Sunday, January 10, 2010

Father Times

Captive Ashes
Above my head white birds soar
in silver sky etched
with teal and gray
swirling fast like water white
flowing from far away

Seldom now do tears take me
down the long road of
my memory
Smiles then laughter filling space
feeling finally free

Captive ashes, in silver
urn rests like death and
quiet now and sees
all, it sits just marking time
with both of us at peace

Wild River
Sunbaked rocks, picnic blanket sand,
Hydrox cookie crumbles on our lips.
Sandwiches made special for these times
and these alone, with root beer floats to celebrate
our return home.

Daddy always jumped in first so's we'd
be braver someday soon.
Playing silly games to teach
us swimming skills, and nature lessons
along side watching minnows nibbling toes.

Picture-taking Momma on the shore,
not so much a beach as sandy spots
among the rocks and tree debris
from winter's slashing fury of spring
turned to summer's glory.

Others swim for the huge rock ledge
The wicked wild water's fast and deep
Memories of peanut butter and jelly
never tasting more like heaven here
in days of Wild River swimming.


  1. That must be you in the tree-Is that your telling smile?

  2. Hey! (in the Deep South we say Hey, not Hi)
    Ahah, I knew you were a good writer, even beneath the snarky veneer! I'm quite impressed, Ms J, your words have a beautiful cadence and it is delightful that you are also willing to give glimpses of the thoughtful, caring and honest woman beneath the humor and cleverness.
    And yes, I am also very pleased that you are willing to publicly proclaim those "three little words": I'm a Writer. It's amazing how scary they are, and yet how liberating is the aftermath. As you mentioned, "See? I don't always write snark. Sometimes I write...and bare my real soul." You have an eloquent soul, my Northern Friend.
    If you are interested, my email is: bobsouvorin "at" mindspring "dot" com
    Stay warm. Bob