Jerry Phillips' Poetry

Poetry by Jerry Phillips
Class of 1964

SONNET
by Jerry Phillips

I long to see again an azure sky
Above the drifted dunes of sun-bleached sand.
For here the sky is gray, and not as high
As in my distant home, Enchanted Land.

The cactus, waiting patiently for rain;
The stillness 'round a lone coyote's call;
The chill night wind that whispers 'cross the plain;
Primeval pedagogues--I miss them all.

Impatient with myself, I've wandered far
Away from all the things which meant the most;
And noisy city streets tear at my ear
Like screeching, howling, disenchanted ghosts.

And so it seems. No matter where I go,
My heart is somewhere in New Mexico.

JERRY SCARBER
by Jerry Phillips

I can still remember Jerry Scarber
Even after forty years have passed.
He and I were in the second-grade, then.
Funny, how some memories will last.

I remember, too, the awful story,
In an earlier summer, so they said:
Jerry fell beneath his father’s pickup;
Then the pickup rolled across his head.

So, he wasn’t like the other children.
One of his blue eyes was always closed.
Speaking wasn’t easy for him, either;
In our classroom, Jerry always dozed.

Some kids didn’t want to sit beside him.
They upon his differences did dwell.
Teacher gathered all of us together--
Told us we must always treat him well.

One day Teacher asked us for a favor;
Had each bring a penny from his home.
Then, with all the pennies we collected,
We bought Jerry Scarber his own comb.

Teacher really did a lot for Jerry;
Taught him how to comb his tangled hair.
We were proud we helped to make a difference.
He was proud that everybody cared.

Teacher did a lot for everybody;
Helping us our prejudice transcend.
We had learned a lesson in compassion;
Jerry was our close, though different, friend.

So we played together in the schoolyard,
Of his problems, we were unaware--
Till one Monday morning in the winter,
School began, but Jerry wasn’t there.

Teacher tried to make it easy on us;
Tried to hide the hurt she felt inside.
Forty years have passed--still I remember.
Funny--after forty years, I cried.

Author's Note: A little 'poetic license' was taken in this work. Jerry didn't actually die in the
second grade. He survived to the fourth grade, and his last school picture is in the '56 yearbook.
We were friends, feeling it was somehow special that we shared the same first name.
The second grade teacher was Miss Girline Brown.

FANADDICT
by Jerry Phillips
( Dedicated to all those who cannot sleep without the nearby drone of a 20" boxfan. )

I cannot sleep without my fan,
I wish I could; like others can.
For normal folks must think it queer
To want such droning in one's ear;
But silence and the peaceful night
Are hell to one whose sleep is light.
The quiet, like a creeping vine,
Invades the trellis of my mind.

I think of things I shouldn't think--
Do I hear dripping in the sink?
And as my wife sleeps like a log
I'm listening to the neighbor's dog.
At two o'clock--another 'yelp!'
Perhaps a piece of cake would help.
So I have cake, and cookies, too;
And then some milk before I'm through.

Then back to bed to try once more;
Alas, my wife begins to snore.
The dog joins in--the noises swell--
I think I've died and gone to hell.
My nerves are frayed, completely gone...
I grab my fan and turn it on!

I cannot sleep without my fan.
I wish I could; like others can.

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