Norma Jean, Norma Gina

I found this poem on a scrap of paper in drawer. I have no idea of when my dad wrote this, however since he didn't have a verse for "north," I suspect he wrote this when he lived in Michigan and was homesick for Tennessee, as he was each spring. The last verse is a bit choppy, but just try rhyming the word "south." 

I feel a touch of spring,
Norma Jean, Norma Jean
I feel a touch of spring,
Norma Gina
I feel a touch of spring
The birds are on the wing
And they make the forest ring,
Norma Gina

The grass is getting green,
Norma Jean, Norma Jean
The grass is getting green,
Norma Gina
The grass is getting green
And if you know what I mean
We need a change in scene,
Norma Gina

Perhaps we should go West,
Norma Jean, Norma Jean
Perhaps we should go West
Norma Gina
Perhaps we should go West
But I have no zest for the West
And I couldn't do my best,
Norma Gina

Perhaps we should go East,
Norma Jean, Norma Jean
Perhaps we should go East,
Norma Gina
Perhaps we should go East
But my good times would all cease
For the East I like the least,
Norma Gina

Perhaps we should go South,
Norma Jean, Norma Jean
Perhaps we should go South,
Norma Gina
Perhaps we should go South
For it's the gospel truth
That love would rule our house,
Norma Gina

~James C. Parker (no date)

Random Poem on a Notepad

I was cleaning out a desk drawer and came across a notepad with a poem that seems to have been written while Jim was in the hospital.  He was also trying to figure out some math problems, probably something to do with his deductible.

To the girl who sent the cookies while I was laid a-waste,
Cookies thick and creamy, rich in chocolate taste:

If the words that I am thinking were a picture on the wall
Monet, Van Gogh and Moses would be nothing but a scrawl.
If the picture was removed and placed in a museum grand
It would be the greatest picture ever viewed by God or man.

If my thoughts were an ancient kingdom you would be a princess grand
Ruling over all the region, ruling over all the land.
Yours would be a happy kingdom full of music and of mirth
From your land would come the saying, Good will to man and peace on earth.

If the words that I am thinking could be transferred to my tongue
To be spoken in the morning, spoken with the rising sun
You would have to hold your eardrums for the volume of the sound
Like a mighty clap of thunder would resonate the world around.

-- James Parker, May 13, 1992

Christmas 2000

The light was just a flicker
in a manger in a barn,
like a firefly on a June night:
now you see it, now it's gone.

At first it grew so slowly,
an immeasurable amount.
It seemed, despite its goodness,
that the light would soon go out.

Angels sang a ghostly chorus,
wise men came that holy night,
lowly shepherds peered in wonder,
then stayed to fan the light.

Holy God in all His mercy
saw the world in sin and lost,
raised His hand, the light protected,
said, "My Son will pay the cost."

The the light burned stronger, brighter,
like a sunrise on the sea.
Its brilliance did not falter
when He died on Calvery's tree.

Now, the temple veil is broken.
Now, the road to Heaven paved.
Simple Man's no longer helpless.
Simple Man might now be saved.

Out in a foreign bushland
or in a swampy quay
sinners grope through total darkness
without knowing another way.

Will you stir yourself to help Him?
Will you take the torch to them?
It's the light of man's salvation
that began in Bethlehem. 

~ Jim Parker, written January 2000

Norma sent this poem out with the following note:  "Dear family and friends, Just before Jim's death, he wrote this Christmas poem for our holiday greeting for the year 2000.  We hope you will have a blessed Christmas."

Tennessee

If God had not made Tennessee
I would have thought it up;
A place to fish for carp and perch
Around the cypress stumps.

Where cotton blooms in summer
And the wild flowers hug the roads,
Where worldly problems all cast off
And pressure packs unload.

If God had not made Tennessee
I think I'd go and rob
Some other country's round top hill
And call it Pilot's Knob.

I'd set it by a river
Where from the top I'd see
Land and water far beyond;
The place that nurtured me.

If God had not made Tennessee
I would, for Heaven's sake!
Like when they dammed the river
and made Kentucky Lake.

Then I'd send a note to Peter
And maybe one to Paul
With a glowing report on the fishing sport
Saying, "Come on down, y'all!"

If God had not made Tennessee
I'd have done it by myself,
Made deer, raccoon and 'possum
And other game of stealth.

Made  a mocking bird to fool us
When he sings some other's tune
And a whip-or-will to sooth us
In evening's purple gloom.

If God had not made Tennessee
Where would I have been a lad?
Strolling down a summer's lane
With Mama and with Dad?

With straw hat down 'gainst the evening sun
And bare toes dragging sand
A happy boy, the world my toy,
In a Hallelujah land.

If God had not made Tennessee
With guitar, bass and horn,
Where a sound called country music
Was conceived and then was born.

Where fiddle, bow and banjo
Keep tune with patting feet
And loud applause enhance the cause
And never a stranger meet.

If God had not made Tennessee
Just think what we'd have missed.
No Smoky Mountains high and tall,
No skies with tree tops kissed.

No dreamy, bubbly mountain streams
Flowing down to bottom sand,
No place to say, when friends drop by,
"This is the Promised Land."

~ James Parker, June 1998.

Merry Christmas, Pogo Style

I'm on a children's lit listserv and someone recently posted "Deck us all with Boston Charlie/Walla Walla Wash.  and Kalamazoo..."  as a nondenominational holiday greeting to the group.  I did a Huh? doubletake because I grew up with Jim singing the lyrics throughout the month of December, but I didn't realize he was quoting Pogo.

It shouldn't have been a surprise.  This past year I've made many mental notes of things I enjoy that are virtual presents from my parents.  Even though I won't find a package under the tree from them this Christmas, these gentle reminders of Norma and Jim are gifts.  As I giggle over a Calvin and Hobbes comic I receive daily in my email, I remember Norma's laughter as she poured over the Sunday funnies each week and Jim's Monday night ritual of settling into his Lazy Boy recliner to watch "The Flintstones."

These past few weeks I've taken a route to work most mornings that goes through a neighborhood decked with lights and holiday statues on nearly each front lawn.  It's a comforting reminder of the years my parents and I toured the same streets each Christmas night, winding down the holiday with a leisurely drive to admire the decorations.    I am sitting on the edge of the back seat of the car, my small hand holding onto the back of my father's seat.   He has an impish smile as he adds extra "rumpa pum pa's!" to his favorite carol, "The Little Drummer Boy" and my heart understands the meaning of joy.

Poem for Jeffie

Growing up with my parents was sometimes like that Drew Carey improv show, "Who's Line Is It Anyway?" with songs and random poems being created on the fly. 

When I started dating Jeff, I sent him this poem.  Who says the way to man's heart is through his stomach?  God knows, my Crock Pot Lasagne didn't work.

Love Poem for Jeffrey L Harrison

Jeffie Pooh, Jeffie Pooh
All I do is think of you.
When I'm trying to eat lunch
I think of you a whole bunch.
When I'm trying to do work
My mind's a fuzzy, messy murk.
Oh, what is a poor brain to do
When it is full of Jeffie Pooh?
-- Connie Parker Harrison

Another Christmas Poem

Not long ago a woman who worked with my mother cleaned out some desks at work and found a Christmas card my mother sent after she and my father moved to Tennessee.  What great surprise. 

Santa Claus may miss our house
Because we've moved, you see,
Down to the South where
"Hush my mouf" and "y'all" comes easily
Down here they say if you watch and pray
And believe if miracles awesome,
On Christmas Day, though Santa might stray,
You'll be visited by Pogo Possum.