Seasons

Poor blog.  Lost and lonely, sitting there neglected for months on end.  Here I am again, better late than never they say.

A lot has happened in recent months.  I lost a brother-in-law, Dennis, to something called pulmonary fibrosis.  It is a wicked disease that comes from inhaling asbestos and other troublesome things from the air in power plants and similar places. 

My daughter Christi was diagnosed with breast cancer and has had a radical mastectomy.  She is chipper and hopeful, and about to start a round of chemotherapy.  It is tough duty for a dad to watch his daughter go through this, tough indeed.

Life is like that, you know.  You go along happy as a clam, then wham the roof caves in.  That's when you have to call on your faith, if you have it.  Thank goodness, I do. 

Work continues at a snail's pace on the sequel to Scarecrow in Gray.  The Season of the Crow is very slowly taking shape and is, in my opinion, a much better work.  I suppose when publication day comes, hopefully next year, we shall see if the readers and reviewers agree.

I shall try to do better, old blog, and old friends.  Until next time, hold your loved ones close.  You just never know.

Cheers.

New Bakery!

Under the category shameless family promotion, my chef daughter Christi has a new bakery and catering business in Columbia, NC. You can check out her website at www.sliceofheavencolumbia.com. She makes all sorts of tasty concoctions and will cater small to large events.

The site is still a work in progress, but she is open and ready for business. Way to go Chris!

Still Life

The gleam of a small lamp
illuminates the quiet room.
The darkness beyond the walls
forms another wall, then another

The old man sits and stares
at the past with eyes wet
from weeping.

The scenes that roll through his mind
some sad, some happy, are all that
remain of the life gone by
like a vapor.

And all around the world moves on
with dancing, and laughing,
and war, and buying and selling,
and loving and hating,
and all that is important
for a moment,
for a brief and vanishing moment.

No matter to the old man,
having seen and done
and thought
and remembered.

Daylight fades, again,
as it always has does will
and with it fading recollections
collective electrical disturbances
in his aging brain only
less than dissipated
already gone
only remembered
for a breath
until that too
is gone
quietly.

Missing the High Country

Since my old hiking buddy and good friend, Bud Wilson, passed away, I have not had even the hope of taking a weekend hike in the Western NC mountains. I miss those craggy peaks, those windswept hills where life is put in its proper place. There is no room for ego there, nor worry, or anxiety. There is only putting one foot in front of another, looking for the next water source, and finding a good place to make camp.

Then, settling down around the fire, eating a basic meal from a can, every muscle, nerve, and sinew relaxes. You rest to the sound of the crackling fire and gaze at the starry canvas. It gets cool at night in the mountains, and you slide on your jacket, watching the fire worry itself down.

Then to settle into your sleeping bag, where it's warm and quiet. You may hear the wind ripple your tent fly as it sweeps over the mountain. Quiet and warm and relaxed in nature's bower. Sleep comes easy, and your dreams fly away miles toward the sky.

I surely miss it and hope someday I can find another old geezer, slow poke hiker to wander the ragged hills of Caroline.

The Prince and Peace

In the mists of the long dead past
life arises
In the gleam of sunlight on the rose
life shines forth
In the smile of the young
life expresses love

In all the vagaries of our mysterious world
and existence
there shows forth, to the one who can see
the Love that saves

To open one's eyes is sometimes hard
To keep them closed is the way of the coward
Belief takes effort
Denial only hardness of heart

Listen
In quietness
Read
The Word of God

Then the Truth will come like warm summer rain
and your heart is nourished and renewed
and you can be born again.

The Gray Child

Copyright 2010

To the aged go the spoils

those miracles of daily life accumulated

those riches laid down and taken up

stored for the day when



the day when



And life its weary journey plods

and bodies fail and thoughts fail

and nights grow long and short again

and pain of heart

and pain of mind

reside in docile, noisy state



And somewhere deep inside

still striving

a stubborn youth must be heard

amid the cacophonous clamor

of arthritis, myelitis, and actinic nuisance

still inside, somehow despite the years

in that solid, quiet place

that ageless, static place

wherein attends the soul

and resides the dew of hope

of purpose

amid the stuff of dreams

that refuse to die



And light the suffocating darkness breaks

and upward reaches

the essence of which



the real man is made.

New Review of On Wings of Gentle Power on Amazon.com

By: Patrick Trammell, Vestavia Hills, AL

Powerfully Written, Beautifully Packaged, March 25, 2010

This review is from: On Wings of Gentle Power (Paperback) On Wings of Gentle Power, Barry Yelton's second book and first poetry offering, takes the reader on a slow, soulful walk through life's rich journey. Barry Yelton is a technically talented and imaginative fiction writer, as proven in his debut novel, Scarecrow in Gray. In this work, he reveals a man grounded deeply in his roots and his time. His poetry is artfully crafted, yet offers vivid imagery of life, death, the past, and nature. It is at times mournful, at times hopeful, but always grounded solidly in the human condition. A note on the photography of Al Past, which accompanies the book. Many poetry books use stock photography for decoration. Not so here. The photography in this book is as essential to the reading experience as the written word. A wonderfully crafted and moving experience awaits the reader.