Poems by Luther Jarman

9-11 POEM: WE CAN MASTER DISASTER

9-11 and the Gulf Coast. Who has suffered the most? My reply is: We can master disaster! We can master disaster! We can master disaster! Don’t let disaster be your master! We buried our dead; it’s time to move ahead. We have to be strong and move on. Land of the free, home of the brave. It’s time to stop crying at the grave. We buried our dead; it’s time to move ahead. We have to be strong and carry on. We can master disaster! We can master disaster! We can master disaster! Don’t let disaster be your master!

Luther Jarman

THE FALL OF ICARUS

The sun is bright when Icarus takes flight. Flying from cloud to cloud Icarus is proud. He soars and sings on fragile wings. He’s lord of the air, but when he falls, no one cares. Business as usual as Icarus falls. The world is too busy to hear Icarus’ calls. Icarus—a mere splash in the sea. I wonder, could this happen to me?

Luther Jarman

TWO KINDS OF POETS

Two poets! One writes from the head, the other from the heart. Each poet is doing his part. One shows off his education, the other is poet to the nations. One uses ten-dollar words people don’t understand. The other writes to the common man. One writes to people proud of their learning, the other writes to what the soul is yearning.

Two poets! One writes from the head. The other from the heart. Each poet is doing his part.

Luther Jarman

POETRY IS A HIDING PLACE

Poetry offers love, joy, and peace within, where all men are friends. You can create a work of art that comes from the heart. Poetry is a hiding place from the madness of the human race. A place you create, where there is no war or hate. Poetry is a hiding place.

Luther Jarman

THINGS COULD BE WORSE

I wish I had a pill that takes care of my pain so I wouldn’t hurt when it rains. Things could be worse. I could be catching hell and be locked up in jail. Things could be worse. I could be homeless, broke, and having a stroke. Things could be worse. I could be working in a Kentucky onion room, sad and gloom. Things could be worse. I could have a wife, chasing me with a butcher’s knife. Things could be worse. I could be a Mississippi bullfrog sitting on a hollow stump or a Cincinnati garbage man working at the garbage dump. Things could be worse. I could be dead, riding in a hearse.

Luther Jarman

THE FOE

Life is like a 12-round fight. You have to fight with all your might. We fight against a vicious foe who causes us pain and woe. He’s crafty and quick. He’s full of tricks. He’s hard to lick. You can’t fool him— he knows who you are: a product of sin and a fallen star. I’m going to beat this foe, even though he’s hard to see. Because I realize this foe is me.

Luther Jarman

THE MIND/ THE GUESTHOUSE

The mind is an inn where murderers, liars, and evil thoughts try to sneak in. In the guesthouse, there are foes and friends.

The house is ruled by my mind— deals with emotions of all kinds.

Greed, anger, and ignorance try to tear this house apart. But love and truth rule my heart.

My house is built on a rock— Trouble can knock, knock, knock!

Luther Jarman

IMPRESSIONS FROM A FAMILY ALBUM

One grandfather on my father’s side was a preacher from Macon, Georgia. My mother’s father was a bootlegger from Kentucky. One was full of the Holy Ghost. The other was full of corn licker. The one I loved the most was full of corn licker.

Old praying Mary Green lying and crying, saying how she love Jesus! But when an old blind woman in her nursing home spilt food on her floor she smacked the hell out of her, saying “Why did you spill food on my floor?!” The old blind woman crying, “I am sorry!” Where is the love of Jesus, Mary?

Betty—little black girl wants to be a movie star in Hollywood when she grows up. But when she grows up, she becomes a crack-head, stealing from everybody.

David—a weary traveler. David, my brother, traveling from woman to woman—had 10 kids when he was 28. Went on the lam when the police was looking for him for child support. He’s probably got 50 kids by now.

Luther Jarman

NOVEMBER 5, 2006

November 5, 2006 I will be free from prison 23 years. I remember the fear and the tears. My family didn’t care if I rotted in jail. My mother would talk and write to me, I guess ’cause she didn’t have no other choice. It was so wonderful to hear her voice when they let me make a phone call. I remember the prison walls, pumping iron and doing push-ups every day— I would pray, pray, pray that someday I would get out of jail. 23 years later, I’m still catching hell.

Luther Jarman