Pennington brings out the best in those who know him

The other day I received an autographed copy of Lee Pennington‘s latest offering to the literary world. Aside from being a past Poet Laureate of Kentucky, retired college professor and film maker, he is a two-time nominee for the Pulitzer in LIterature, and rightfully so.

Pretty much every morning I rise early, and before time to walk my dog, Brody (about sunrise), I read to get my mind fresh for the day. Though I have been into a novel by a best-selling author, when I got Lee’s book, Appalachian Newground, a combination of arresting short stories and crisp poetry based on his youth in rural Kentucky, illustrated with remarkable drawings by world renowned artist, and mate of Lee’s, Jill Baker, I couldn’t help replacing the novel with Lee’s book, which is much better written than that of the best-selling novelist. I highly recommend  it to anyone who loves the charming past and is into nostalgic, well-thought out writing. I’m also looking forward to getting one of a few remaining sets of Jill’s prints from the book.

Lee’s work is so out-of-the-ordinary that it inspired me. Rhonda and I have been beset by some tough circumstances of late, and I needed some inspiration. I’m certainly no Lee Pennington, buy my inspiration led me to pen the  following poem.

Imagination’s Window

It’s a sticky wicket,                                                                                                                    Such a slippery slope;                                                                                                               A stodgy old curmudgeon                                                                                                         Digesting his own jokes.

Imagination’s window                                                                                                               Seems to crack a smile,                                                                                                        Then deafening silent darkness                                                                                               Blinds the brightest minds.

As I tossed my thoughts together                                                                                            They struck a pitchy chord                                                                                                      And I watched a silver granny                                                                                                 Her rusting trinkets hoard.

Tomorrow looked at Yesterday,                                                                                               And shook hands with Today;                                                                                               Then imagination’s window                                                                                                       Had nothing more to say.