Poem of the Day: “Jefferson Turnip” by Ross Balcom

Songs of Eretz Poetry Review is pleased to present “Jefferson Turnip” by Ross Balcom.  Mr. Balcom is a counselor living in southern California. In addition to regular appearances in the Songs of Eretz venues, Mr. Balcom’s poems have appeared in Beyond Centauri, inkscrawl, Scifaikuest, Star*Line, Tigershark, and other publications. Currently, his favorite poets are John Ashbery, Lo Fu, and Michael McClure. In addition to poetry, his interests include parapsychology, hypnosis, and neuro-linguistic programming (NLP).

Jefferson Turnip

Ross Balcom

1.

He appeared in the gloom

of the abandoned farmhouse.

Slender, sombre, pale,

a boy in his early teens,

semi-transparent, a ghost.

He spoke but once:

"My name is Jefferson Turnip,"

and then he vanished.

His disappearance

left a crushing weight

in the night-dark room.

I fell to my knees

and wept; long, long

and sorrowfully, I wept.

2.

Boys are the heralds of life;

they should not die.

Had I the power, I would restore

dead boys to life, would grant them

an eternity of sunlit fields and playgrounds.

This boy, Jefferson Turnip,

a child of the soil, a rural splash

of wonder, his voice like a rainbow

arching over the fields, his laughter

bright with the promise of

still greater joy, this boy

whose home is the world,

the one true world, this boy

the world's salvation, a sun-bright

heart embracing all...

...this boy I would call my own.

3.

Alas, the ghost I saw

was only the flickering afterglow

of what once so brightly shone.

Wan, dim spectre, treading

hallowed dust and mouse droppings,

a stranger in his own abode...

Jefferson Turnip.

He honored me, a mere interloper,

with his presence, breaking and entering

my heart, rousing paternal waters.

And my tears profusely flowed.

Lord God, they flowed.

4.

I see him dead,

laid in a box,

pale turnip

returned to the soil.

I pray eternal day

will follow

the loam's

dark night.

5.

Bless you, Jefferson Turnip,

bless you forever.

You gifted me

with your presence,

you made yourself known.

Though but a ghost,

you have a face and a name,

and that face and that name

belong to a boy who,

long ago, was loved.

Poet’s Notes:  I had a dream in which I encountered a ghostly boy in an abandoned farmhouse. He said, "My name is Jefferson Turnip," and then he disappeared. I was inspired to write this poem.

Since writing the poem, Jefferson Turnip seems increasingly like a real person/presence to me. Maybe we are all "authored" into being. There is nothing mightier than the pen.

Editor’s Note:  I hear echoes of Whitman and Poe here, but this poem is still one hundred percent Balcom.  “Jefferson Turnip” first appeared (in poem form) in the May 2014 issue of Songs of Eretz Poetry E-zine.