(photo by Olan Smith, all right reserved, 2018)

Pinch Me!

©2018, Olan L. Smith

Dear Poet,

This poem reminds me of Emily Dickinson's poetry in a certain way; random but not random, terse yet soft, chilled but warmed by the words of an early morning in the fall. I wonder, sometimes, what death is like, then I remember what was before death and then say to myself, "Oh." It is a shutting off, like powering down a machine or robot, or shutting off a radio. Residual energy still exists in it; they call it stored energy; so don't be surprised that after death my body will sit up and grab your hand.

I am glad you are here to say hello, if you weren't the world would be missing something beautiful, and with a chorus of voices penning verses to pin on the internet, for the inquisitive to read, we are a force to be reckoned with. "Do not ignore me, I am the poet, I am the song, I am the words that touch the soul!"

"Just want to thank someone for it," so I chose you, Ms./Mr. Poet, thank you for writing. "I am grateful to be alive at the same time as you, as thousands of other great poets that have touched me and influence me to write better poetry, and to paint better paintings. Here it is spring with hints of summer, but I am in the fall of my life, and I can't think of a better time to be alive then now. So, pinch me. Am I dreaming? No, because I hear the birds when I wake to remind me how fortunate I am.

Love, peace, and freedom, Olan

(Drawing by Olan Smith, 1970, age 17)