Word Warrior: Killing Them Softly One Rhyme at a Time

By Gene Strother

 

For the first time, author Gene Strother releases a book under his own name rather than his pseudonym, L.A. Holly. This is a collection of poetry and prose, raw and real, and personal. Gene writes about life in the trenches, growing up lower middle-class and in a conservative Christian family in small-town Texas, his dalliance with pulpit ministry, toeing the line, crossing the line, marriage, fatherhood, friendship, loss, and love with all its gains and losses. From the silly to the sublime, from heartbreak to heartache, laughter to tears, from dreamland to glory land.

Gene writes, "At first, I was a Mockingbird, singing one song that impressed me, and then another....But somewhere along the way, somewhere in the listening and the resonating and the emulating, I became. I emerged. A Nightingale."

Join this modern-day Psalmist on a journey that is sure to take you back to special times in your life and on to the great unknown. This is poetry. And most of it rhymes.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gene Strother
• Release date: May 2, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223133407

Gene Strother

Gene Strother is a storyteller. He has been telling stories since he first stood before a crowd to preach at age eight. He blogs. He writes poetry. He tells stories. In his spare time, he is president of Adjust U, a school devoted to training insurance professionals.

Book preview

Foreword

I first met Gene Strother when we worked together in a rough little middle school in North Texas. As we shared a background in ministry, our love of the written word, and our pride in the Lone Star State, we became fast friends. Gene may not have realized it, but he became a mentor to me. He’d seen more of the world, been behind the curtain long enough to know how a broken guy like me ticked. Over the brief time we worked together, he encouraged me in my faith and bolstered what little confidence I had in my writing.

Several years later, I asked Gene to step into his ministry shoes again and officiate my wedding. It was a harder task than it should have been. My dad—my hero—had died a year earlier. He had been my pastor, my friend, and the best father I could have hoped for this side of heaven. Two days before the wedding, my mom had a massive stroke. She wouldn’t hear of us postponing, so the big day came without my parents there with me.

I had asked Gene to use my father’s worn bible for the ceremony—my way of keeping Dad close. It was a simple request, of course, and Gene politely obliged. When the wedding came, however, Gene made a point of sharing with those gathered that he was using my dad’s bible. He said he was honored to be entrusted with it and stand in for such a good father, minister, and man. I had a lump in my throat. It wasn’t just the instincts of an excellent speaker that prompted the moment. It was an act of love from a dear friend who understood the absence I felt.

Over the years, Gene and I have pursued the written word in poetry, fiction, and editorial articles about whatever subject compelled us to dive in. He’s never ceased to encourage and uplift me the way a friend should (even though I rarely write the genres he’s most drawn to). He’s never asked for much but the occasional input or, in this instance, a foreword.

Everyone in Gene’s life knows his three daughters are his pride and joy. They’ve given him grandchildren and sons-in-law that further enrich his journey. Along with his lovely wife, Donya, they have all helped forge him into the man he is today.

As you delve into these poetic works, you will discover several dimensions of this Texan poet. These include his passion for traveling, his deep affection for family, his unwavering faith, his strong connection to the Lone Star state, and, of course, his exceptional ability to convey these aspects through uncomplicated yet powerful verses. In this poetry, you’ll catch glimpses of his humor and wit, his devotion, curiosity, and the many thoughts that tumble through his singular mind. Once you’ve finished, you’ll know a bit of the man I call my friend and brother.

So, sit back, sip on the beverage of your choice, and take a stroll through the poetry that awaits you. By the time your journey has concluded, you’ll know Gene Strother a bit better. Twenty-one years of friendship tells me it will be worth your effort. I’m no prognosticator or prophet, but I suspect you’ll be thankful for the introduction.

You’re welcome.

J. Patrick Lemarr

Dedication

For Donya

Your beauty is the brilliance of first light

The darkest mystery of the deepest night

A dozen roses would never do

10,000 roses don’t equal you

Your beauty is the crest of the highest peak

The words stuck in my throat when I try to speak

Every word in every tongue

Every song ever sung

Every church bell ever rung

Every lily in every meadow

They’re all content to live in the shadow

Of the beauty God put on ya

My dearest love, my priceless

Donya

Written on Valentine’s Day, February 14th, 2023.

Like a lily among the thorns is my darling among the maidens.

Song of Solomon 2:2, the holy bible, King James Version

Preface

The first poem I put to memory as a boy was Wilbur Wright and Orville Wright by Rosemary and Stephen Vincent Benet. It had a crisp pace, a pleasing meter, and it rhymed.

It goes like this:

Said Orville Wright to Wilbur Wright,

"These birds are very trying.

I’m sick of hearing them cheep-cheep

About the fun of flying.

A bird has feathers, it is true.

That much I freely grant.

But must that stop us, W?"

Said Wilbur Wright, It shan’t.

And so they built a glider, first,

And then they built another.

—There never were two brothers more

Devoted to each other.

They ran a dusty little shop

For bicycle-repairing,

And bought each other soda-pop

And praised each other’s daring.

They glided here, they glided there,

They sometimes skinned their noses.

—For learning how to rule the air

Was not a bed of roses—

But each would murmur, afterward,

While patching up his bro.

Are we discouraged, W?

Of course we are not, O!

And finally, at Kitty Hawk

In Nineteen-Three (let’s cheer it!),

The first real airplane really flew

With Orville there to steer it!

—And kingdoms may forget their kings

And dogs forget their bites,

But not till Man forgets his wings

Will men forget the Wrights.

I was hooked.

Along the way, I met with works from Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Rudyard Kipling, Robert Frost, Emily Dickinson, Edgar Allen Poe, and a host of others who conveyed truth, emotion, history, deception, love, honor, horror, and every other conceivable experience or quality of life in meter, in time, in rhyme.

I ask for your forgiveness and forbearance but my poetry, for the most part, rhymes. You may not hear it at an angsty, caffeine-fueled coffee shop poetry reading. But if you feel it in your bones, if it is pleasant to your ear, if it makes you wistful, hopeful, or fills you with dread, if it evokes any sort of honest emotion in you, if it makes you think, if it makes you wonder, if it frees you to wander, if it helps you remember...or forget, then I will not have rhymed in vain.

I have also sprinkled in a few thoughts, self-quotes, and some commentary, as well as Scriptural references. If you enjoy it, share it. If you don’t, give it to someone who might. In either case, I welcome your response.

Gene Strother

How to read a poem

A picture containing text, different Description automatically generated

I have this favorite little Mexican restaurant where I eat lunch more Thursdays than not. It is named Don Juan’s and sports the tagline, Romantic Mexican food. It is not high-toned or upscale. Quite the opposite, in fact. But if you love tacos – and I do – it is pure romance. Besides, as of this writing, you can get five tacos for less than five bucks, but only on Thursday.

The restaurant seems like it ought to be in a theme park, like Six Flags over Texas, which is only a few miles down the road, or maybe Disneyland, which is way, way down the road, in Anaheim, California. It is smallish the way a theme park restaurant might be, like a shrunken version of an actual standalone restaurant on Main Street, America. Even the restrooms are out back and not accessible from the dining room. You have to get the code for that day to unlock the door. Don Juan’s is not a theme park restaurant. It stands alone on Main Street in Grand Prairie, Texas, and has since September 13, 1966. A framed picture of John F. Kennedy standing atop his motorcade car in 1960 and addressing a throng of Texans from the center of Main Street and near the spot where Don Juan’s would be built six years later hangs on the wall near the front entry door.

This place has history and I have