Poetry & Short Stories
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WITHIN A DREAM
"Wake", she said,"A beautiful day has dawned."
As if by the touch of a magic wand
eyes open to a majestic view.
Unto a world so fresh and new.
"Beautiful." said I. "This is true.
But, my love it cannot compare to the beauty of you."
The thought so nice, but trouble in the tone.
"Tell me my love."said she."Is something wrong?
Your voice so weak it trembles so.
Is there something I need know?"
"It is nothing, nothing at all." said I.
Silly me, I dreamed I died.
Faded silently as Winter fades to Spring.
I heard the angels sing."
"Come",said she."Lay your head upon my breast.
Try to forget, that would be best."
"A dream so real it seemed." said I.
"So fast life did pass me by.
God looked down upon me,
He welcomed me to eternity.
He took my trembling hand,
And, led me to Heaven's land.
He walked with me through the gates.
Such a feeling I cannot relate."
"I was led to a great white throne,
And, an angel sang a soothing song.
Smiles lighted the faces about,
And, when a crown was placed on my head,
There rose a joyful shout.
Before me lie the most perfect hills,
Covered with green grass and daffodils."
"A stream that ran smooth and clear,
Reflected the sky as if a mirror.
A feeling of peace fell over me,
And, I knew I was truly free."
Said she, "It was only a dream, not yet true.
Please my love, let it not worry you.
Let us not fill this day with sorrow,
Nor with fears held within tomorrow.
Let us be together this day,
And, cast such thoughts away."
"Yes." said I." I must leave these thoughts behind,
But so heavily they bear upon my mind."
"Now this day has passed me by.
And the dream remains here behind.
Still it lingers within my mind.
Shall it fill my every day?
Shall it never falter, never sway?"
" And, as I lay my head again to sleep,
Thoughts of the dream I seem to keep.
The silence is almost to much to bear,
And, I ponder on the answers withheld there."
" What is this which troubles me?
Why does it not leave me be?
Why can I not leave behind?
The worries that haunt my mind?
Is it death which I feel so nigh?
Is it truly my turn to die?"
" Yes, life has passed with this thought,
And its last battle thus is fought.
Hence death has came for me,
And I as man, cease to be."
"Listen, my love, to this I say,
Ponder this thought, let not it sway.
Find thy God and serve him well.
For I have awakened to stand,
Before the gates of hell."
The poem below appeared in the February 2018 issue of Kentucky Monthly Magazine's 10th annual Writer's Showcase. Various writer's from Kentucky
submitted to the competition. There were 15 writers of fiction, nonfiction, poetry and the novel category selected for inclusion.
MY Kentucky
(written 2016)
Near to Heaven where
The rolling hills touch
the night fall sky
I pause in somber thought
while whip-poor-wills sing
their lonely song which echoes
through the misty hollers.
I think of a long lost day
when Grandpa would rise to say:
"The herbs in the hills
are waiting for us to come."
Money was needed crops
were begging to be seeded.
Precious commodities of nature's toil
thriving deep within deep dark soil.
Blood root, and sassafras bark buried
deep rich and dark, yellow root and
mayapple root treasures of our
Appalachian home.
Memories of days
come and gone; where pocket money
jingled in cut off jeans
and the worries were so few it seemed.
Slippery Elms stripped of their bark
Weighted burlap bag on my shoulder
heading home at the edge of dark.
Our pockets bulging with ginseng
knowing the cash it would bring
would tide us over well into Spring.
Grandpa would pray for a good season
and if it was not
he knew it was for a reason.
We would make do because
that's what you do
when Appalachia holds you nigh
beneath her crisp blue skies.
My days of youth were filled
with peace, honesty and truth,
and tradition taught well
by a Grandpa who had so much to tell.
If there were hardships I had to bear
they were made much easier
simply by his being there.
And now....... memories
are all I can hold close to my heart
and I will always treasure those days
when we were never apart.
(Note)
I wrote this poem in memory of my grandpa Ed who taught me the many herbs, plants and trees that Kentucky has to offer from it's bountiful hills and soils. After we moved from Ohio when I was twelve, he and I spent many, many days in the hills and he filled my young mind with treasured stories of the hills and of his youth, and also taught me the value of knowing the roots, herbs and trees. I earned many dollars in my youth by gathering the roots and barks from the hills. But, the time with him and his stories were more precious than the money; for it is his words that gave me the stories and connection to Appalachia which I now strive to pen into my writings.
This poem was written in 1974 while I sat on a towering sandstone cliff which over looked the creek which meandered near my home. Many of my youthful days were spent in or around this peaceful little stream. Much of my poetry was written there among the natural beauty of the stream as well.
POEM FOR PAINT CREEK
In the wind swept days of March
I have walked through golden fields
And roamed o'er these peaceful hills
I have conquered towering cliffs
Climbing to their summit
To kiss the sky
Among the tree tops
There I have thought
With the silence of
Nature around me
And I was overcome
By her many wonders
I have drifted silently
With the gentle flow
of this winding stream
Where sun sparkled diamonds
Lie sprinkled on rippling waters
I have touched - no embraced
The beauty of this land
It has been my friend
I have came here often
To seek its freedom
Seek its silence
I have found both
For hours on end
I silently sat
Touching distant dreams
That lay hidden beyond
Blue capped hills
I have walked o'er
Pastures that edge
This majestic stream
And felt the spirit
Of forefathers past
The labors of hours spent
Clearing this precious land
Here - their earthly home
And peaceful reward of life
And now in fertile soils
Have found
Eternal
.Rest
This poem appeared in BRYANT LITERARY REVIEW Vol.20 2019 It was written in 1973.
NIGHT SHADOWS
Night shadows
lie on empty walls
like the silhouettes
of yesterday's dreams
just out of reach
taunting me it seems
Their silence grows around me
and their ghostly forms
touch my soul - oh tender soul
only to mutter broken words
of forgotten past
The heartbeats
of their reflections
grow hauntingly - mystically
within my slumbered mind
their crying thoughts
(becoming me)
(knowing me)
from the inner part
of my self being
Night shadows
close my eyes to sleep
becoming the foundation
of my weary dreams
and when i awaken
i find them gone
(replaced by gentle dawn)
This short poem appeared in the Spring 2018 issue of THE Crucibile.
summe eve
far in the hollow
a whip-poor-will calls
summoning slumber
as night gently
falls
These two poems appeared in the Fall/Winter issue of COMMON GROUND REVIEW 2020.
Within:night
night falls around me
a blackened fog
to swallow land
and sea
but it does not
comfort me
the silence of
tomorrow
calls beyond
velvet mists
with the voices
of lovers lost
in the silence of this
mystic night
mind pauses
pretends
to know the burdens
that came with the loss
but even it is unknowing
of the emptiness into
which I descend
I wrap myself within
the empty arms
of the lonely night
I close my mind to
thought
my eyes to sight
and pray for the kiss
of the gentle dawn
and strength
to carry on.
WITHIN
Within silver veil of
midnight frail
wants flow from
confines
of visceral mind.
Within thought
unsought
soft sonnet gently primes;
from deep within
distant time.
Where loves
remembered
caress the embers
of erstwhile smile.
In sweet voice
of yesterday
a whisper spills
(i love you still)
This poem is the first poem of mine ever to be published in a literary magazine. It appeared in the Fall/Winter 1999 issue of PEGASUS, The journal of The Kentucky State Poetry Society.
THE HOMEPLACE BARN
Weathered weary gray
when first we came
victim of time; stress
strained; canted bow
slightly fro.
Slender poplar sentinels
tattooed with hearts of
unknown lovers lost
burdened by weighted years
those weary tiers.
Armored of regal oak
now old knight; still
peeking 'neath rusty helmet
of friendly tin;
even then.
Within hallowed hall
powdery carpet stirred
remnants of decades spent
in faithful duty attended;
scars unmended.
Sagging hinged arms
opened wide; welcoming shelter
from lazy summer storms;
in rhythmic tin - caught pelts
slumber melts.
Age old worn by time
like homeplace now is gone
cherished old friend
of youthful, peaceful day
collapsed today.
The two poems below appeared in the Autumn/Winter 2003issue of PROMISE MAGAZINE
RAINY DAY CHILD
Rainy day child
why do you stand
in the shadows of your room
watching the morning rain?
Hugging white lace curtains
staring into distant worlds
that lie somewhere beyond
the misty day.
In silence
you watch
as your
dreams
float
away
in
small
trickle streams
of cracked cement beds
to waiting gutters.
And you remember now
the broken promises
of undying love
so you pin
I
LOVE
YOU!
With Your
finger to he steamed glass.
Then crawl back into bed
to dream away the day.
Slumber softly
Rainy Day
Child
.
YESTERDAY'S CHILD
Yesterday's child
Golden tanned
By gentle summer day,
A certain beauty filled
Your dark brown eyes.
(I Loved You)
(Did You Know)
Yesterday....
Oh, sweet yesterday
The dawn often found us
Together, softly waking
To taste her dew sweet air.
And the nights,
The nights were filled
With our laughter
As we touched the sky
And tried to count
The endless stars
Sprinkled there.
But, your dreams lay
Scattered on the restless wind.
(I hope you find them)
And now sometimes at night
I try to count the stars
One - two - three....
I loose my count.
It has been so long
Since I have tasted
The sweet morning dew,
So long since I knew
Sweet love.
This poem appeared in PROMISE MAGAZINE AUTUMN/Winter 2004 issue
winter sky
sometimes i sit
on the edge
of the world,
and watch
the winter sky unfold
beyond my reaching eyes
cold gray
of evening skies
swallow the mists
of sun's last report;
orange, yellow, now silver veil
until all light has failed,
and where blue sky
once reigned
now glimmers not a
single ray
of passing day
beyond thick
and gathering
clouds
i speak
my thoughts
aloud ------
(take me , too.)
Copyrighted material. Please do not copy or use without consent of the author.
This short story appeared in the November 2000 issue of BLUE RIDGE TRADITIONS magazine.
HELL'S HALF ACRE
I have always been told that Paint Creek got its name from
the Indians that occupied the area before it was settled by
the white man. The settlers called it such because the Indians
used the colored earth there to paint their paintings on the
cliffs and trees near the mouth of the stream.
The creek had cut through the hills eons ago, carving
through the sandstone rock, leaving high cliffs in many
places, and depositing sandy bottom land in the low lying areas
of its path.
The creek splits into two forks toward the headwaters.
These are called Big Paint and Little Paint. Lost Creek lies
in this area. Lost Creek is a rugged area situated in the shadows of high hills and towering cliffs. Some of these cliffs jut
toward the sky in heights of one hundred feet above the waterway.
Hell's Half Acre is in the depths of Lost Creek. The satanic
name is for a sheer formation of rock that has an area of
about one half acre at its pinnacle. The extrusion stands like
a guardian in one of the deepest, darkest hollows in the Paint
Creek area. It has been said that icicles still cling to the
walls of Hell's Half Acre well into the month of June. Here
the sun strains to penetrate the dense foliage and the depth
of the hollow, and a chill can touch the soul of a man, even
on the hottest of summer days.
Near end of the 19th century Jeremiah Garret worked the
hills and hollows of Paint Creek. He spent long hard days falling
trees and hauling them with a team of mules to the creek to
float to the mill at its mouth. Jeremiah was a big man, standing
six feet two inches in height, with shoulders broad and strong,
toughened by his labors.
Jeremiah loved the hills where he lived. He was born in
the right time and place for his nature. His time was spent
out doors for the most part. When he wasn't working in the
timber he was hunting and fishing near his cabin.
He had never taken a wife, though he was well into his
thirties. Too set in his ways of the wild, a wife would not
fit his character. Besides, he liked to take extended hunting
trips, this would not be just to a woman. It was much too rugged
of an area to be left alone in a cabin so far from others.
His only companions were two brawny coon hounds. These
dogs, one red-bone and one blue-tick, occupied the cabin with
the man. They guarded the cabin in his absence and kept him
company in his time at home. The trio shared nights in the hills
treeing raccoons. Jeremiah hunted these masked varmints for
the hides. These pelts provided him with extra income when
the winter months were to severe to log.It was one of these overnight hunting trips in late August that led Jeremiah to what is now known as Hell's Half Acre.
He was hunting the deep hollows of the creek it seems, and
traveled miles from his little cabin. He was in an area he had
not hunted before. The edge of the creek was shadowed by towering cliffs. Deep hollows jutted from the edge of these cliffs cutting foreboding slashes into the high hills beyond.
The dogs had scented on a trail and had been tracking it
relentlessly. They headed into the deep hollow in pursuit of
the animal. Jeremiah was pursuing the bays of his hounds,
and trying to keep within hearing range. He had been in the
woods most of the night and it wasn't long until dawn. He wished his hounds would tree the critter so he could get off a shot.
He would like to return home before the morning had passed into mid day. In the distance he could hear the hounds barking, finally they had treed the animal. It took him awhile to reach the
location of the hounds. Upon reaching them he was at the base
of a towering pinnacle of rock. His dogs were jumping on the
trunk of a tall spreading white oak. The tree shadowed the top
of the rock formation, and its lofty limbs were silhouetted
against the faint moon lit sky.
Jeremiah walked around the tree trying to locate the treed
animal. It was no where to be seen. His attention then turned
to the rock formation, it seemed open on all sides, and towered
eerily from the bottom of the deep hollow. It was lined at the sides by small trees of various sorts. The tall white oak was
the only large tree near the rock.Out of the corner of his eye he caught glimpse of a shadowy movement in the top of the white oak. Straining his eyes upward he saw something leap to the rocky pinnacle.
It was nearing dawn, and he decided he would try to climb
to the loft of the formation to bag his quarry. He walked around
the rock sizing it up. The formation seemed to be almost square, and the walls appeared too sheer to climb. He turned his attention to the tree where the dogs were. There was a smaller tree by the white oak which the animal had deserted. He decided to climb this smaller tree and move to the larger one mid way up the trunk.
Jeremiah tucked his pistol snugly under his belt and tied
the lantern to his waist. Slowly he began his climb to the summit
of the tall tree. The dogs circled the tree with bays of excitement, watching their master as he attempted to reach the animal at the top.
It was just shy of dawn when Jeremiah reached the top of
the tree and the rocky formation. The mist of the early morning
was seething from the bowels of the deep hollow. Slowly it rose
to the summit of the rock, and hung in swirls around him. He
could no longer see the hounds at the base of the tree. But
their coarse barks echoed off the surrounding hills.
He slid onto the limb that stretched over the surface of
the rock, and slowly inched toward the end. Once he cleared
the edge of the cliff he lowered his body to the lofty crest,
and his feet sank ankle deep into a spongy moss carpet.
Standing silently, he surveyed the area where he stood. The
rocky formation was sparsely covered with ghostly shrubs.
He proceeded to light his lantern and hang it on a limb of one
of them.
He was fascinated by the formation. He had never seen
anything like it before. It appeared to be as flat as a table
on the peak. With the mist of the predawn glowing around the
dim light of the lantern, he thought it was beautiful. He won-
dered if any one else had ever stood on its crest.
Something behind him interrupted his thoughts. From the
far side of the rock came the low shrill cry of an animal. The
noise sent a chill running up his spine. He turned to see if
he could spot what it was. The mist would only let him see a
short distance in any direction.
He moved closer to the light, hoping whatever had made
the noise would show itself. Once again the shrill cry came
from out of the mist. Jeremiah stood stiffened, trying to stare
through the mist. Turning to his right he spotted the gold
slits of two eyes piercing the misty shadows of the dawn. Slowly
he lifted the pistol from his belt, but the beast pounced upon
him, the pistol fired into empty sky, and was lost from his
grip.
He was upended and dazed by the blow. He landed a good
distance from the limb he had used to lower himself onto the
rock. He quickly shuffled to his feet. Staining his eyes toward
the dim light of the lantern he tried to regain his senses,
and gain sight of his beastly foe. The beast uttered another
scream, and it moved toward him. For the first time he gained
sight of the creature --- he was standing a short distance from
a panther.
The dogs below the extruding rock were yelping wildly.
He could hear them jumping and clawing at the trunk of the tree he had climbed, trying vainly to reach their master and his
vicious foe.
Jeremiah summed up his situation. There was no other trees
that reached the summit of the rock. As far as he could tell,
there was nowhere to hide. His only hope of escape was to make his way to the extended limb of the towering oak and shimmy down its trunk. He could not exit the rock in any other fashion, it was to high to jump, the fall would be fatal.
The only means of protection he had left was a pocket knife.
He pulled it from his pocket and opened the short, sharp blade.
He cursed the beast, and slowly moved toward the tree. The big cat fixed its eyes on him and hunched low to spring into another attack. Without hesitation the panther sprang upon Jeremiah, its claws slashed deep into his shoulder before he could react.
The man and beast fell to the moss covered rock entangled in
battle.The misty dawn about the rock was filled with blood chilling screams, likened to the demons of hell. Man and beast rolled around the rock snarled in a deathly struggle. Jeremiah thrust his knife to the body of the cat, and it answered with its razor sharp claws and teeth. The battle raged on for what seemed to be an eternity, man and beast struggling for their very life.
Finally he managed to free himself from his foe. With his
remaining strength Jeremiah rose to his feet, his large frame
erect and steadfast. He pointed the knife at the cat cursing
it to the depths of hell. He backed wearily away from the wounded animal hoping for an escape.
The cat was between him and the tree. He looked around
the pinnacle once more. The dawn was now slowly beginning to light the crest of the rock. Jeremiah could now see well enough to tell there was no escape other than the oak. He decided to make a move closer to the tree. He would wait for the next attack there, in hopes he had enough strength to elude the cat. Then maybe he could jump to the tree and to safety.
Closer to the extended limb of the tree he readied himself.
Once again the cat leaped upon him, but he was too weak to elude his foe. The cat landed on him in full force sending him reeling backwards towards the edge of the rock. Jeremiah wrapped his arms around the panther with his remaining strength, and carried it with him off the edge of the towering rock. The man and beast plunged to the bottom of the deep hollow ------the battle was over.
They say on warm summer nights when the hollows of Lost
Creek lie hidden in the dark, the eerie screams of man and beast can yet be heard from the top of Hell's Half Acre.
The End
Copyrighted material. Please do not copy or use without consent of the author.
This essay appeared in the Spring/Summer 2006 issue of THE BRANCH WOOD JOURNAL. It was written in regards to a favorite quote used by my father.
BORN OF A WOMAN
Essay BY: Jimmie R. Pennington
Copyright-1998
"Man that is born of a woman, is of a few days, and full of trouble." JOB 14:1 (King James Version)
I remember this being spoken so many times throughout
my life by my dad, and I often thought of the implications
of the quoted verse. When I was at the tender age of preteen
I only gazed in wonderment of the statement. "What", I would
question myself, "does being born of a woman have to do with
troubles?"
Any time he would hear of a circumstance which implied
grief, suffering, or misfortune by any individual, Dad would
utter forth the verse. With a nod of his head, and with what
I guessed to be self-understanding, he would add; "Lord knows
it's true."
Dad was a devout Christian, firm in his beliefs and was
totally devoted to his family. Born in a rural area of West
Virginia in 1915, he grew up in trying times, and in a lesser
world than many. His Mother died when he was two years old,
and his Dad labored to raise his only child at that time the
best he could.
Sometimes this meant that Dad would crawl deep into the
coal mines with my grandpa, this when he was only at an age
of four or five. It was either be at the mines, or be left at
home to fend for himself. Dad remembered those youthful days
vividly, and spoke of them often in later life, followed by
the quote of JOB 14:1.
He made it a point that we kids were aware of the hardships
and struggles he had known in his life. The stories of his youth
were filled with loneliness, and accounts of little or no food
on the table; or the cold of winter disturbing youthful sleep.
For Dad, there were many discomforts which were commonplace.
Once he reached adulthood and married Mom, there came the
onset of World War II. He had moved to eastern Kentucky by this time, and the draft called him away. After five years and five
months of service he returned to work in the coal mines near
his home. He spent several years laboring deep in the mines
of eastern Kentucky. Then he and Mom decided to move north to Ohio in hopes of an easier and more prosperous life.
My brother and sister were born in eastern Kentucky prior
to my parents move north. I would be introduced to life later
in Dayton Ohio. I grew accustomed to early life in or near the
city. But, as it had been the standard for Dad's life, a new
struggle began when I reached age eleven. An accident on the
job forced Dad into an early retirement, and much lesser ben-
efits. Unable to physically provide for his family, we were up-
rooted and moved back to Kentucky in hopes of lessening financial strains.
After the move, my teen age years went flying by me, I
would still hear the quote, and I would still be at a lost of
understanding. It would take decades for me to finally understand his interpretation. It would come with age I suppose, that lost interpretation, that lost understanding of why he chose so often to quote that particular verse.
I would be well into my forties with a family of my own
before I came to understand. And, even then it would come with a loss, and that loss being my Dad's passing. Then I understood what he had been saying for so many, many years.
It was not being born of a woman, per se', which would bring
our troubles, rather our troubles begin with that first glimpse
into our own fleeting life. We are from that first instance
on a course to death, and the toils and troubles we encounter
in our brief existence weigh heavily on our shoulders throughout life.
The labors we endure shadow our happiness, and we rush
forward through an already short life trying to find a secure
balance between the happiness and the sorrows we encounter.
We hope that the rewards we seek are sweet and never bitter,
but life tends to manufacture a balance in its own way. We,
as individuals, must find a neutrality within that balance
in which we learn to accept the sorrow, and cherish the happiness of our lives with some sort of equality. And, in that equality remain faithful and devoted to our beliefs.Now, that I face the autumn of my own life, I feel that I have finally understood why Dad chose that particular verse to echo the facets of his life. As I glance back through the eyes of time to days of long lost youth, I can only touch a myriad of memories. And now I understand, Dad was preparing me through the years for the uncertainties which life shall present to me personally.
With the quote of that particular verse of JOB, which he
chose to use time and time again; Dad instilled within me an
unshakable quality to accept the inevitable, yet have faith,
and to trust in ones self, as well as the God who graciously
gave to us the sweetness of tender life and the promise of an
eternal peace.
The End