Jim Yerman Poems

As we navigate the waters of life…for many of us the holidays are a joyous time…we smile and say, "Let the joy begin! "
But for others, who are remembering someone they lost…the holidays are when sorrow comes flooding in.

The flood waters begin to rise as they are reminded of a death…
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The silence of the darkness on my early morning strolls is as close as I have ever come to experiencing nature's soul.

There is a beauty in her silence at the beginning of the day…a tranquil kind of mystery that can take your breath away.
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I love Christmas traditions…from the food to the presents to the tree…how each family has our own traditions…locked into our memory.

I remember Christmases in Ohio…where I was born…where I did my earliest growing…I remember our aluminum Christmas tree with rotating colors…I remember cold…I remember snowing.
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When searching for a philosophy on how to live…how to act and why…my search ends quite abruptly…when I look up at the sky.

The sky understands how life is always moving…how it constantly rearranges…how we must enjoy each moment…before that moment changes.
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There was a time when I had more hair and I was, I imagine, a little thinner…when our family gathered around one table to enjoy Thanksgiving dinner.

But as our family grew and our table didn't…as a family we were no longer able…to sit together in one spot…so we added…the grandchildren's table.
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The young couple was about to have a baby so they thought it would be nice to sit down with his grandpa and ask for some advice.

"What can I tell you about raising children? " He said. "About helping them to grow. I guess the first thing would be to be prepared for all the things you do not know."
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I imagine when we look into our hearts…when we probe the corners of our soul…we'll find moment in our life…over which we have no control.

Moments that help shape the person we daily come to be…moments left entirely in the hands of destiny.
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I love watching a magic show…I love to be surprised…I love how the magic happens…right before my eyes.

The secrets inherent in the magic…I don't care to know…I prefer to be amazed…to sit back and enjoy the show.
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Ugly is an ugly word…whether in prose or in a rhyme…and I apologize for not only using it thrice already…but in this poem…you'll see it three more times.

On a walk the other day a man and woman a little distance ahead of me…looked up and said simultaneously…"That…is one ugly tree".
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Through the years of watching our children and grandchildren grow…they never left a doubt…as to those things that were important to them…and those things they never cared about.

They never cared if we were old or bald…or short or tall or fat.
They never cared about our physical flaws…(Boy, were we glad of that!)
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