When my husband and I got married, I asked Marty to read an original poem made for us. No pressure! I promise to share that piece at a later date. I've been married sixteen years and moved many times, so I have to dig out the dust-covered wedding memories box!
I asked Marty how he started writing poetry. His response, "I fell in love with the music of poetry. I have always loved music. When I discovered poetry, it was a music I could write. It was a way to let memories shine. I love the old stories and come from a long line of storytellers, good and bad."
I am so thankful for generations of creativity... it truly fills my tub. I'm sharing one of Marty's poems today. Enjoy!
He extends his arm, bent at the elbow,
fingers drawn, like he is reaching
for or giving away something.
He is speaking with his hands
like his father before him.
Everything I got, I got with these hands.
I quit the ninth grade and went
to work at Ed Moore’s Pure Oil.
He was a nasty bastard and I quit
working for him before I killed him.
I drove my two-tone Ford home,
crying all the way to your mama
stretched out on the bed by the box fan
bloated with you, Boy.
She helped me bring myself together;
I went out and got a job before sunset.
That’s the longest I’ve ever been unemployed.
These hands have scraped to make a living;
all I’ve got I built with these hands.
Times ain’t always been this good but it
looks like they’re going backwards again.
With your mama’s help and the Lord above,
I’ll pull this plow as long as there’s land to bust.
His empty hands brim with sunshine,
outstretched arms appear weary now,
palms full of sunlight and waiting.
©2010 by Marty Silverthorne
Marty Silverthorne holds degrees from
I, too, love music, and I love the idea of poetry as music. Is poetry music to you?