James C. Hartsell
'Wintersong'

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© 2010
  Brother in Arms
    (for Jim)

You wrote well, and you wrote heartily
my friend, your love of poetry
evident to the very end.
We never met, but we knew each other,
dear poet, I am honoured to call you         brother.

© 2010  Douglas Munday


Jim (Wintersong)

There is little consolation
In knowing that where you were
You are no longer.

The solace
Will be in the remembrance
Of who you were,
Who you still are.
Your laughter,
Caring, commitment,
Warm heart, gentle ways
And goodness.

Your loved ones
will be sustained
By these memories
That will forever live
Within their hearts and minds.
They will always recall
The loving you …
The ‘just stepped away’
Never to be forgotten
…you.

There is little consolation
In knowing that where you were
You are no longer.

But!

May they express joy,
For you are
And always will be
…you.

‘til you all meet again,
Prayers and blessings.

Jim Hartsell
Resting in God’s Arms

© 2010 das


Australian Poet Henry Lawson often spoke about when the World was Wide, but these days the Internet has narrowed that gap and become a wonderful way to meet friends and fellow poets, who you never get to meet face to face, but you are given the opportunity to share their lives and their love of verse.  Whether it be the expressions of life itself, creation or the culture of a nation it is a wonderful way for many to express these facets in verse and prose.  Friendships are forged and one such friendship was with Wintersong.  Jim had a passion for sharing with others and I appreciated the time that we shared together.  Rest in Peace Jim and thank you for the opportunity of friendship mate.

Australian Bush Poet and Balladeer
© 2010 Merv Webster

Wintersong   

Remembered with great affection,
Jim a longtime poet friend,
who when I started writing,
an ear he'd often lend.
A good photograph I needed
of puffballs flying high,
Jim had the perfect one
and said "I'll send it
by and by".
Good as his word
the photo raced,
across the ocean wide,
one he had taken years ago
when not more than a child.
He sympathized when I was down,
made kind comments on the board,
encouraged me to write my thoughts
until my spirits soared.
I'll miss the beauty of his work,
I'll not forget at all
the great talent of this man,
and the beauty of his soul.

© 2010  Jean M. Lewis


For Wintersong

You sang songs in every season Wintersong
Songs of beauty and forever love;
I looked out for and read the tales you wrote
And now I’ll read them all over again.

Fly free gentle soul, you fought a noble fight,
You’ve run your race and now a crown is yours,
And your loved ones though they mourn your passing
Must celebrate because they shared your life.

I will not forget about you Wintersong,
Your  words are in a corner of my heart,
And I know now you sing a sweeter song
At the bidding of the Loving Master.

© 2010  trinimade

Book of  Dreams (for Jim)

Dear Jim,

I've heard you sing your song as you walked down
your "rainbow path of hope" -
you said it helped you cope
with life's sweet press of things: the smile, the frown,

both heartfelt pride and man's contumely - yes,
upon the widest brow
of time from then to now,
your song, your "book of dreams", has blessed

the corners of the Earth.  Oh, Jim, to think
of one whose soul could see
a hidden Hartsell harmony
is but to place it now beyond the brink

of heaven - there, where daylight aye must shine,
and where your words, on streams,
are gilt within your book of dreams,

where "worlds we were and worlds we will" combine.
I will miss you, your smiling words, your hope amidst anguish,
your reveries, your passion - and yet your words will never die.
Still you sing - sing on, Jim - sing on.

Rich

© 2010 Rich Roach
Metamorphosis: in memory of Wintersong

new wings
now emerging,
freed from the chrysalis
to savour the joy of first flight -
soaring

© 2010  Liz Rule
Winter Flight ~ for Wintersong


Cool winter, what colourful dreams do you nurture
beneath your fields of white snow,
above which the cold winds pluck strange musicks
from the bones of the bare-leaved trees
and the starving sparrows write despairing but beautiful messages
of futile search and hunger?
From what scattered remnants of summers passed and perished
have you preserved the essence of fragile perfumed petals
to form anew as tiny buds - hard green chalices bursting with vigourous sap,
aching bells straining to unleash song
and lure bees to enchantment?
Ah, dreamer, will you ever awaken from the pallor of winter
and, rising up again from the chill bed of the cold earth,
step forth lightly and carelessly upon fresh emerald grass,
sensitive to each nuance of the ressurected world?
I who have kept vigil beneath the dying sun
sit beside the cold grey sea and wait
to glimpse the distant wing of the first returning bird
as it recognizes the land
and knows that its long winter flight is over.

© 2010 Willowdown