Greetings, Readers.
It is difficult to believe that we are already into the first month of 2021. I hope this year has gotten off to a good start for all of you, and that, in the midst of the busy-ness of life, that you are finding time to reflect and refresh – and READ, also.
The new year continues to be a busy one for myself and my family, especially as we look ahead and make plans to move back to Florida hopefully by this summer, as I am planning a job / career transition. It is with great hope and optimism that I am applying for jobs in education. My goal is to teach English in grades 6-12, and make a difference in the lives of the students I come into contact with. At this point, helping them appreciate the English language, literature and writing seems like a calling worth pursuing.
On the writing front, I continue to record poems as they come to me, as well as work toward finishing a compendium of short stories. Once I’ve finished that, I hope to write a sequel to my award-winning novel, “Soul Sprints.”
Another hope of mine in 2021 is to host more book events. Nothing on the horizon yet, but stay tuned for more, especially if you live in the northwest Florida area or South Carolina low country.
Finally, please help spread the word to your book-loving family, friends, and acquaintances about John Gibson’s books, all of which can be found on this website and wherever books are sold.
As I type this, it’s a cold, dreary day here in South Carolina. We’ve had several of those, which is what inspired the poem which I am sharing with you below. It’s a tad on the somber side, but reflective. And I hope you enjoy it!
Gander Mourning
Gray skies, the perfect backdrop;
And the brisk, biting air,
A mood-setter for the monotonous,
Melancholy aviary ululating
From overhead,
As the gander makes its way
Across southern, winter landscapes.
Over brown grasses,
And bare trees
They fly, honk, and put one in mind
Of a dirge sung by nature,
Mournful notes sung as she weeps for
The life and florations of yesterdays past.
For my part,
I walk along paths, and through meadows,
Ensconced within layers of clothing,
Which protect me against the elements,
All while praying that what peace of mind I have
Will likewise insulate me against the winters of the
Soul that come to visit in Januarys and Februarys each year.
I watch, as Christmas decorations go back in boxes,
Ready to make their usual pilgrimages and hibernations
Until just around Thanksgiving again.
And I look overhead,
Wondering why geese fly,
But goose feathers never seem to touch the earth.
As the ganders flutter southward, singing – ululating – honking out – their dirges once more.
JWG
2021
Blessings,
John
