Poet
During the 1940s, Metcalfe returned to a favorite childhood pastime: writing poetry. Metcalfe wrote hundreds of short poems about the human condition that appealed to people across a vast spectrum of careers and backgrounds. His first book of poetry, entitled "Portraits", contained 750 poems; he later published at least sixteen other titles. Metcalfe mused about love, friendship, life, religion, time, old age, youth, candy, vacations, holidays, envy and numerous other subjects. His poetry also appeared in Hallmark greeting cards.
Metcalfe indicated that he started writing poetry as a teenager, when he "used to fall in love with all the girls and write poems to them to win them over. It didn't always work, but it was worth trying." In later years, in the dedication of one of his books of poetry, he promised his readers that he "will not touch my pen, except it be in prayer to God, or praise of my fellowmen."
Metcalfe wrote and published at least seventeen books of poetry:
- Portraits (1947)
- Poem Portraits: A Collection of Verse (1948)
- Poem Portraits: 107 Selected Poems (1948)
- Garden in My Heart: Poem Flowers of Faith and Friendship (1949)
- Poems For Children (1950)
- James J. Metcalfe's Portraits: 100 Selected Poems (1950)
- More Poem Portraits: A Further Collection of Verse (1951)
- My Rosary of Rhymes: Poetic Beads of Faith and Friendship (1952)
- Love Portraits (1953)
- Love Portraits (1954)
- Portraits: 100 More Selected Poems (1954)
- Daily Poem Portraits (1954)
- Garden in My Heart (1955)
- Portraits: 100 Selected Poems (1956)
- Poem Portraits of the Saints (1956)
- Poem Portraits of Inspiration (1958)
- Poem Portraits for All Occasions (1961)
Read more about this topic: James J. Metcalfe
Famous quotes containing the word poet:
“The civilized nations—Greece, Rome, England—have been sustained by the primitive forests which anciently rotted where they stand. They survive as long as the soil is not exhausted. Alas for human culture! little is to be expected of a nation, when the vegetable mould is exhausted, and it is compelled to make manure of the bones of its fathers. There the poet sustains himself merely by his own superfluous fat, and the philosopher comes down on his marrow-bones.”
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