Eat the Flowers
Poems for the youth inside us
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These poems began fifty-one years ago when the author began to capture his feelings and life’s events. About thirty years ago he stopped writing and put them aside to pursue his career. Originally everything was handwritten – often on scraps of paper stuffed into envelopes, book jackets, photo albums or some other convenient storage hole. Every so often, the browning paper and fading ink were revisited. Surprisingly, the scraps managed to survive despite the passage of time. Occasionally, a new poem was added to the collection or an old poem was revised. Bob thought it was inconceivable th...
These poems began fifty-one years ago when the author began to capture his feelings and life’s events. About thirty years ago he stopped writing and put them aside to pursue his career. Originally everything was handwritten – often on scraps of paper stuffed into envelopes, book jackets, photo albums or some other convenient storage hole. Every so often, the browning paper and fading ink were revisited. Surprisingly, the scraps managed to survive despite the passage of time. Occasionally, a new poem was added to the collection or an old poem was revised. Bob thought it was inconceivable that anyone else would have the slightest interest in his feelings; so, each time, back into storage the poetry went. With each return to their cubbyholes the poems managed to survive no matter how many times they were dragged around the world. Time became a concern as friends and family made their final eternal trips. With each funeral, each flower spray and each sympathy card, mortality became a reality and the need to organize and type the handwritten scraps became a priority. When Bob became ill and his injuries caught up with him and the surgeries multiplied, his mind returned to his words. It was time to see if anyone else could relate to the chronicling of so many feelings, events, disappointments, remembrances, loves and lost opportunities.
