Journey a Collection of Writings by Merrill Guillory
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About this ebook
Come...come, walk into my soul, the pages of my heart await you. Turn every page and walk with me as we move hand in hand into that world impervious to sound or nature. It is here where we will experience an awakening of absorbed emotions and dreams produced from the pages of my book. The entrance is open,
welcome.
Merrill Guillory
Merrill Guillory, was the third of seven children born to Gervis and Lillian Boutte Guillory from the rural community of Mallet, Louisiana. Though the family moved from Mallet to Lake Charles, Louisiana at a young tender age, it would be the stories of his parents and grandparents that would shape the way his perspective of life would unfold through words written in his poems. His stories are told from the eyes of the heart and the experiences of living in an conflicting world of Creole and African American culture. A culture shaped and defined in the world of “Jim Crow,” and the painful loss of those who walked in that world through an intimate expression of nature found in the pages of “Journey.”
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Journey a Collection of Writings by Merrill Guillory - Merrill Guillory
Ali
Shattered Dreams
About the Author
MEMORIES
Father, Gervis Guillory ; Mother, Lillian Guillory
Gravesite of my brother, Ronald James Guillory
Dec. 19, 1946 -- February. 21, 1947
Ascending
Life bursts forth, a wailing yell
Little eyes piercing the unknown
Tiny hands and feet so frail
Writhing face that knows not where he belongs
Her arms caress that which was part of her
A tender, gentle, loving smile so warm
Her caring touch, soft kiss, her soothing face
His little eyes, search and meet...now there’s calm
Her smile is as fresh as the morning dew
Her benevolent spirit breathes forth a new horizon
A light shined forth with a burst of hue
loving, kindness, graciousness to name a few
A moment in time, captured in space
Splintered memories, a void of fractured parts
Precious moment locked in time is now far removed
Only memories supplant his grieving heart
A shadow hovers over, life slowly moves away
Deep into this place, I know not where
Only her eyes speak, from a place far away
Dimmer, dimmer, dim...I know not where
In this hallow chamber of dementia’s mind
Deep into the shadow of this forsaken hell
Innocence pierces this dark and shadowy time
Her soft hands reach, she utters a wailing yell
Momma, momma!
He cries, she only stares
From great depth she now descends
A lone tear drop from he knows not where
Into her mother's arms she now ascends
The night is past, light has dawned with lasting peace
Joy indescribable, she’s now embraced
He caresses her into His gentle spirit of infinite care
her loving heart awaits His moment of timeless grace
Elysium
Dementia came early in the life of mother, robbing her of her precious senior years, and would also claim her most intimate memory. Her first child would forever remain on her lips and her eyes would tell the story of the pain she experienced in the second month of nineteen and forty-seven. Mom and dad lived in a small rural house, more likened to a shed, ten miles from the nearest city and doctor’s care. In the early morning hours on a cold windy morning Gervis and Lillian Guillory laid their first born into his final resting place, unknowing that new life was taking form inside of her. In their memory, I share this intimate story Mom would repeat so dear to her heart.
An oil lamp cast a somber shadow
as the flickering light danced upon the walls.
The winter of nineteen forty-seven was harsh,
unforgiving to land, life and all.
In its grip none were spared, crops withered,
Life struggled to survive.
She walked back and forth
in the tiny room of that makeshift shack.
He fought the wind and snow ten miles away,
in search of a doctor to bring back.
Desperation would not compromise with nature,
firmly she held her grip this day.
Cradled in her buxom dear to her heart,
his tiny listless eyes pierced her bleeding soul.
With each agonizing step,
tears rolled softly from her cheeks to the floor.
Grimly the reaper made its presence,
his tiny eyes closed to open no more.
As the reaper-wind hollers through the cracked walls,
and the sky with angry bellowing clouds relents.
A beam of light reflects on the make-shift hall,
A tiny passage for a tiny soul ascends
heavenward toward Elysium.
On a cold brisk February morning,
the young couple stood
beneath the shade of a tall oak.
Back to dust their young child of two months
sleeps in silent peace.
From heaven light came forth,
into heaven, light returned.
The doors of Elysium opened,
from his ethereal home new life stirs.
Under the shade of that tall oak,
the young couple grieved their first born,
in her fertile womb new life began
and again they were three.
Father
We never had that one on one,
those kind of talks that Ward had with Wally and the Beaver.
You never came home from the office,
but from a pit with callous hands
that gripped a shovel in back-bending work.
You cared deeply, but didn’t know how to express it,
not the way Mr. Cleaver did.
We knew early that world was not real,
not like the one we lived in.
You gave your best, your caring was harsh,
and at times the relief of a drink was sought.