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J. Allen Wilson

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Books by J. Allen Wilson
  A Life Which Cometh Full Circle
by J. Allen Wilson
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
Not rated by the Author.

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Recent poems by J. Allen Wilson
•  A Tribute to Clint…
•  JD’s Rose - Nicole
•  Thank You Baby For Loving Me
•  A Birthday Prayer
•  Get Thee Behind Me Satan
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I wrote the poem below this morning as I gazed out across the open sea. What brought me true amazement was that later on in the day we noticed a gathering of people out on the edge of the pier. I got out my camera and attached the zoom lens and it was then that I noticed that they were dressed in the colors of mourning. Three wreaths of red, yellow and white roses sat at the end of the pier. There was a moment of silence and then the urn was opened for the sea to reclaim its contents once again. A bagpipe started playing amazing grace and the three wreaths were tossed one by one into sea. I photographed the entire ceremony and could not help but notice in my lens as the procession turned to walk back towards shore, that beneath the pier were a gathering of school children on a field trip. The scene was therefore etched indelibly in my mind forever. There was the bagpipe player, playing amazing grace, then the mourners, with the wreaths tossing amongst the waves behind them, and below on the sand of the beach…young children with a full life ahead of them. The scene had all of the elements of life come forth in full circle. I removed my hat and held it over my heart and then I said a prayer…not only for the recently departed, but for life and the celebration of life itself. To all…live in joy…celebrate peace…and live each day as if it were the last… and live it to the fullest in both love and happiness. Peace to you all.

Tybee Island, Ga.


 A Life Which Cometh Full Circle…the poem

 A small child cried,

as its toy was devoured by the receding tide.

I watched it in a slow and broken motion

as it bobbed but for a moment

and then sunk quickly to the bottom of the ocean.

Yet, now it is I which cries

But not for the child, or the toy, but I cry for me.

I weep openly for what I know,

I mourn unnaturally for what I see.

I fall down in mortal weakness

As I taste the bitter waters of my own reality.

For I, we, all of mankind is likened to the sand

 that is gathered silently by the sea.

We drift and we blow

From places seen, and to lands unknown.

We are just temporal grains of humanity

Tossed in tempest to and fro…

Here but for a moment…then gone.

Gone…and remembered not

Gone and soon replaced by another anonymous grain

Which did the ever constant sea bring forth

 to render once again that all things remain the same.



J. Allen Wilson © 2005





















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Reviewed by Lois Christensen
We all come full circle indeed and get through our trouble so in need. What comes our way is sometimes hard to bear but God does not give us more than we can bear. He has miracles appear at times when he wants to do one, so don't ever give up hope.
Reviewed by Michelle Smolen
This is sweet and sad.Soft yet,reality. I look forward to reading more of your work, it's lovely.
Many blessings to you and yours ~Shell
Reviewed by jude forese
the cycle of life moves on yet always remains the same ...

wise and well configured poem ...
Reviewed by m j hollingshead
well done
Reviewed by Andre Bendavi ben-YEHU

Wise lines, rich in amagery and contents...
"A Life Which Cometh Full Circle" teaches, inspires
and leads the reader to wisdom's shores.

Thank You, Poet!

Andre Emmanuel Bendavi ben-YEHU
Reviewed by Huda Orfali
So much wisdom and beauty in your poem, Allen
thanks for sharing
love and peace
Reviewed by E T Waldron
Your deeply impassioned nature shows strongly in this poem Allen!
Beautifully written with sage advice...Hope you are enjoying your favorite hide-away!;-)Best to Leah too!

Reviewed by Ed Matlack
Life is what we make of it, we all should take note from this write how it feels to grow older with each passing day & enjoy our lives each and every day...Find Peace on your island, Ed & Rufuz
Reviewed by Felix Perry
Sometimes our lifes are the very essence of a good poem, a great joyous beginning, lines played out in between and a sad sentimental ending. Well captured topic here allen.

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