Thomas (T. C.) Hood, poet (born 1938 in Van Buran County Michigan )

While I have devoted my awake time to many other pursuits, I began to write poetry when I was in elementary school. My classroom was a one room country school in the same neighborhood where my father Max Kay Hood had grown up. In my classroom one teacher “taught” about 30 children from kindergarten through 8^th grade. If I had accomplished my assigned work, I was free to sit at my desk and pursue whatever interested me.  Before starting school I learned many nursery rhymes at home.  Mary had a little lamb, Little Jack Horner sat in a corner, Eating a Christmas pie.  He stuck in his thumb and …Oh where? Oh where?  Has my little dog gone? Even some long verses like “The Night Before Christmas” and “This is the house that Jack built “were committed to memory and recited for guests who came by my home for a visit. So poetry became a way to occupy free time at school,  and a way to entertain guests who visited our home.

Later when I moved to high school, I became aware that poetry was a way of commenting on the world. Critical remarks as well as praise could be presented.  In our church we regularly sang hymns. The words in those hymns often commented on how we lived our lives in good or evil ways. Metaphors and similes appeared regularly. Some were startling! Like being washed in human blood. Some were dramatic. “The tumult and the shouting dies  the Captains and the Kings depart…”  At youth camp we sang songs around the campfire at the end of the day—songs like “Tell me why, the stars do shine…” Over my 40+ years of teaching about, studying human behavior, working  in voluntary organizations ,  enjoying demonstrating skills to members of 4-H clubs,  attending weddings, baptisms or funerals, church services, picnics ,hiking through wooded areas,  listening to impassioned pleads about legislation to improve the United States of America, I have found much to catch my attention  Married for 60 years to my college sweetheart, fathering two children and four grandchildren. Serving for 20 years as the Executive Officer of an international professional organization that held annual meetings across the United State and in Canada stimulated more observations.  Ginger died in 2020…. So I write poems and essays to let people know that I am still alive and awake to the world around me. My hope is that my writings resonate in your heart.