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    If Hemingway Would Have Lived... A Compilation of Northern Michigan Seasonal Poetry Inspired by The Writings of Ernest Hemingway
    If Hemingway Would Have Lived... A Compilation of Northern Michigan Seasonal Poetry Inspired by The Writings of Ernest Hemingway
    If Hemingway Would Have Lived... A Compilation of Northern Michigan Seasonal Poetry Inspired by The Writings of Ernest Hemingway
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    If Hemingway Would Have Lived... A Compilation of Northern Michigan Seasonal Poetry Inspired by The Writings of Ernest Hemingway

    By David Wyant

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    About this ebook

    “All my life I've looked at words as though I were seeing them for the first time.” ~ Ernest Hemingway

    The poems that follow remind us what could have been if Ernie had persisted on his youthful poetic vision which was inspired by his early religious training and the beauty of Petoskey.
    Each poem, written in the spirit of Hemingway ( not a parody), by Author David Wyant would stand on it's own merits; however, when viewed as a haunting of Hemingway's, they will take on another
    mysterious spiritual dimension.
    Early fame had blinded Hemingway to ever giving thanks to God for his remarkable talent. Unfortunately, he began to believe his own press releases and the hard-boiled image created by publisher and tabloid alike.
    Herein, we find a spirit that serves to polish Hem's tarnished image.
    Had his vision stayed Petoskey-pure and had he pursued a personal Walk With The Lord, his poetry might have looked like this:

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDavid Wyant
    Release dateMar 26, 2013
    ISBN9781301962426
    If Hemingway Would Have Lived... A Compilation of Northern Michigan Seasonal Poetry Inspired by The Writings of Ernest Hemingway
    Author

    David Wyant

    David Henry Wyant, M.Ed. was born in Rogers City Michigan, just 60 miles directly east of Petoskey, along Lake Huron. He graduated with honors from RCHS in 1959 during a time when most young Americans strongly felt the need to do what they could to beat Russia into outer space. At seventeen, he drew rocket plans for NASA.A graduate of Concordia Univ. Chicago(BA) and Wayne State Univ. Detroit, MI,(MA), Mr. Wyant taught elementary school for 30 years specializing in Art. He worked on a team which wrote the state Art curriculum for Florida.Author Wyant currently enjoys visits with his daughter, Lisa Luebke (wife of Randall), five grandchildren and one great grandchild who all live nearby in Boyne City, Michigan. Experiencing Petoskey's north woods will never be the same after you read, "The Lost Chronicles of Young Ernest Hemingway." "The Town that Haunted Hemingway"..."Side Door to Heaven for Hemingway"Mr. Wyant's previous books were environmental in nature:"A Compilation of Poems", Landscape painting with words"My Petoskey Stones"(192 pages regional poems) Extolling the natural beauty of Petoskey, MI"The Town that Haunted Hemingway." Extensive research of Hemingway’s youth in Petoskey area."Art Curriculum, State of FL." What every child should know about Art, K-12Mr. Wyant is available for readings of his books, writer's workshops and readings of his unique regional poetry.

    Read more from David Wyant

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      Book preview

      If Hemingway Would Have Lived... A Compilation of Northern Michigan Seasonal Poetry Inspired by The Writings of Ernest Hemingway - David Wyant

      If Hemingway Would Have Lived...

      A Compilation of Northern Michigan Seasonal Poetry

      Inspired by the Writings of Ernest Hemingway

      Published by David Wyant at Smashwords

      Copyright 2013 David H. Wyant

      Smashwords Edition, License Notes

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      **********

      Table of Contents

      Winter

      Spring

      Summer

      Autumn

      Winter

      All my life I've looked at words as though I were seeing them for the first time. ~ Ernest Hemingway

      The poems that follow remind us what could have been if Ernie had persisted on his youthful poetic vision which was inspired by his early religious training and the beauty of Petoskey.

      Each poem, written in the spirit of Hemingway ( not a parody), by Author David Wyant would stand on it's own merits; however, when viewed as a haunting of Hemingway's, they will take on another

      mysterious spiritual dimension.

      Early fame had blinded Hemingway to ever giving thanks to God for his remarkable talent. Unfortunately, he began to believe his own press releases and the hard-boiled image created by publisher and tabloid alike.

      Herein, we find a spirit that serves to polish Hem's tarnished image.

      Had his vision stayed Petoskey-pure and had he pursued a personal Walk With The Lord, his poetry might have looked like this:

      Bay Front Clock

      February 27, 2008

      Bay front clock stands smugly tall

      Overlooking boat slip stall,

      Vacant now for one good reason-

      Waiting for a warmer season.

      Petoskey’s towering time piece

      Starkly asks us all to see,

      "What have you done with life’s short lease

      As viewed against eternity?"

      Dobson, too once mentioned sly,

      "Time flies, you say?

      Alas, ah no, time stays,

      ‘Tis we who fly."

      Along life’s classic continuum stage,

      Where birth and youth mature to age

      Comes fond advice from English sage.

      But, now say I,

      Eventually ‘tis not time, but gravity

      Which gets us all!

      Grinds us down,

      Treats all the same,

      Backs us all into the ground

      To soil from whence we came.

      Behooves us all

      To reason why,

      Then ready leave some legacy

      Which lifts beyond depravity,

      Transcends this flesh and deifies.

      Ascend us up to Kingdom’s throne.

      Messiah came, the deed is done.

      ‘Twas in His blood

      Where power lay

      To lift us all, e’en flesh and bone,

      Transport us to our rightful home.

      Bavfront Birches

      February 7, 2007

      Imagine my surprise

      When right before my eyes,

      Shielded from the winter's breeze,

      I found a healthy birch tree.

      There it stood!

      It made me stare

      At its elegant white wood,

      And shaggy Afro hair.

      At Bayfront Park

      We all can view

      How its unique bark

      Once made a canoe.

      With branches strong,

      Straight and narrow,

      They also make...

      The perfect arrow.

      Of course the pine

      Is very fine.

      Stays green

      All through the winter,

      But I have found

      Their arrows bound

      And eventually will splinter.

      Birch beauty makes the nicest fixture.

      Makes brides pose

      To get a picture.

      Their grooms stand by

      For a shirt tail tuck

      In hopes the tree

      Will bring them luck.

      Birchwood poles

      Are fine for fishin’

      Makes good cabinets

      For the kitchen.

      Birchwood is light,

      Not real hard-

      I’d like to see

      A birchtree

      In every yard.

      If woodpeckers

      Would just stay away

      There’d be more around

      To this very day.

      A poet may try

      to swing on them,

      A tourist

      Might carve his name,

      There are not many birches

      Left these days .

      And that’s a crying shame.

      Pollution might be killing them,

      Bugs might be drilling them.

      Bird nests should be filling them,

      For I love them

      Just the same.

      Choice or Chance

      February 16, 2007

      Gigantic gray rollers- with a grudge-

      Stratospheric, catastrophic clouds- without- mercy

      Edge slowly,

      Now lurching towards Nubs.

      Five-thirty golden sun

      Gilds these atmospheric monsters

      Into appearing harmless

      Or fun.

      But, onward

      Spill they, bedecked,

      Belching,

      Snorting, smothering our deck.

      With that terribly thick

      Covering,

      Called, lake effect.

      Ice anglers

      Abandon their shacks.

      Now swiftly make tracks!

      For mainland safety

      Avoiding the cracks.

      No fish is worth it!

      Most will remark,

      -

      But, Skiers rejoice,

      Hit the slopes before dark!

      Two totally divergent

      Points of view.

      Makes me wonder.

      Does it you?

      Some see a snow storm

      And run from its blast,

      While another group

      Loves it,

      Prays it will last.

      In what camp can we find you?

      When challenges begin?

      Do you gasp or do you grin?

      Run you out

      Or run you in?

      Will you shrink?

      When times get tough?

      Be thee firm

      And boldly adjust?

      I think of the German

      Para- glider girl-

      Caught up by accident in similar swirl,

      Drifted into a terrific storm,

      She did not panic, as would be the norm,

      But rode it out

      Thirty thousand feet high,

      Landed in Australia with only a bruised thigh.

      Or Lindberg,

      Or Yeager

      Sound Barrier Breakthrough

      The Wright brothers too

      -

      What did they do?

      All traveled beyond

      the status quo

      Danced on the edge

      Of disaster for you!

      Where would we be

      Without (wo)men of vision?

      Harnessing: air travel,

      Nuclear fission,

      -

      Probing deeper than those gone before!

      Men of adventure,

      Loving the lore!

      Day Before Spring

      (One Solitary Mink)

      March 19, 2009

      Twenty four most bleak degrees

      With bitter wind which rocks pine trees

      Leaves nothing to brag about or sing

      This blessed, last day before spring.

      Yet one solitary, slender mink

      With caution wends his nervous way

      Along the frigid brink

      Where slippery flows an icy ledge

      With jitter, stops he brief at River’s icy edge.

      Fleet of foot this furry

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