A Vision Of Home
Somewhere within dwells the soul of a boy
And childhood dreams of Illinois
....With thoughts.....of home again
Whose summers of youth are long gone by
A returning 'stranger' is the reason why
It's not easy to go home again
Why tell a soul who I am
Would anyone really give a damn
On the streets of home again
A solemn stroll through rolling hills
Gaze reminiscent on dusty fields
....The aroma...of home again
An old house sits.....atop the hill
The swing on the porch...is swinging still
...Memories......of home...again
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poem by James B. Earley
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Sultry Summer's Evening
A frail…old Negro lady
…Born…in Lincoln's day
Who knew the taste of freedom
Only… when… she passed …away
Imprisoned… by the hatred
Which gnawed… within her soul
Agony written upon her face
… From the story…that she told
Of a sultry......summer’s evening
She was but…a child…back when
Her sister…was dragged away…in the dark
…By a group of sullen men
On horseback…silhouetted
Against…a glazed…moonlight
…And White folk...until her dying day
Reminded her…of…the night
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poem by James B. Earley
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Margrit's Words....Addressing Jim
Elegy to Mary Azevedo - June 2005
...Julie.....Carissa
Laureen and Kim
And Margrit's words
Addressing Jim
The day a dreary
..One...of June
Its moment...an even
....Greater...gloom
Of death...without
A doubt...expected
...Still..the mind
Outright rejected
The oddity...of
God's will to give
Then snatch away
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poem by James B. Earley
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Larry L. Graeber........Memorial Address
August 28,1938 - September 3,2012
Delivered
September 25,2012
At
Michael Mondavi Family Estate
Napa, California
I was born and reared in the rolling hills of Southern Illinois. In 1956, after a four-year stint with the Marine Corps I decided to settle in San Francisco. Come the last week of next month, I will have lived in California fifty-six years. Outside my immediate family, the majority of my relatives are still concentrated in Mid-Western States.
I visit them from time to time. Not as often as I should. Still I think of them frequently, and miss them dearly. Those reflective moments always lead me back to those magnificent days of my childhood, where the whole world it seemed knew me simply as the roly poly little boy named Jimmy.
Much has happened since those days of yesteryear. During the intervening decades, death has laid claim to family. My maternal Grandfather, both my parents, and five of my siblings. Faith leads me to believe a spiritual rebirth awaits, and that one day in that sacred future we will all be re-united...bound together...forever. And through that faith I've come to appreciate that death and dying is a necessary passage through which we all must travel. There is reassurance in the realization that death is merely a finality of the body, but not of the spirit. And in that fashion the dead are destined to live on in the memory, ever closer than before. Within that glorious significance dwells the continuum of life itself. For in that divining moment perception does in fact become reality. One afternoon while exploring, and appreciating the depth of this poignant revelation, I was moved in a fit of anguish to compose the following poem: 'Reality says they've passed away...Is not perception reality..for I feel a living presence...as though they stand...right next to me. Those guiding hands...of long ago...so firm against my brow...as strong, yet gentle...as yesterday...is the warmth...that I know now. That legacy of the distant past...still a mighty roar...memories sustain my soul...and on whose wings I soar...reality says they've passed away...silenced in death and then...perception says they're just as close...and real as way back when.'
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poem by James B. Earley
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