In San Francisco, it’s the summer of love,
Long-haired hippies, peace signs, and doves.
In Vietnam, the soldiers are dying,
Back home their families are crying,
And Sergeant Pepper taught the band to play.
Jim wants to “Light My Fire,”
While Grace’s rabbit only flies higher.
The evening news shows the war isn’t cool,
This week I started high school,
And “All You Need Is Love” is what The Beatles say.
Written by Jimmie Aaron Kepler
Schertz, Texas, August 1967
Grace Slick today at age 79
The photos are of Grace Slick. She is an alumna of Finch College where she majored in art. She is an accomplished artist. The artwork is hers.
Note: This is the oldest poem I have written by me. It was in notebooks and papers my mother gave me a few months before she passed away in 2014. Aren’t parents great about keeping things and then later in life returning them?
I wrotethispoem as a freshman at Samuel Clemens High School in Schertz, Texas. Samuel Clemens High School was two miles outside the main gate at Randolph Air Force Base, San Antonio, Texas.
Impressing, my English teacherwaschallenging. Theassignmentwas to write a paper on “What I did on my summervacation.” Instead, I wrote about whatwashappening in popularculture. Instead of prose, I wrote a poem. I failed to follow the rules. Shecalled me a “beatnik hippy poetweirdo.” I viewed her insult as a compliment! I gave in, complied with her orders, and wrote five pages of drivelavoiding a grade of “F” on the assignment. I wrote about hitchhiking to the San Francisco, California and the “Summer of Love.”.
“Starting High School” is from the forthcoming book “Jimmie Aaron Kepler: Selected Poems” from Poetry and Prayer Press.
Have you ever had your heart broken? If so, here’s some help for a broken heart. I wrote the poem about fifteen years ago. It was originally published in “WORDS…RHYMES…POETRY & PROSE!” in 2008. The poem has also published in: “Writing After Fifty” and in the book “Gone Electric: A Poetry Collection.”
Your Best Friend
If ever you find yourself being broken apart,
Because the one you trusted has broken your heart,
And all the time you find yourself crying,
While on the inside you feel like you’re dying,
Call me if you feel lonely,
Come to me when your life needs to mend,
From time to time you need only,
Someone with love unconditional – your best friend.
One time life gave you a fright,
Existence was as black as a moonless midnight,
You were feeling so out-of-place,
With no one to hug or embrace,
Then you saw the light,
You came to me in the middle of the night,
And you ran to me to give your heart,
And that’s when your new life did start
Call me if you feel lonely,
Come to me when your life needs to mend,
From time to time you need only,
Someone with love unconditional – Jesus, your best friend.
Psalm 34:18 English Standard Version, “The LORD is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.”
The setting was an old wood-framed church house.
Built by a tree on the crest of a gently sloping hill.
Its wood siding all faded and weather-worn.
The brass church bell for years had been still.
He walked up the hill to the church house.
With each step, old long-past years reappeared.
Soon in his mind, he could hear the congregation singing.
Then down his cheeks streamed the warm, wet tears.
Once again, the old song leader was his Grandpa.
His young Mama on a pump organ played.
Packed on the third pew were his mischievous boy cousins.
Standing by the back door to the music his dear Daddy swayed.
And old remembrances flooded his being.
A grand family reunion was well underway.
Hearing again the stories of King Jesus,
He couldn’t hold the tears at bay.
Then he moved from the little wooden church house.
Walked down the hill on the path just ahead.
The music and memories slowly fading in the distance.
He arrived at a cemetery with the graves of his family long dead.
There will be a great reunion in heaven in the future,
They’ll all be reunited one wonderful day.
They were all Believers in Jesus,
He’s the Light, the Truth, and the Way.
Jimmie Aaron Kepler
December 2015
The poem “Family Reunion” is in the forthcoming book, “Selected Poems: 1967 – 2021” by Jimmie Aaron Kepler and published by Poetry and Prayer Press.
Picture Credit: William Clarence Breeding, Sr. The church is in eastern Oklahoma near Ida Belle where my late father-in-law, William Clarence Breeding, Sr, and his family attended reunions.
Please enjoy my reading of the poem “Going Out to Eat.” Going Out to Eat was written in May 2013 in Estes Park, Colorado, and originally published in vox poetica Magazine on January 27, 2014. Annmarie Lockhart is the founder of vox poetica. Nathan Gunter is the current managing editor of vox poetica. I hope you enjoy listening to it as much as I did writing it.
Going Out to Eat
Sweetheart, do you have a preference for where we go out to eat?
…..No. Anywhere you want is ok with me, dear.
Great. There’s a McDonald’s. They have a senior coffee discount.
…..Oh, but look! There’s a Subway. I think that would be better.
OK. Subway it is. I’ll let you off at the door and then park the car.
Do you see anything on the menu you prefer?
…..No. Anything you want is OK with me, dear. We can share a foot-long sub.
Great. How about a foot-long Italian meatball sub?
…..Oh, but the Black Forest ham … I think that would be better.
OK. Make it a foot-long Black Forest ham on wheat bread, please.
…..Oh, get whatever you want, dear, but white bread …
Ma’am, can you change that to white bread, please. And American cheese.
…..Dear, pepper jack … I think that would be better.
OK, make it pepper jack cheese.
We’d like lettuce, tomatoes, pickles, onions, green peppers, banana peppers, jalapenos …
…..Anything you want, is OK with me, dear, but maybe not the tomatoes and pickles.
Ma’am, hold the tomatoes and pickles, please.
…..What if we skipped all the peppers and just got black olives?
OK. Make it black olives and mayonnaise instead of green peppers, banana peppers, jalapenos.
…..Maybe you should go with light mayo. Remember your waistline.
Yes, dear. Ma’am, we’ll take light mayo instead, please.
“Sir, do you want to make that a combo with chips and drink?”
Sure, that sounds–
…..Dear, we’ve got water and apple slices in the car. No need to splurge, but …
OK. Just the sub, not the combo.
That was a very good lunch.
…..Yes. Thank you for taking me out to eat. Aren’t you glad I let you have whatever you wanted?
And I recalled the words of the Apostle Paul, …..Love is patient, love is kind.
Jimmie Aaron Kepler
Written in Estes Park, Colorado
May 2013
“Going Out to Eat” was originally published in vox poetic in print and electronic form. The electronic version can be accessed at: Kepler, Jimmie A. “Going Out to Eat,” vox poetica, January 27, 2014, Retrieved January 27, 2014, from http://voxpoetica.com/eat/.
When I read the first draft of this poem to my late wife, I was shocked at how visibly upset it made her.
“You’re making fun of me and telling the whole world!” she said.
I was taken aback by her comment.
“I don’t understand,” I said with honesty.
“That’s what I did at the Subway Restaurant at Amarillo,” she said. She didn’t smile. She only lowered her head.
It was apparent the memory was fresh on her mind.
“It’s a composite of so many of the older couples we see at restaurants. It seems the wife frequently tells the husband to order what he wants. As he orders, she tweaks the order to what she wanted,” I said.
Again, she did not smile. She rolled her eyes.
“It’s not about you,” I said attempting to reassure her.
“It’s about me. Everyone will know it’s about me.”
“But it isn’t about you. Even if it were, who do you know that reads poetry?”
“So you admit you wrote it about me.”
“Sweetie, it’s a composite of so many of the older couples we see at restaurants,” I said trying to reassure her.
“And you’re going to submit it for publication?”
“Only with your permission. I don’t want it to upset you.”
“So it’s my fault if you don’t submit the poem?”
This time I rolled my eyes.
She glared at me for a minute and then sat silent for another five minutes. Finally, she started laughing and said, “I guess if I’m honest wives do that to their husbands. Go ahead and submit your silly poem. No one publishes or reads poetry these days.”
I submitted it. It was accepted for publication. And no, it wasn’t about Miss Benita. It really is a composite of so many of the older couples I’ve seen at restaurants. It seems the wife frequently tells the husband to order what he wants. As he orders, she tweaks the order to what she wanted and then hands him a coupon to use.
Please enjoy my reading of the poem “Urban Pigeons.” Urban Pigeons was written in August 2009 and originally published in vox poetica Magazine on August 26, 2012. Annmarie Lockhart is the founder of vox poetica. Nathan Gunter is the current managing editor of vox poetica. I hope you enjoy listening to it as much as I did writing it.
Urban Pigeons
White clouds
Fill the Columbia blue sky,
Like hundreds of cotton balls.
The brilliance
Of the summer sun,
Reflected even brighter
Off of the clouds.
The clouds remain
Suspended in the sky
With little movement.
A flock of pigeons,
Land on an adjacent building.
They stand on the edge
Of the ten-story structure,
Peering downward
Looking
For some crumb or morsel of food.
They also eye the sky
And the roof,
Of a neighboring building.
The birds are watchful
As a red hawk
Is perched waiting,
Waiting,
Waiting
For one of the pigeons
To let its guard down
And become his next meal.
The sounds of cars,
Trucks
And an occasional motorcycle
Fill the air
As they travel
From their point of origin
To their destination
Using the freeway
That passes
Through the building’s shadow.
A panhandler
On a nearby corner
Looks up at the sky
Shielding her eyes
From the bright sun.
She looks to see
What the airborne commotion is about.
The sun temporarily blinds her
With its brilliance
And then she sees
Dozens of feathers
Slowly descending to the ground.
Photograph, “Jackie Robinson in his Brooklyn Dodgers uniform” Record Group 306. Still Pictures Identifier: 306-PS-50-7551. Rediscovery Identifier: 11261
Small Ball
Get ’em on
Get ’em over
Get ’em in
Jimmie Aaron Kepler
2012
Photo Source: United States Information Agency [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
White clouds
Fill the Columbia blue sky,
Like hundreds of cotton balls.
The brilliance
Of the summer sun,
Reflected even brighter
Off of the clouds.
The clouds remain
Suspended in the sky
With little movement.
A flock of pigeons,
Land on an adjacent building.
They stand on the edge
Of the ten-story structure,
Peering downward
Looking
For some crumb or morsel of food.
They also eye the sky
And the roof,
Of a neighboring building.
The birds are watchful
As a red hawk
Is perched waiting,
Waiting,
Waiting
For one of the pigeons
To let its guard down
And become his next meal.
The sounds of cars,
Trucks
And an occasional motorcycle
Fill the air
As they travel
From their point of origin
To their destination
Using the freeway
That passes
Through the building’s shadow.
A panhandler
On a nearby corner
Looks up at the sky
Shielding her eyes
From the bright sun.
She looks to see
What the airborne commotion is about.
The sun temporarily blinds her
With its brilliance
And then she sees
Dozens of feathers
Slowly descending to the ground.
