I am not a poet, but I do enjoy poetry.
“Recently,” that is during the past two years, I have sought out, posted and written about a type of poetry that has gone viral in the aftermath of the 2016 election, “(Political) Poetry in the Time of Trump.”
But powerful and politically effective as it may or may not be, political poems will never compare to good, traditional poems.
A good poem “makes you feel like you’ve been there before, or want to go…” – Rebecca Kai Dotlich
A good poem is “a communication from one soul to another that makes one or both hearts sing.” – Walter Mayes
A good poem “captures a certain moment, or memory, like a ‘word photograph’… A good poem is a photograph capturing the most forgettable and the most unforgettable moments in our lives.” – Janet S. Wong
Well, a poem I read today displayed all three qualities, especially the ones about “capturing…a memory” and making one feel like you’ve been there before.
You see, some of the most idyllic and memorable times of my early youth are the days and weeks I spent in El Oriente –- Ecuador’s magnificent rain forest, but a paradise almost lost — chasing colorful butterflies and admiring delicate, iridescent colibris (humming birds) during the day, chasing and catching flashing luciérnagas (fireflies) at nightfall and finally falling asleep listening to a chorus of a thousand chirping, trilling grillos (crickets).
I rediscovered or rememembered all this, and more, in a beautiful, wistful poem written by Peter W. Johnson — former contributor at The Moderate Voice — and published at Poets Unlimited
Enjoy!
INHERITANCE
Remember butterflies and fireflies
Dodging and flashing on hot summer nights
Remember stars lighting the way for children to dance?
We positioned our jars and lids on either side
As we trapped their beauty and kept it inside
Now I’m a man 66 years old
But my memories are young, still learning to walk
Tired of the talk which has long deafened my ears
Now wanting to listen, now wanting to hear
How do I know if I’ve seen God’s face?
Was it hidden in and around the sky and its space?
Waiting for children to laugh in the night
Catching sparkles of light shifting in flight
We truly found what forever we’d keep
Without toiling or reaping it swayed with the breeze
And there it was while we were so young
Remembered like waves catching the sun
Those in our cities and ghettos
Never living without tensions or strife
Where children can’t hear the crickets of night
May be bereft of these memories and snapshots in time
Still, they might have a place where thieves neither break in or steal
A place that is theirs, a place that is real
They might stand on a roof, headlights sparkling below
Knowing soft places where peace ebbs and flows
But we were all children, a billion years old
As we witnessed those firefly nights
And we captured a place with no space and time
Where the world was just yours and the world was just mine
Lead image — Ecuadorean hummingbird – Courtesy Dr. Claudia Krasnoff
The author is a retired U.S. Air Force officer and a writer.