POETRY I wrote FOR YOU

About the Book

Thomas Kemp is a sixty-seven year old divorced man and the father of two grown sons, a daughter, and two lovely daughter-in-law's. He started writing poetry for his own enjoyment when he was nineteen years old and a Marine stationed in the Far East. When asked what compelled a young service man to write poetry he would say “There was something inside of me that made me write every chance I got. I wrote on anything I could find in those days; napkins, coasters—you know, those ones made of paper—even tablecloths.”

Thomas finally sat down long enough to write his first novel starting in 1993 which he finished and published in 1996—a book called The Road From Here To Where You Stay, a poetical thriller and love story woven within the murder plot of former President John F. Kennedy. Cleverly written to intrigue and seduceThomas, as Poet, clearly shows his ability to weave the violence of war and the murder of a president with cleverly placed poems and words whispered among the pages with loving grace and romance. Be enriched and enthralled and read the romantic words from a man who has become a familiar poet to many, who is today called…YOUR POET IS And POETRY I wrote FOR YOU

About the Author

Freely I admit my mind was a desert and I had no desire to write poetry. A desert can be beautiful I know, but my mind was without any separate place for green gardens or empty streambeds. I was just not interested in words. My one and only girlfriend had died at seventeen; killed in an automobile accident and I had become a devoid abandoned young man. It was as if I never had any attachment to a living thing and nothing could help ease my grief.

Then one of her best girlfriends who had always accepted me and who had a gift for putting me at ease told me. She bluntly said to me, Nancy saw something in you Thomas. When we talked, she would tell us girls that you had a quality in your voice and it was like Poetry.

Did I, it was kind of her to say so; it pulled me back from the sorrowful edges and help me to focus again. On a winter Sunday morning, I wrote my first poem. It was about burning an old Apple tree in a beautiful grand fireplace and going outside in the cold raw wind to watch the smoke come up the chimney.

I guess that is when I learned that words are capable of healing as well as hurting us. Poetry chiseled away the pain word after word.