jasons poetry book
Verses of Grief, Faith, and the Stubborn Choice to Rebuild
by Jason Strickland
When catastrophic loss leaves the domestic world shattered, silence becomes deafening. In the aftermath of losing his beloved wife, Rebekah, a narrator confronts vacant rooms, lingering memories, and the agonizing labor of enduring each sunrise. Yet within scorched earth and paralyzing depression, an unexpected anchor emerges: the quiet, unfaltering presence of a loyal dog named Monkey. Through raw vulnerability and shifting seasons, loneliness transforms into an honest meditation on what it means to survive. Faith is stripped of platitudes and re-forged through endurance, while mountain landscapes and changing weather offer fleeting sanctuary to an aching heart. This collection does not promise easy remedies or cheap closure. Instead, it honors grief as the price of deep devotion, choosing to salvage hope piece by deliberate piece. Written with unflinching intimacy, these poems celebrate the enduring warmth of remembrance, the power of unconditional companionship, and the stubborn grace required to keep breathing when the world has ended. For anyone carrying devastating grief, this volume serves as a gentle testament that healing is not about forgetting—it is about learning to rebuild amidst the ashes.
- Poetry
- Contemporary Poetry
Standing Tall
I’ve walked through nights that never broke,
chased daylight wrapped in doubt and smoke.
Felt every crack beneath my feet,
heard failure whisper, “Take a seat.”
The wind has tried to bend my frame,
called me weak, called me by name.
Storms have carved their lines in me,
like roots exposed beside a tree.
I’ve worn the weight of silent fights,
carried ghosts through endless nights.
Fell so hard I kissed the ground,
listened close to defeat’s sound.
But something stubborn in my chest
refused to lay itself to rest.
A spark that would not fade away,
a voice that still had more to say.
So I rose slow, but I still rose,
through shattered dreams and heavy blows.
Not made of steel, not carved from stone,
just bones and hope and grit alone.
No armor forged, no crown to claim,
just fire running through my veins.
Each scar a story etched in skin,
each loss a war I lived within.
And now I stand where doubt once called,
not unshaken, but standing tall.
Not fearless, no that’s never been,
but brave enough to rise again.
Because strength is not the lack of fall,
it’s rising up in spite of all.
It’s trembling hands that still reach wide,
a broken heart that won’t divide.
So let the thunder shake the sky,
let bitter seasons wander by.
I’ve learned one truth through rise and fall
a wounded soul can still stand tall.
Life
Life is not the breath entering our lungs.It is what we dowhen breathing becomes difficult.It is the child who remains inside us,long after we have learnedhow to hide himhis hands against the glass,still waiting for someone to turn around,still hoping to hear the wordshe once needed.Life is a father’s silenceand a son spending yearstrying to transl…