The spring, such a perfect reminisce
of youthful play in sweet fields of bliss,
a myriad of dreams with wanderlust
a child's innocence of purity and trust.

The sun did rise and the bells did ring,
each day something new did bring,
worries and cares, so little so few,
think time, playtime, suppertime too.

The world spun as the spring's sun set,
the lad became as the child he slept,
in the dawn the summer's sun did show,
for these are the seasons of my soul.

The summer, a wondrous reflection
of friends and plans of perfection,
an experiment with life's finer things
a youth's excitement filled with flings.

The sun did rise and the clocks did tick,
living the day engrossed in the frolic,
my songs were sung and stories told true,
of friends, of pain, and of love too.

The world spun as the summer's sun set,
and the man became as the lad he slept,
in the dawn the autumn's sun did show,
for these are the seasons of my soul.

The autumn, in contemplation's awe
of all that will be and all that I saw,
living the dreams, planting the seeds
of what will be of my legacy's deeds.

The sun will rise and the sand will fall
each day for them I will do my all,
they are my dreams, dreamed anew,
A wife, two sons, and a daughter too.

The world will spin as the autumn's sun sets
an old man will be where the man had slept,
in the dawn the winter's sun will show,
for these are the seasons of my soul.

The winter, a time for peaceful reflect,
on a life I hope lived with little regret,
taking the time to enjoy life's attain,
living what's left before the wane.

The sun will rise just before the toll,
celebrate with me before you condole,
I want all to see before it's through,
I lived, I loved, and I played too.

The world will turn as the winter's sun sets,
just a memory will be where I once slept,
in the dawn His Son will show,
for these are the seasons of my soul.


© Joey Jones

Somewhere off the highway
between over there and yonder ways
stands a little church on a gravel road
that took me home in my younger days.

As you pass grandmother's old place
where my ancestors found their stead
lays Uncle Pete's house in the woods
where reunions were held to break family bread.

It was at this place our stories were shared
as one generation met the one to come after
mournful old eyes glimpsed a jovial horizon
finding condolence in the future's young laughter.

It's here I learned the history of my inherited name
as I listened to the tales that ultimately lead to me
of how I'm related to this person who begat that one
or of those who served in the wars to keep us free.

As those stories were told I often found it strange
as the storyteller's gaze traced further down the trail
to where the gravel gave way to a dirt trodden path
that cut its way through Boone's forested dale.  

Over the years I have often made this journey
out past the places of my childhood memory
down an old Kentucky road of gravel and dirt
that finds its end at our old family cemetery.

It is a place were serenity accompanies finality
a small clearing shadowed by surrounding trees
where each marble marks a loved one in peaceful rest
their names etched in stone and whispered in the breeze.

My grandmother and Uncle Pete now lie in its shade
and in their passing it's only here we meet as a family
but it's on this road that I learned who I truly am  
and at its end lies both my history and my destiny.

© Joey Jones

I See You

I see you,
Yes, you, not the façade
not the charade
the materialistic disguise
you try so hard to show.

No, I see you!
The bruised, the battered, the beaten.
The you that exist inside the lie you tell
from this mirrored glass.
I see you!

The you that once fell
no longer trying to get back up
no longer wanting to stand
for you fought your 12 rounds
and was measured for 13
but then fell short.  
I see you!

Now, see me!
the inherited meek,
the emancipated truth,
veracity unbound and free
finally prepared for realization.

Now, see me!
the healed,
the mended,
the survivor.

The me that can rise
for 13 is not the last round
its round 1 of the next fight
and like all fights before
I will find victory

Let them see us!
The reflection and reality
the charade and veracity
the epiphany shown in mirrored realization.


Let them see us!
The bruised that was healed,
the battered that was mended,
the beaten that survived.

The us that rose to our potential
undeterred in our determination
trained through our experience
resolved as one champion.

Let them see me.
the scarred truth that is me
not defined by my past
but the author of my today
and master of my tomorrow.

Joey Jones