Gordon Dean Schlundt
Mattoon, Illinois
Gordon Dean SchlundtMattoon, Illinois |
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Gordon began writing poetry about 1969. Retired since June 1, 1996, he spent 43 years in the retail field, starting with F.W. Woolworth in 1953. His hobbies include wood carving, song writing, and painting with oils and acrylics. Gordon has had poetry published by the National Library of Poetry, and is waiting for a response from the Poetry Guild. He is also working on his first volume of poems, a collection of 60 creations entitled, Glimpses into Yesterday, and hopes to publish a fiction novel soon. Gordon says, "I don't just sit down and write a poem; something unexplainable drives me to do it." |
One Last LookToday I buried Papa in the ground,Next to Mama, and my brother John; For old time's sake, and one last look around, Before my long and lonely ride back home, I went out by the farm where I grew up. The once-grand house groaned in disrepair, Abandoned now for twenty years, or more; Fences needed mending, weeds were everywhere, The faded barn seemed smaller than before; Awaiting eager climbers, the basswood tree. The mailbox rusted on the crooked post, Papa's name still partly readable; I wondered if the hayloft rope still hangs Above the straw where John and I would play - That harmless play that took my brother John. Sad, how many summers have gone by, How many accomplishments he might have made; Dear John, you would have been so proud When I made captain of the baseball team; I loved you Johnny, goodbye; I'm going home. |
At The Same InstantAt the midnight hourThe Old Year Drifts into history On the cold Illinois mist, Breaking all its promises. At the same instant, The New Year drifts in, Through banks of fog and frost On the cold Illinois mist, With all the same old promises. |
NightArriving silent, scarcely noticed.It swoops with ebony wings Upon the towns and villages; It dominates the countryside, Darkly shrouds the city, too. Except the strip, where blazing neon And fearless, gloating streetlamps Hold it back just far enough; It is the night. Settled now, it reigns as King, Ruling over factories and homes, Wharfs and sullen alleys, Vacant lots and harbor mists. It is darkest in the cemetery. Night is a monster, Fearing nothing, save Sunrise. |