Author: Jerry Brotherton

I am The Backyard Poet and I warn you that, not only will I ramble on about nothing but, I have been known to stand upon my soapbox and rant about things I care nothing about just to hear the sound of my own voice. I will try to force my opinion upon anyone willing to pay the slightest attention.

May 1st 1957

On By Jerry BrothertonIn Non Fiction, Short Stories5 Comments

It was 51 degrees in Carrollton, Missouri when I took my first breath that began this incredible journey called life. Although I have no recollection of the first 4 years of it, so I can safely say that in my mind, my life started on one warm spring day…you know what, let’s save that for another time.

It just took a little bit of one finger typing into Google to easily bring me up to speed on those early years. It was 8.40 PM on Wednesday when doctor Everett L. Smith slapped me on the ass and proclaimed me a healthy baby boy. By that miracle of childbirth, I took my place in the world as the 7th son and the 14th child born to Arlie and Sylvia Brotherton. At least that’s the official information from my birth certificate, but there will be countless times over the course of the next twenty years or so that I will swear that I was adopted.

My Zodiac sign is Taurus (the bull headed), ruled by Venus (beauty and creativity). My mythical Animal is the (Rooster), my life Path is #1; supposedly that makes me a born leader who insists on making up my own mind and demanding freedom of thoughts and actions. My birth stone is emerald, my flower is the Lily of the Valley and my perfect match, January 7th, 1961.

According to the internet, my psychological profile says I am bound to think, study, reflect and develop inner wisdom. In a past life, sometime around 950AD, it seems that I might have been a judge in France. My strengths were the talent to understand ancient texts, magical abilities and perhaps I might have been a servant of the dark forces.

In this life though, to my family, I was merely the fourteenth competitor for the attention of my parents. To the rest of the world an ordinary baby boy, nothing more than just another name among the 279,640 children born on that day.

Castaway

On By Jerry BrothertonIn flash, Poetry, Short Stories2 Comments

She only talked about her family in glimpses. Like she was always balancing on a tightrope between the expected and just chucking it all for the next bus to somewhere else. She tried to paint a picture for me of her small town. All those houses on tree lined streets with children’s faces peering out through window panes. Those strict rural Midwestern values standing in the doorways with belts in their hands. But I ran out of brown, umber, and black. I made her laugh…her cheeks turned red from embarrassment. She’d been told unwed mothers had nothing to laugh about.

Summer Days

On By Jerry BrothertonIn Free Verse, Poetry2 Comments

Heavy air on breezeless days
Push you into shady corners
Sweat stained ball caps
Cover red leather faces
Adonis boys display their prowess
To bikini clad Aphrodite
Blood runs hotter than the sun
When darkness hides their passion

You’re Never Too Old to Learn

On By Jerry BrothertonIn Non Fiction, Short Stories7 Comments

With the onslaught of modern technology that gets thrown my way every day and being older than dirt myself, with four children, four grand-kids, a son-in-law and a daughter-in-law that turn their faces away and snicker to each other every time I attempt to make a phone call…I know a bit about this subject. So yes, you can teach an old dog new tricks.

That still doesn’t mean that he won’t stand there and stare at you like you’re the dumbest thing alive. He’s just like me. I know what you’re saying and I know I can hit CTR-ALT-whatever in the hell.  Thing is, I just don’t care enough to do it. It’s a whole lot easier for me to feign ignorance and have one of you young whippersnappers ‘show up’ the old man. So, you have to wonder, who was it that just got taught a lesson?

A Peaceful Place

On By Jerry BrothertonIn flash, Short Stories9 Comments

Each of us needs to find that peaceful place in our lives. A place where the outside world doesn’t dare penetrate. Somewhere we can recharge our batteries. For me, I love my wife, nature and Autumn in particular ( depending on the situation, not necessarily in that order).

I love that time of year when I can see my breath in the early morning air.  When nature is giving me that one last display before the big death scene of winter. The crispness of autumn tingles my imagination and makes me feel more alive than any other time of the year. I’ve always said that I can put on more clothes when it gets cold but I can only take so much off when it’s hot.  So sitting on a river bank on a cool autumn morning, the fog just starting to lift as the sun peeps over the hill top. With every minute that passes, something new comes into focus. Nature starts off with the sound of leaves rustling in the wind. Downstream a bullfrog croaks out a single bellow. As the sky lightens, birds join in and by the time the fog has cleared, a concerto fills the air. That’s as close to heaven as it gets.

But I think those peaceful moments can be found pretty much anywhere. Even late at night, with my wife’s rhythmic breathing lulling me to sleep. I’m just on the verge of dozing off but not wanting to give up a single second so I just lay there in the dark, half dreaming and half asleep.

Or after all the deadlines are passed and I’m sitting alone at my writer’s chair, free to write anything that pops into my head. Just for the fun of writing. No pressure, no hassles. With my headphones playing my favorite play list. Not caring if any one likes my work, whether or not they’ll share it, or even if anyone knows it exists.

Visiting the grandchildren and having their stamina penetrate and lift my spirit. Oh how they can wear me out with their never ending energy. But each moment is a treasure.

Shoveling the snow off the driveway early on a Saturday morning. My gloves, stocking cap and scarf tucked into just enough layers to keep me warm but not overheated. The world is so silent on those mornings. Neighbors all tucked away inside their houses. Not a single car on the street. Maybe a little laughter from a few brave children with the courage to defy nature.

Walking hand in hand with my wife, down a tree lined street with no place to go and no set time to get there. Talking about anything that comes to mind. The soft breeze blowing away our worries and the days problems crumbling under our feet.

Whatever your peaceful place happens to be, take the time to visit it often. Don’t wait until your batteries run empty to recharge them.

tbyp