My friend Jeremy Miles passed away last year after a brief struggle with cancer.  He was a gifted poet, with several self-published volumes before his passing.  I highly recommend his poetic output.

Besides being a great poet and a great friend, Jeremy was a builder of community.  It’s not what you’d expect from a Gen Xer clad entirely in black from head-to-toe, often with a trench coat, always with his signature black hat.  Our mental image of such a figure is a misanthropic outsider, or a socially awkward anime fanboy.

He was neither—well, maybe he was a little misanthropic, but aren’t we all after a certain age?  Regardless, he became an essential part of, and helped to build, a thriving open mic scene in the glorious Before Times, in the Long, Long Ago, before The Age of The Virus.

His longtime girlfriend/common-law-wife hosted a celebration of life/memorial service/birthday party in late January 2024 to celebrate Jeremy’s life and what would have been his birthday.  She wanted it to be an open mic, and I’m sure Jeremy would have approved.

It was a memorable evening.  People I have not seen since the academic year began—and some I have not seen since those glorious Before Times—came out to celebrate Jeremy’s life.  Musicians, poets, friends of all stripes gave performances, or delivered some thoughts about Jeremy’s life.

We don’t often know what impact we’re having on the people around us.  Jeremy was outgoing and friendly, but never presumptuous or self-edifying.  He never conscientiously said, “hey, let’s build a community of artists and musicians!”  But he did just that through his actions.  Primarily, he did it through sharing his art with the world, and allowing the cultural ferment of the open mic scene to push him to create more poetry—he was always creating (he once wrote a poem about an empty cup of coffee I’d picked up flying out of its sleeve!).  He also did it by encouraging artists of all stripes to pursue their craft—and to create themselves.

The crowd that night was a testament to the impact that Jeremy had.  He certainly left his mark on me—his adventures in self-publishing encouraged me to compile two books (Inspector Gerard and Arizonan Sojourn).  I know I’m not the only one.

Jeremy’s memorial service was a powerful reminder of the impact that just one person can have.  It also reminded me that, in a world of darkness and sin and death, Our Creator Gave us the power to create.  It may be a mere sliver of a fingernail of God’s Creativity, but even that is more than we could ever hope to enjoy—yet He Gave it to us, and I think He Expects us to use it.

I didn’t know Jeremy’s faith—he grew up Christian, as most do here in the American South—and I wish I had witnessed to him more before his passing.  What I do know is that he took God’s Creative Gift and ran with it—and made the world a better place in the process.

Rest in Peace, Jeremy.

It is perhaps morbid to note it, but this piece does contain Amazon Affiliate links.  I’m not trying to profit from my friend’s passing, I just default to using affiliate links when linking to books and such on Amazon.  Amazon requires me, however, to disclose that the links are there.  If you make a purchase through them—and I highly recommend you purchase Jeremy’s poetry—I get a portion of the proceeds, at no additional cost to you.  Of course, you’ll also be supporting Jeremy’s widow and adopted daughter.