YEARS AGO . . . before I really started writing any poetry at all . . . I was inspired to write WHAT IS DOWN BELOW . . . I found it, within the hour . . . cleaning house! It is about 1:00 A.M. on Wednesday, June 21, 2017, a few hours on the other side of The Summer Solstice.
This poem was written with a lot of passion by me, someone who had given up on America having any chance of “re-bounding,” after the apparent “pit” that the country was placed in by two terms of George W. Bush, owing to so many things, after eight years of whatever-the-heck it was, including the election and horrific controversy over counting votes in Florida, I think, regarding votes for Bush and his contender, as I recall, Al Gore . . . as well as so many things that President Bush, bless his heart, had said and done . . .. anyway, it seemed to me that within a few years, Barack Obama had really performed a series of miracles that caused me to imagine there was still a future for this country.
At this point, I am not fearful about the future of America, even with President Trump in the office . . . and despite all the Democrats crying out that impeachment of this guy is critical . . .and America is going down the tubes . . . and so much stuff that is so ridiculous, somehow, my confidence in my own ability to think and/or speak has been revitalized, as I compare my logic and reasoning skills to just about every politician in “Nutsville,” i.e.: Washington, D.C.! So, here is the poem I found and it is just amazing to me, since I had forgotten having written it:
OUR 44TH PRESIDENT
The country nearly cratered, when He donned a tattered hat.
Unlikely as all “get-out,” He stepped up to the bat . . .
The rebound chances, they were slim and everybody knew . . .
He soothed our broken hearts and souls, not quite sure what to do . . .
His will was solid iron, with Faith, His middle name . .
When history is written, pure Love should be His fame . . .
He visited the troops; he marched into The Slum . . .
There’ve never been more nay-sayers; who-knows where they came from!
At first, “the gears,” so lost from use, would only nudge and strain,
But, somehow, as the years progressed, we saw them work again.
The thing I remember most of all, about all those critical days . . .
Was just how proud I was (pause) of his reconstructive ways . . .
Once more, we had an advocate, one to talk and think!
He conquered overwhelming odds, and quelled “Old Party” stink!
He kept on trying, kept on smiling . . . I watched his hair grow gray . . . .
I pray that we might not forget . . .
THIS Hero saved THE DAY! ❤
J Jay Samuel Davis . . .