Sunday, August 12, 2018


My piano recordings and poetry are consistently my most unpopular blog posts.

Hell if I know. 

I post my piano recordings mostly to show off and also to assure you that I'm not just a country hick, but a country hick with class. 

As for poetry.....
....well, very few normal people like poetry. I've never been normal and I'm proud of it. 
I know a few other bloggers who have poetic souls - like Dylan and Geo and some others.

Writing poetry is a way of purging my troubled soul. I prefer to write in free verse because it's non-restricting.

The poetry that I write for children, however, always rhymes. I have a new children's book that will appear soon. Or reasonably soon.

But, Jon - we thought you hated children!

Let's put it this way:
I like children the best when they're fifty miles away. At the very least.
But I admittedly love writing poetry books for children. It resurrects my own childhood and nourishes my "fun" side.

You didn't know I had a fun side, did you?

So, what's the purpose of this blog post? 

I want to inflict you with my latest poem. It was written last night during a post-midnight bout of intense anxiety-ridden insomnia.
I wrote it quickly, with no edits - which will be obvious in the final result.

End of the Tunnel

Towards the end 
the tunnel continually narrows
to the near point of suffication,
as if to undeniably confirm
the stark realization
that there are no second chances -
no turning back.

The elusive light of salvation
that you had imagined
waiting in the yawning distance
is merely the rude distortion
of a carnival mirror

which shimmers tauntingly
in the uncertain dusk,
reflecting with brutal accuracy
all the past hideous things
you never wanted to acknowledge
or remember.

Beyond the mirror
is a great abstract void
that has been expecting you
and which methodically confirms
the absence of your existence.

Jon V.
copyright 2018  

If you steal this, reuse it, or rehash it in any form I will personally find you, inflict my detrimental Hungarian wrath on you, and waterboard the shit out of you.  


  1. That was a lovely poem Jon.

    Does this mean you are seeing light at the end of your tunnel finally? I hope so...I think you been dealt enough for two years dear.

    1. Maddie, I keep seeing the end of the tunnel light, but it seems to be infuriatingly elusive. I'm still plagued with personal problems. Hopefully there's a plausible way out...

  2. Jon, thanks for remembering me. I actually do think of you every single day: How would Jon approach this dire situation? Your strength and wit inspire me to carry on.

    I've come to the conclusion that social media is fast becoming a kind of cancer of the soul. It's different when you read an actual book (which few people do these days), but I've gone back to reading books. There's more sanity and kindness to be found there.

    I love your most recent poem (and wish you would post more poetry). You are a very fine poet - so why be afraid of people that are afraid of poetry? It's your blog to do as YOU choose.

    Again, much thanks for mentioning me in your blog. Please know the feeling is 100% mutual.


    1. Thanks for your kind comment, Dylan. I always read your blog - and can fully understand why you're not allowing comments. The Internet has changed drastically over the past few years. There is an enormous amount of hate and intolerance that I've never seen before. All you have to do is read the comments on YouTube (as you mentioned). It's insane.

      Unfortunately, my "strength and wit" seem to be waning. I'm presently going through one of my deepest, darkest times. I try to avoid it in my blog posts. In fact, I often surprise myself by realizing that I still have a sense of humor (or a semblance of one).

      I find great solace in reading books (REAL books, made out of paper). And I always enjoy writing poetry - although I don't write nearly as much as I used to.

      Anyway, thanks for being there...and keep in touch.

    2. By the way - I watched a Greta Garbo documentary on YouTube a few weeks ago and remember that most of the comments were horrible. Perhaps we saw the same documentary.

    3. Jon, I'm not certain if we saw the same documentary (there are so many about her), but I agree that the comments were horrible - it's quite possible we saw the same one. Most of the idiots fixated on the fact that Sweden is notorious for sex change operations, etc. That's how they justified their ignorance. Ignorance is bliss...

  3. WOW … that image! But I won't deny, the verse - while brilliant - has awakened the creepies in me.

    A "hick with class" … I love it!

    1. I was in a very dire mood when I wrote that poem, and - to some extent - it awakened the "creepies" in me, too. I was actually surprised that I wrote it, since I hadn't initially planned on writing anything.

      I've always been a hick with class. I was going to say "a hick with enormous class" but I didn't want to sound too self-serving....

  4. Dear kind Jon, Thanks for this poem. Closing verse has a special meaning right now. Will know more on Tuesday. I have stitches halfway round my throat but am home. Saw that tunnel twice this week and am sitting here with a glass of wine, thinking: Gee, I'm glad to be home. You're part of that good feeling. August is, with the exception of some of the best and wisest people I've ever known getting born on the 8th of it --mother, mother-in-law, friend Wendy (who drove me to appointments), probably the cruelest month ever. Take it from a fellow hick, be careful this month

    1. Geo, I am very sorry to hear about your recent health troubles. I know how fond you are of Emily Dickinson - she also had quite serious health issues to battle with, but she got through the worst of it by reading and writing poetry. I hope you can do the same. It is good to hear that you are back home again. We all deserve a safe harbor. I'm keeping my fingers crossed for you and Jon big time.


    2. Dear Dylan, thanks. It's too bad Miss Dickinson left so early but her effect on poetry is still at work. That's a big triumph for a delicate lady on a tight schedule.

  5. My poem isn't particularly cheerful, but it was written by an extremely anguished soul. I'm glad that you're back home, Geo. It is definitely the most comfortable and comforting place to be.

    August is usually one of my favorite months, but this year it is filled with an enormous amount of personal stress and anguish. I've been so emotionally and physically distraught that I haven't had time to enjoy it.
    The problems never seem to go away, do they?

    Take care, rest, and nurture yourself with positive thoughts.

  6. Such beautiful poetic angst. You must have needed the release. Writing sometimes helps us to dump out a little of our feelings on paper. I sure hope the end of the tunnel arrives soon, my friend. You need a break! :)

  7. Thanks, Rita! Writing is a valuable catharsis, which is mainly why I blog.
    That light at the end of the tunnel has been ever-elusive for me, but I'm cautiously optimistic. August has been a rotten month so far.

  8. Writing, especially writing poetry, can serve as a much-needed pressure valve. Sometimes, you just have to let it OUT. (And you do it so well!)

    Here's to that light at the end of the tunnel... and here's to it not being an oncoming train. :) Hang in there, you classy hick, you. Very cool on your children's poetry book being nearly done.

    1. I totally agree with Susan: Writing and reading poetry has saved my life 101 times over the years. Keep writing. Keep reading. There is no better medicine for despair. We all want you to survive and thrive big time!

  9. Susan, with my intensely bad luck I wouldn't be surprised if that light at the end of the tunnel is indeed a train. But if it is....I'll be sure to duck! (*smile*)
    Thanks for your input and kind words.

  10. Jon,
    Sorry, two things I never "got" was Broadway musicals and poetry. I just don't "get" it. That's on me of course. I do like good prose though.

    1. I never liked Broadway musicals either, Ron. Poetry is good prose - but meticulously arranged (*smile*). I hope you're feeling better.

    2. Jon,
      I think the reason I was never into poetry was because it was force fed to me in high school, probably bad poetry. I can understand why many people love poetry. I didn't know what prose was until I mentioned a book I read to a friend many years ago. He said "He writes very good prose." I looked up the definition of "prose" and viola! I like prose. What I say though is if you like to write and read poetry, that's what counts. A good friend of mine hates mayonnaise which I just don't get. I hate rhubarb. We're all different (see how I avoided the cliche "Different strokes for different folks"?) I've said too much.

  11. Do take care of yourself, rest,

  12. intriguing poem. a poetic release.

    1. Thanks you - and I agree - it was an emotional release for me.

  13. Jon,

    Hmmm, maybe there is a connection between your poem and previous post about Margaret's horror needle. After all. a hypodermic syringe is a tube or tunnel that narrows to a point at the end. Once in the chair of the blood drawer there is little chance to turn back. Of course, since you are familiar with my posts and life you know I don't share the sentiment of the poem as a believing Christian. You also know I do have some poetry in my soul. I also hate needles.


    1. You definitely do have a poetic soul, Larry. There aren't very many of us left, it seems.
      You've put an entirely new perspective on needles and tunnels. I never thought of it that way. I've always hated needles - but now I also hate tunnels (*smile*).


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