversion:

pedaling the bicycle.

But while Wernicke

guides the poem’s creation

and the growth of its content,

in its final maturation

a poem must be vocalized.

Not enough to be conceived

in Wernicke’s area, it must

cross the arcuate fasciculus:

that bridge ‘tween

hemispheres and find a

home in Broca’s area

where it gains expression.

Much like the guslar:

that Slavian bard who,

accompanies his narration

on a single-stringed

instrument.

Redolent of the recurrent

telling of tales and

singing of songs that

preserved the verses of

the Iliad and the Odyssey.

The words fall in sequence,

dropping from lips and tongue.

Only then can the poem

achieve completion,

having crossed the fasciculus.

Le Merle Blanc

"You will memorize

and you will recite,"

said my French teacher.

I selected a fantasy,

titled, Le Merle Blanc,

or the White Blackbird:

an ode I can still

recite 70 years later.

Little did I know

the title was shared by

a French movie and

a popular Bordeaux

white wine.

The story I chose

is of an unhappy bird

due to his mutation:

white instead of black.

This led him to write

poems for publication:

love poems since

"il a passé sa vie

entiere dans le celibat."

At the depth of his

misery he received a

letter from London.

A female blackbird

had read his poems.

Enchanted, she sought

his acquaintance.

Le Merle Blanc

promptly responded.

The rest is history.

The love birds met and

lived happily ever after.

Not so for my poems.

They are tolerated by

friends and family.

Likely ‘cause I have

not the talent of

Le Merle Blanc.

Legacy

Why write poetry?

Why write at all?

Life is short.

Soon we’ll be gone.

Who will remember

what we accomplished

in this short span?

Colleagues and mentees

for a few years.

Children, of course;

grandchildren, likely;

Great grandchildren,

unlikely.

Photos may last

‘til future generations

find and wonder,

before discarding:

"Who was that

person?"

Photos on discs

can be played

and viewed with

today’s technology.

Technology changes

fast. Even in 50 years

discs may be outdated

with no way to

recover their contents.

Books, even if

self-published may

survive in the keeping

of descendants.

Maybe they’ll be

rediscovered, opened

and actually read.

Clinging to that hope,

I continue to write:

poems that read more

like prose: an extension

of my memoir, covering

the later years.

Another reason

for writing: to

preserve memories:

memories sparked

by saved photos;

memories to share

with poem readers.

All this constitutes

my legacy: a legacy

I want to preserve.

Foolish, you say.

Perhaps but still

it’s my legacy.

Still Climbing

An inaugural poem

written and presented

by Amanda Gorman,

National Youth Poet

Laureate, entitled

The Hill We Climb

speaks of "a force

that would shatter our nation:"

A reference to a presidential

incited mob that threatened

to spoil the duty of congress:

certifying results of an election.

Yet she concludes,

"We’ve weathered

and witnessed a

nation that isn’t broken,

but simply unfinished."

I’m reminded of the spiritual,

We Are Climbing Jacob’s

Ladder, its composition

attributed to American slaves:

We are climbing and

"Ev’ry round goes higher,

higher." Amanda is right.

A nation unfinished is

still climbing.

Dreams

Dream Catcher

In Lakota lore

the spiritual leader,

Iktomi appeared as a

spider that wove a web:

horsehair, feathers and

beads: a perfect circle.

The air is filled with

good and bad dreams.

Good ideas and dreams

slip through the web,

glide down the feathers

to the sleeper below.

Bad ideas and dreams

caught in the web,

perish with rays

of the rising sun,

no longer a part of life.

In exchange for support,

Lakotas sent me a

Dream Catcher, now on

the windowshade,

swinging freely,

overlooking my bed.

My sleep undisturbed,

I awake rested,

knowing my dreans

have been filtered:

the good ones intact,

the bad ones caught

in my Dream Catcher.

In My Imagination