Obscurum per Obscurious

The words they left were vital
to help inspire me
a spineless sort whose title
is now obscurity.


***Hello. Can you believe that 3 years ago today I started this blog? I was home healing from gall bladder surgery and decided to continue my online offerings with the next logical step - self publishing. It's been interesting and I thank all who have left comments over the years. The first poem I posted was inspired by an annual garage sale I went to. It's sponsored by a local church and always has a great book selection which yielded that year the complete works of (are you ready?) Keats, Byron, and Milton all for a whopping $1.50. Well at any rate, this year I went and found a pair of old books by Thomas S. Jones Jr., a poet I had never heard of, one book even says it's only one of 600 printed! Well in honor of my three year anniversary, and to expose Mr. Jones' poetry to a global audience, I present to you a poem from his book Sonnets and Quatrains printed in 1928. I chose this poem because it is beautiful and it also was the day my Mom's service took place.

All Soul's Night

On a hill, an empty nest that swings
From a bare tree bathed in tranquil light
Of a slow-rising moon; in lazy flight
A flock of crows drift by on ragged wings;
A fitful breeze from the far valley brings
A blend of sounds that die into the night—
Hoofs on the highway and the echoing fright
Of a sheep-dog, the stir of startled things.

On quiet slopes that to the river spread,
Where scattered leaves a shroud of scarlet fling,
Row upon row of silent gray, stones gleam
That mark the resting places of the dead;
Dead!—lo, they share the joys of deathless Spring,
Theirs the reality, and yours the dream.


But at least Mr. Jones came up in a search, my next obscure poet has the distinction of being the oldest published author in my collection, at least in the age of the book. This book was printed in 1868 and contains verse by one S. Stockton Hornor, enjoy:


The Dying Prayer

I always wished to die at sunset

May I behold, by light of day,
The fields below, the skies above;
As life's dim shadows fade away,
Let me gaze on the face I love!

And may I hear that voice once more,
before my heart's last throb shall cease;
That gentle footstep on the floor,
With echo softly whispering peace!

Oh let me see the sun go down,
Then calmly sink ere it shall rise;
And may I gain that priceless crown,
The angels wear in Paradise!