Tuesday’s at Starbucks 2016-09-27
Each Tuesday I am posting a picture of myself. It is me at Starbucks. I go there most mornings and write before going to my day job. This is week four.
Tuesday’s at Starbucks 2016-09-20
Each Tuesday I am posting a picture of myself. It is me at Starbucks. I go there most mornings and write before going to my day job. This is week three.
Tuesday’s at Starbucks 2016-09-13
Each Tuesday I am posting a picture of myself. It is me at Starbucks. I go there most mornings and write before going to my day job. This is week two.
Poem: Electric Dylan
Electric Dylan
Our music choice back then was known as folk
the surgeon general told us not to smoke
Acoustic was our favorite sound
In Washington, D.C. The Beatles played in the round
We cried when JFK was assassinated that November day
and why the Vietnam War we asked LBJ
The Newport Folk Festival was going strong
And Bob Dylan wrote our favorite song
On television we all got Lost in Space
And Ryan O’Neil made hearts throb on Payton Place
Back in ’65 three girls sang with a sound which was Supreme
And played the greatest poet – lyricist ever seen
And the times were a changing because of him
Playboy Playmate Sara Lownds was his wife, young and trim
She gave him three sons and a beautiful little girl
Some before, some after the tour that rocked the world
His acoustic half-set sounded the same
the electric-half critics called a shame
and his music still changed the world
Even as shouts of Judas started to swirl
They hated him at the Royal Albert Hall
and were glad when he took that horrible fall
some thought after his motorcycle accident
That his life and career were totally spent.
Eight years before he toured the world again,
He wouldn’t let the critics boss him with their poison pen
And his music never really would change
Though his voice now shows age’s strain
To the arenas, stadiums, and theaters we still all come
and he sings putting sunshine in our lives glum
Just Like a Woman, Mr. Tambourine Man and Desolation Row
Then with Like a Rolling Stone he closes the show.
Jimmie Aaron Kepler
© 2011
Originally published in:
WORDS..RHYMES..POETRY & PROSE!
“Gone Electric” is the title poem in “Gone Electric: A Poetry Collection” available on Amazon.
Jimmie Aaron Kepler’s work has appeared in six different Lifeway Christian publications as well as The Baptist Program, The Baptist Standard (ghostwriter), Thinking About Suicide.com, Poetry & Prose Magazine, vox poetica, The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature, Bewildering Stories, Beyond Imagination Literary Magazine, WORDS..RHYMES..POETRY & PROSE, and more. His novels The Rebuilder and Miss Sarah’s Secret as well as Charlie’s Bells: A Short Story Anthology and the award-winning short story The Cup, and the short stories Invasion of the Prairie Dogs, Miracle at the Gibson Farm: A Christmas Story, The Paintings and poetry collection Gone Electric: A Poetry Collection are available on Amazon.com.
My Grandfather and Me
This Sunday, September 11, is Grandparents’s Day. My maternal grandfather’s name is Stayton Henry May. He passed away when I was thirty-three.
I wrote the poem from memories from 1963 and 1964. Those years I lived in Seguin, Texas. He lived on the old Pruitt Place between Leesville and Nixon, Texas in Gonzales County.
As a fifth and sixth grader, I spent many weekends and holidays with him during those wonder years. The poem is of memories of fishing with him and when I asked him about Jesus walking on the water. He asked where I heard the story. I told him Sunday school. He then retold me the story saying he first heard it attending church as a boy.
I had a wonderful grandfather.
My Grandfather and Me
We would walk to the stock tank
My grandfather and me
There I learned to bait a hook
In the cool shade of the trees
Sometimes in the little boat
Rowing close to an earthen dam
He would retell of Jesus walking on the water
A story he’d learned in church when just a lad
He would take a dip of Garrett Snuff
Addicted to the nicotine
While I watched my cane pole’s cork float
When it bobbed, I tugged and let out a scream
In my homemade feed sack shirt
Blue jeans rolled up nearly to my knees
He was always in his khakis
A red bandanna used to catch his sneeze
Memories of those early years
Are as fresh as yesterday
Someday we will meet in Glory
Again he will show me the way.
Jimmie A. Kepler
July 2012
Tuesday’s at Starbucks 2016-09-06
Each Tuesday I am posting a picture of myself. It is me at Starbucks. I go there most mornings and write before going to my day job.
Why Write?
Over the years few people have not taken me seriously when I tell them I am a writer. Most people shake their head. Others say everyone needs a hobby. They then tell me their’s is a real manly hobby. Their next words are “My hobby is hunting and fishing.”
I would ache inside when I received this patronizing response. It would get worse.
When I was a first lieutenant I requested release from active duty from the US Army to attend seminary. The commanding officer of Charlie Company asked, “Lieutenant Kepler, what is your plan on going to seminary?”
I replied, “I am going to earn a master’s degree in religious education.”
“What are you going to do with that degree? Are you going to transfer to the Chaplain Corps?” was his follow-up question.
“No. I hope to be a Christian educator and a writer,” I said.
“A writer?” Then he started to laugh. It was a deep belly laugh. He added, “everyone thinks they can be a writer. You haven’t done anything to write about. You don’t have a story to tell.”
“But I do. I will tell about the hope I have in Jesus,” I said.
I then quoted Jeremiah 31:33 (King James Version), “But this shall be the covenant that I will make with the house of Israel; After those days, saith the Lord, I will put my law in their inward parts, and write it in their hearts; and will be their God, and they shall be my people.”
“What?” was his confused reply.
“My writing is going to help people write the word of God in their hearts,” I said mustering all the courage I could.
“You’re crazy?”
“I’m just going to share Bible truth and principles helping people apply them to everyday life,” I said.
I shook his head, told me I was half-crazy and wasting a potentially good military career.
Maybe like me, people have told you writing is crazy. I felt called by God to write and share. What about you?
Maybe you picture a little red devil sitting on your shoulder questioning your worthiness to write about the things of God. He reminds you of every sin you have ever committed or even thought of committing. You don’t feel worthy.
I’m an imperfect sinner save by God’s grace. I know I am not worthy, but I still share. It isn’t me I want them to see. I want others to look to the Creator.
Think about these things:
Why do you want to write? Has God called you to be a Christian writer?
Maybe like me, you are a Christian who includes God and Christian themes in your writing.
Have you ever considered what God may be wanting to say through you?
I feel God wants me to communicate Christian themes in the secular marketplace.
