Whippoorwill (rewritten)

[Thoughtjotter]

Of Whippoorwills and the Truth

I have sat on the porch on
a warm Southern night?
listened to the Whippoorwill tell me
who he is,
over and over and over?
I could feel that melancholy pull from
those simple memories of my youth?
The recollections of my rebellious past
reminding me of the time my Mama
spent hoping and praying that
I would one day find that
elusive buried treasure of contentment.
All the times my dad tried
to show me the way and I
stubbornly shrugged my shoulders and walked away.
Now I struggle to look myself in the eye because
I hear the Truth much more clear today,
as it imitates the Whippoorwill;
I Told You So! I Told You So! I Told You So!
Oh the bitter sweet memories of those
warm Southern nights, as the Whippoorwill continues
to remind me who he is,
over and over and over.
Just as the Truth continues to remind me,
I have more than I deserve,
over and over and over.




Whippoorwill (rewritten)
hopefully an improvement.

Childhood memories of
warm southern nights;
The rhythmic squeak of the
front porch swing
in cadence with thousands of frogs,
cicadas and crickets create
a raucous cacophony of pulsating rhythm.
The whippoorwill is heard above the rest
repeating his name.
Such is the music of warm southern nights,
the harmony of life in concert with time.

Childhood memories,
Had the old man blinked?
The porch swing is gone,
along with the porch.
Asphalt lay hot in the sun,
where the shade tree once stood.
Traffic noise, horns honking and sirens
has replaced the iambic meter of the
whippoorwill.
So goes the music of warm southern nights,
the progress of man in concert with time.