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    My Very Last Book
    My Very Last Book
    My Very Last Book
    Ebook318 pages1 hour

    My Very Last Book

    By C.J. Krieger

    ()

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    About this ebook

    CJ's writing is imposible to pigeonhole. Like Brautigan, his poetry has a strong narrative drive, pushing the boundaries between verse and story, blurring the boundaries of the real and surreal. And he's not afraid to be laugh-out-loud funny or to trade on the double entendre or create moments of absurd slapstick. A breath of fresh air in a lite

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherGotham Books
    Release dateMay 23, 2023
    ISBN9798887752532
    My Very Last Book

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      Book preview

      My Very Last Book - C.J. Krieger

      Introduction

      Giving nature animation, his words are gentle, like his ageless soul, as we live in a time when people are more engaged in their blue screens than they are with blue skies, golden brown leaves, a glowing sun, and the love of another person.

      C. J. Krieger reminisces and mourns over lost love, while he smiles and laughs over beautiful memories. We laugh and cry with him if we are old or wise enough to understand how time and the changes it brings affects our lives.

      I have known Cecil [I call him Ceej for C.J. and I also call him brother because we are brothers in spirit] since Seventh Grade at Montauk Junior High School, in Brooklyn, New York. We became fast friends and remain so forever. So you probably think that I would be biased in my assessment of his poetry and you would be correct.

      But knowing Ceej and reading his work puts me in a special category not only as a friend but as someone who feels what he feels when he expresses it. And the way he expresses it is from genuine experience that is so clear to me, that I can hear his voice speaking the words he has put to paper.

      So, dear Reader, read his poetry and inhale his thoughts and emotions in each word. While you may see a snowfall, Ceej sees snowflakes dancing as he has danced so long ago.

      Robert Hoey

      A Word From The Author

      Here I sit, five days away from the ripe old age of 76, and with each passing day, hour, minute and second that goes by I find myself less like taking the time to write. I think this is nature’s way of telling me to take a break and do something different for a while.

      With the road ahead of me, much shorter than the road behind, I have tried resetting my priorities. Certain things which I had put away, like music and going out for a walk on a beautiful day, or taking a ride in the country, I am pushing myself to do once again. And although it isn’t easy to force myself to do these things, I try, nonetheless.

      These days I also look for that special someone with whom I can share these later times of my life. My requirements have changed quite a bit from all those perfect features I wanted so long ago in my youth. These days she needn’t be beautiful or trim but be happy, and a companion I can make smile who can do the same for me.

      Well… that’s it! So please feel free to dive in and enjoy my poetic thoughts. And if you find something that tickles your funny bone, or brings a tear to your eye, or a song to your heart, please… by all means, share it with anyone you like… even me!

      C. J. Krieger

      Books by C. J. Krieger

      POETRY

      Pinacolada Child

      There’s Always August

      Absorbed By The Sun

      Reflections In Glass

      On Tinker Street

      Leaving Woodstock By Walking Backwards

      Before I Die, I Will Dance

      ~~~

      WEBSITE

      http://cjkriege2.wix.com/cjkrieger

      ~~~

      ‘Love, Life & Dancing’

      edited by

      Robyn M. Selters

      Soon Grandma

      She has become

      Like a thin Chinese teacup

      Placed upon a large rock

      She has become… fragile

      Afraid to go anywhere

      Least she break

      She sits outside

      When the weather is clear

      Reading the same book

      She has read for many years

      Painfully turning the pages

      With crooked fingers

      Occasionally

      I see her smile

      As the lines on her face

      Seem to multiply ten-fold

      While she tries to remember

      Why she is smiling

      When the cooler weather

      Dances around her

      She wears a long soft scarf

      Wrapped many times

      Around her neck

      To keep the cold away

      Sometimes

      She will ask me

      "When will my friends

      Be coming by?"

      And I sit next to her

      And hold her hand

      Saying to her

      Soon Grandma… soon

      When Old Dancers Die

      She was a dancer

      But now at age sixty-seven

      During the day

      Her ghost leads small groups

      Of aging seniors

      In pilates stretching

      Several times a week

      She was a dancer

      And though her feet

      Remembers every heel and toe

      That she had ever done

      Arthritis keeps her

      From ever thinking

      Of a simple lock-step

      Ever again

      She was a dancer

      Whose feet flew

      This way and that

      Across every stage

      From New York to California

      But was never chosen

      To be the one

      To play that special role

      And though

      She is sixty-seven

      And the direction of time

      Can never flow back

      Somewhere

      After the sun departs

      And nighttime covers the land

      She closes her eyes

      And still dreams

      Of the time

      She was a dancer

      The Old Man Danced

      When times were hard

      And life weighed down heavily

      Upon his shoulders

      The old man danced

      When the true love

      That was his forever

      Left without rhyme or reason

      To free himself from sorrow

      The old man danced

      When many years had passed

      And love was replaced by loneliness

      And all those he had cared for

      Passed on into the ages

      The old man danced

      These days

      Even though

      He is much younger than he was

      So, so many years ago

      He never lets a day go by

      Or lets a good deed go unsung

      Unless he dances

      And as time eventually frees

      All the souls it touched at birth

      And the brightness of life

      Passes on into night

      In the darkness there waits a soul

      Who wants nothing more

      Than to come into the light

      And dance

      The Rains

      The rain washed down the mountain

      Softening the warm earth

      As I sat by my cabin window

      Watching the muddy waters

      Rolling down into the river below

      The showers started five days ago

      And from the first drop that fell

      The rain continued to pour on and on

      While the animals hid in their shelters

      And I danced, soaking wet, beneath the clouds

      It was the dance of a very young man

      Filled with the folly of my youth

      In the heat of a warm summer’s day

      Thinking thoughts that only come

      To one so young and carefree

      Looking back to that day

      Which I remember as if it were just now

      I can’t help but smile

      For it was a time of gaiety and merriment

      That only one so young could know

      Today I sit by my window

      Watching the rain pound upon the land

      Studying the muddy waters

      As they roll down into the river below

      Remembering that time gone by

      And in the warmth of a summer’s day

      I threw open my front door

      And as best as an old man could

      I walked out into the summer’s rain

      And danced

      I Love You Too

      When I am gone

      Who will read my words to you?

      All the poems about you

      That I have put to paper

      Will surely crinkle into dust

      And slowly fade away

      With every passing day

      There are times

      When I sit quietly

      Reading all these wonderful stories

      I have written about you

      Bringing tears to my eyes

      With the pain of missing you

      More than I thought possible

      But those were days

      Of youth and clouds

      And young unfilled dreams

      That were dreamt by an old man

      Who can no longer remember your face

      Yet somewhere within my memory

      I know you are there

      I know because of the times

      I wake in the early morning hours

      And hear you say to me

      I love you

      Before the dream fades away

      And I hear my voice calling back

      Just before you are forever gone

      I love you too

      What My Mother

      Looked Like

      I can’t remember

      What my mother looked like

      That was so long

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