I can’t remember when I didn’t know her, yet, in “real” time, it is only a year, and then only if I pull the edges and stretch the pages of the calendar. It seems forever, because Jo is forever. She is a poet who writes from the heart and lives from the same place.
If you think being a poet means one has to be soft, turning the other cheek so fast and so often they appear to be spinning, you need to know right here, right now, Jo VonBargen isn’t that kind of poet. She’s a pickup-truck-driving, straw chewing, ass kicking, Texas poet, who will tell you how it is and hold your hand until you move past the shock of hearing the Truth.
Jo VonBargen has a web site. On the front page there is a bonfire and an invitation to drag up a stump and have a seat. If you have the guts to do that…if you can stand the heat, you’ll get warm and cozy, from the inside out.
If you want your forgotten Self, the real of you, to remain forgotten, don’t pull up a stump. That bonfire isn’t for the fainthearted.
Here are some verses that you’ll find in the poem posted under the bonfire:
somebody throw a log
on the fire, huh?
I just want us to sit here
on this moldering stump of a
crumbling log and light up a poem
in the smoldering dark,
pass it around
hold back the inevitable
one more night
…just handsful of dust
waitin’ on day and
And a bonus, from her poem, The Day Will Come:
And the day will come
when these humble words,
fed by inherited spirit,
will, to some questing soul,
be welcomed as
seasoned and wise
When you call, Jo will be there, in a whirlwind, an email, a tweet, or in your head, whispering in the still, small, voice of a timeless poet – but only if you have the courage to call.
You can find her here:
— Bert Carson (@BertCarson) June 29, 2012