New Year’s Eve was originally published: Kepler, Jimmie A. “New Year’s Eve,” Poetry & Prose Magazine, January 2012. Volume 3, Issue 15, Moonchild Designs, page 20. http://en.calameo.com/read/000339139f8d88e795466 (January 2012).
Category: Poetry
Poem: The Muse
The Muse
There was not a promise
when brought together
for anything but encouragement
and their love of verse.
When brought together
their passion for poetry
rekindled the creative embers in their hearts.
For anything but encouragement
would complicate life
as the words would tell.
And their love of verse
was a powerful bond
as each shared with the world their soul.
Jimmie A. Kepler
© April 2011
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Poem: By White Rock Creek
By White Rock Creek
I was hiking
by White Rock Creek
on a summer day
in the bright sun.
It was so hot
and I was all alone.
Lost in my thoughts
my foot struck the pathway
to the cadence
of the music
I was listening to
on my iPod.
By White Rock Creek
there were people
reading signs saying keep right
and a concrete path
with city dwellers walking
to and fro.
Lovers hand in hand
and it all made sense
except for the litter
on White Rock Creek’s banks
while across the way
was a broken down barbed-wired fence.
In the bright sun
not a cloud in the sky
there was sweat on my brow
running down my temples
as an old woman walked by
and she smiled at me showing her dimples.
It was so hot
I drank some water
lots of cool water
and the temperature
was 110 degrees
and that was in the shade.
Lost in my thoughts
my foot struck the pathway
to the cadence
of the music
I was listening to
on my iPod.
While I was hiking
by White Rock Creek
on a summer day
in the bright sun
it was so hot
and I was all alone.
Jimmie A. Kepler
© August 2011
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Poem: Coffee
Coffee
By Jimmie Kepler
The timer starts the morning pot
brewing where it greets me
at the same time my alarm rings.
The first cup hides my morning breath
as it energizes the blood flowing through my veins
enabling me to stumble to my car
and drive to Starbucks for more.
A sunrise latte gives me the pick-me-up required
to face the tollway and morning rush hour.
A generic cup of Joe at work
gives me something to hold on to
as I begin the first
in a string of meetings.
A mid-morning cup of coffee
provides the jolt to make it to noon
where a fresh cup at my favorite café awaits.
Then a mid-afternoon cup
helps me survive the challenges
before the clock announces it is 5:00
and I can leave.
A drive-by Starbucks
provides the lift
before I sit in traffic
during evening drive time.
A fresh pot greets me
along with my
after-dinner pie and ice cream.
I fill the pot with water,
add fresh grounds
and set the controls before retiring for the evening.
And the timer starts the morning pot
brewing where it greets me
at the same time my alarm wakes me.
“Coffee” by Jimmie A. Kepler originally appeared in the September 23, 2013 issue of vox poetica Magazine.
Comments about Coffee and Jimmie’s poetry:
- Jean – “Jimmie! Beautifully written and all too true. I like the way you ended as you began. Thank you so much for this engaging poem.”
- Annmarie – “Jimmie Kepler writes a love poem to a rock star.”
- Marissa – “I heard Jimmie do a reading of ‘Forever Still’ in Plano, Texas about a year ago. His poetry has the passion of the Beat Poets, the tenderness of the hippie poets, and the intellect of the renaissance man. His southern gentleman manners and charm as well as his soothing, Bill Clinton like voice and pacing makes a girl dream of being in his arms, curled up by the fireplace as he holds and reads his magical words to her. I love his poems “Forever Still” and “While You Were Sleeping”.
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Poem: A Voice in Your Head
A Voice in Your Head
I’m a voice in your head
A thought that can’t be shed
I’m the picture you see
I’m in your future memories
A thought that can’t be shed
A vision for your life
A book full of images of me and you
Hopeful dreams that come true
I’m the picture you see
Everywhere you go
My voice you’ll long to hear
When I’m far away or near
I’m in your future memories
The one your heart seeks and desires
Whether we’re tenderly holding hands
Or embracing by the roaring fire
Jimmie A. Kepler
© 2011
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Poem: Old Men Sitting in Shopping Malls
Old Men Sitting In Shopping Malls
Old men sitting in shopping malls
watch people, especially the ladies.
They look at the women walk by.
Their heart rates rise with the hemline,
and they use their trifocal and bifocals,
to examine low-cut necklines.
The younger women in their provocative dress
seldom realize that men their father’s
and grandfathers’ age are enjoying the demonstration,
while the men only wish the ladies would walk slow.
The older women parade by without alarm,
hoping they are still capable of turning heads.
Each steals a glance from time to time
watching the never-ending waves of people
on the approaching side of the corridor
focusing of the beauty of the face and bosom
while on the departing side
fannies covered in jeans or tight skirts are admired
and old men sitting in shopping malls long
for eye contact and a smile
as the ladies acknowledge their appreciation.
Jimmie A. Kepler
© 2005
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Poem: Dead on the Floor
Dead on the Floor
“Tricky Dick” was the U.S. President
In America, a first-class stamp cost just six cents
Richard Nixon froze both the prices and our pay
We still loved going to concerts to see our favorite bands play
The Vietnam War was on the evening news for all to see
Marcus Welby, M.D. was the number one show on United States TV
Over in London, Jimi Hendrix over dosed
On Monika Dannemann’s sleeping pills two weeks before.
And in Los Angeles, John Cook found Janis Joplin dead on the floor.
Jimmie A. Kepler
© 2011
Originally published in “Writing After Fifty”
Originally published in “Writing After Fifty”
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Poem: Is Johnny Crawford from “The Rifleman” in Your Company?
Is Johnny Crawford from “The Rifleman” in Your Company?
We pressed our faces up against the chain linked fence.
We were supposed to be playing soccer during physical education class.
But we ran to the chained linked fence that separated our school yard from the dirt road.
We stared at the young soldiers marching to training.
They looked so army soldier in their fatigues, helmets and carrying their rifles at right shoulder arms.
They looked like a scene out of “Combat” that we watched each week on our televisions.
While barely just four or five years older than us, they looked all grown up.
A pretty seventh grade girl got up he courage and yelled,
“Is Johnny Crawford from “The Rifleman” in your company?”
There had been a news story of Johnny Crawford’s arrival at Fort Bliss for his basic training.
A kind three stripe sergeant responded,
“No miss, he’s in a different training company.”
“You boys going to Viet-Nam after basic?” asked the P.E. coach who had walked over and joined us.
“Maybe so, but first we got to survive this!” said a smiling boyish faced trainee.
“Quiet in the ranks!” screamed the drill sergeant.
The dust was getting thicker as the soldiers continued marching by.
Most of the seventeen and eighteen year old troopers were looking at the pretty thirteen year old blonde girl.
Some were thinking of their younger sisters back home,
Some were thinking the thoughts seventeen and eighteen years old young men have when seeing a pretty, young teenage girl, and
Some were wondering if they would live long enough to fall in love, marry, and ever have a daughter of their own.
Copyright © 2008 by Jimmie A. Kepler
Originally published in http://www.johnnycrawford.com, February 2008.
Photo credits:
Top photo: Photo of Chuck Connors as Lucas McCain and Johnny Crawford as his son, Mark, from the television program The Rifleman. This work is in the public domain in that it was published in the United States between 1923 and 1977 and without a copyright notice.
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Poem: I Get Up In The Morning
I Get Up In The Morning
I get up in the morning
A new day begins
I go the mirror
And shave my face again
The years show my age
But my eyes still shine
I think of my lady
I’m so glad she’s still mine
I go to my workplace
And I do my thing
I listen to Pandora
And I start to sing
The day passes quickly
My tasks all complete
I drive to the restaurant
And order tea that’s sweet
The evening meal is fine
As fine as fine can be
And my desert
Is something for all to see
I return to my house
Now the day is done
I sit on the porch
And watch the setting sun
The day is now over
And I go to bed
I say my prayers
And meditate on Scripture in my head
I pray that my dreams
Have me thinking of you
And in my slumber
My dreams come true
I get up in the morning
A new day begins
I go to the mirror
And shave my face again.
Jimmie A. Kepler
© 2008
Originally published in:
WORDS..RHYMES..POETRY & PROSE!
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Poem: Little Squirrel
Little Squirrel
Little squirrel
In the tree
I see you
Looking at me
Your color is red
In your furry coat
You look at me
Sitting in the boat
You’re eating the acorns
Found in the tree
A smile on your face
Dropping the shells on me!
© 2009 Jimmie A. Kepler
Originally published in:
WORDS..RHYMES..POETRY & PROSE
May 2011
