Guest Poet A. Kroeger, “OWA”; A soul revealed.


Peace Valley2

 

How beautiful it is to have not only a dream, but a concept, of what one’s Peace Valley is and is all about. This poet has his in view. 

Peace Valley

© March, 2008 A. Kroeger

 

I’ve been dreamin’ ’bout Peace Valley.

Peace Valley.

Peace Valley.

People live in harmony in Peace Valley.

Peace Valley.

Peace Valley.

 

Now if my skin is black as coal,

Or if my skin is white as snow,

And if my face is smooth as silk,

Or if my looks would curdle milk,

Peace Valley only sees my soul.

Well, well,

I won’t need to see no more.

 

I’ve been dreamin’ ’bout Peace Valley.

Peace Valley.

Peace Valley.

All kinds of people live in Peace Valley.

Peace Valley.

Peace Valley.

 

Now if I am as poor as dirt,

Or I wear diamonds on my shirt,

And if my money fills a vault,

Or if I pay my bills with salt,

Peace Valley measures my soul’s worth.

Well, well,

I won’t need to count no more.

 

I’ve been dreamin’ ’bout Peace Valley.

Peace Valley.

Peace Valley.

People live in harmony in Peace Valley.

Peace Valley.

Peace Valley.

 

Now if my body is big and strong,

Or with the weak I do belong,

And if I shout to get my way,

Or if I don’t have much to say,

Peace Valley won’t allow no war.

Well, well,

I won’t need to fight no more.

 

I’ve been dreamin’ ’bout Peace Valley.

Peace Valley.

Peace Valley.

People live in love down in Peace Valley.

Peace Valley.

Peace Valley.

 

If anger seems to find its way

into my heart, day to day.

Or if I’m short on happiness,

and guilt weighs heavy on my chest.

Peace Valley love will soothe my soul.

Well, well,

I won’t need to cry no more.

 

I’ve been dreamin’ ’bout Peace Valley.

Peace Valley.

Peace Valley.

People live in harmony in Peace Valley.

Peace Valley.

Peace Valley.
owa

peace valley6

One prays that their loved ones may enter a “Twilight World” that entertains, cheers and blesses them as they drift ever closer to that world just beyond the sunset of life. Such a sentiment is expressed it this gracious and beautiful remembrance by our poet.


copyright sign August, 2003     ASELA D. VIGIL, a tribute.

WE LOVE YOU MOM

It must have been with abject horror

that Sally first realized,

a moment filled with terror,

that she was losing her mind.

Better if she had just slipped away,

had never experienced that crystalline moment

of perfect clarity.

How did she justify, a rational epiphany,

“today I am less of myself

than the self I was yesterday?”

 

A kindness which we didn’t recognize

as kindness at the time

is that within just a few days

that instant of pure understanding

calcified. And it was gone.

 

Gradually

Inexorably

an instant, a moment, an hour

a day, a week, a month,

a year, her children,

eventually her life

was obliterated.

Was gone.

Yet, the body in which she resided

remained.

It lived on.

 

The deepest layers of learning

were among the last to go.

The mercy of that is

she wasn’t here.

No loss of dignity.

At last, the heart

forgot how to beat.

The lungs forgot how to breathe

 

And Sally went back home.

 

In time those searing images

of Sally’s final years

were replaced with heart-smile memories.

We remembered how to laugh.

 

A half-dozen steam irons,

a couple of ironing boards.

One at a time, she’d hide them.

Then wonder where they had gone.

Becky would take her shopping

to buy another one.

At six of them we realized

what was going on.

Then, when she would lose one,

She and Becky would go for a walk.

I’d search in her room and find them all

and take them to our room.

When they came back home,

after a while, I’d bring out an iron and say,

“I’m finished with your iron, Mom,

do you want it back in your room?”

 

One evening I came home from work

and found a sprinkler head

lying on the planting table. I thought,

“Where’d that come from?”

Later, after supper,

sitting in the back yard,

the sprinklers turned on

and a glorious fountain

shot twenty feet into the air!

The next day, I replaced it.

But, after a week or so,

One evening I came home from work

and found a sprinkler head

lying on the planting table. I thought,

“Ma! Please, don’t dig up the sprinklers.”

How in the world did she manage

to dig up those sprinkler heads?

 

Oh, how she loved her rocks.

She had boxes and boxes of rocks.

The weight of those rocks on the closet shelf

had caused it to sag in the middle.

 

She insisted I rescue a bee

which had landed in the pool.

She saw that it was struggling,

trying to stay afloat.

She beamed with joy,

just like a child,

when I scooped it up

and tossed it into the air,

and she saw it fly away.

 

Lying flat on the ground, one day,

she gave Becky quite a scare.

She’d grown tired, weeding the garden,

so she simply

laid down.

 

Sprawled across the bed with the boys,

sorting baseball cards.

 

She loved to help me cook supper.

We always started with onions.

While they cooked, we hoped for an inspiration.

 

Asela S. Vigil

Your ashes are in your beloved mountains.

We love you, Mom.

Good-by.

 

Owa

see you feel you

And the inevitable view of our “World Stage” and it accountability as it is necessary to keep the balance of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Our guest Poet is a Vietnam Veteran who earned his right to speak to such matters, and whose sense of honesty and accountability are in tandem.

owa3

Let us always celebrate the poets as they mean only to present the world to us without rancor and with a discourse that makes us consider outside our prejudiced and stubborn wills. Be grateful then, that we have poets to bring us to our knees and then help us rise with a clearer vision.

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About joycegodwingrubbs2

Some call me retired: I am RE-FIRED. I have written 15 books, plus 3 were written as a "ghost writer". I no longer offer them as printed books having them only available as Kindle Ebooks since my retirement as a novelist. Twelve books are on Amazon.com Kindle eBooks: collectively they are known as The Greyhound Lady Walking suspense series.They are real cases fictionalized into suspense stories to protect identities..( no victim/survivor names were compromised, and workers and locations were protected.) I also co-authored a non-fiction book: Footsteps Out of Darkness: The Annabelle Kindig Story . It is available on Amazon under the name of Annabelle Kindig. I have traveled, written from the heart, and found an audience that appreciates my "platform". The catalyst to writing the novels was the realization that if I died, I would take all my amazing experiences in these real cases with me; and believe me few have lived 5 lives in one. It would "silence the voices" of the victim/survivors whose triumphs are written into these novels. The suspense series was written in part with the collaboration of police woman and sex crime expert Trula Ann Godwin. In addition to the novels, I have written as a ghost writer for a World War II veteran who fought in the South Pacific aboard the USS Maryland in all the major battles. I have also written a non-fiction book recording oral history stories of my family members beginning with the 1930's to present. There are sixty-six "legacy" stories with pictures. It was recently published as a private printing for family and close associates only. I am a published photo journalist having won the 2009 Editor's Choice Award for internet freelance news articles and pictures of the Cedar Rapid's Iowa flood victim accounts and their personal struggles.. My husband and I are in our 52nd year together (only one blip on the marital radar together), and we have adopted three greyhounds; Dex, Big Buddy and Baby Doll. These were the inspirations in the Greyhound Lady Walking suspense series We have eleven grandchildren, 7 grandsons and 4 granddaughters. My three children live in Iowa, Wisconsin and Ohio.
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3 Responses to Guest Poet A. Kroeger, “OWA”; A soul revealed.

  1. Poignant. Thanks for sharing.

  2. Alfred Kroeger says:

    Thank you, Joyce, for your years of friendship and loyalty. We’ve shared more than our birthdays. We’ve shared our souls.
    And thank you for thinking enough of my work to post it on your blog. I am both honored and humbled.
    As we are both nearer to the end of our journey than the beginning, let’s try to share more of our inner thoughts and feelings.
    Love to you from both of us.
    Alfred and Becky Kroeger

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