Archive for July, 2016

Well today is Friday! How many years have I lived for Friday?

While I was a child, too young to work or for school, I even looked forward to Fridays. Many things happened on that day. If Dad was working away that week, he would be arriving late that night from his trip home. There was an air of anticipation in the house. My older siblings who were in school would be energized too. It was the end of the week, no school tomorrow. We all looked forward to the coming Saturday. Saturday was a wonderful day for us all.

town  You see I lived in the day when Saturday was the day to “go to town”. Everyone went “to town” on Saturday. We lived on a farm, went to country school, and it was many miles “to town”. You just didn’t “go to town” on a whim. After all, it was seven miles of gravel roads to travel. So the weeks seemed long.

Most business evidently was conducted then, on Saturdays, I didn’t know what but I felt it in the air. Major decisions and transactions were done on that day.  Groceries were bought, any other needed supplies from chicken feed to coal deliveries were arranged for. If it was Spring, you may even be sharing the back seat of the car with a cardboard crate full of peeping baby chicks that we picked up at the hatchery. Saturdays were what we were excited about on Friday.

Today, this Friday, it is me working away and I’m planning my escape for home. I also will arrive late tonight as my father did. I feel the anticipation he must have felt. I hope there is excitement in the house looking forward to my arrival. Our Saturday has no particular plans but the possibilities are endless, we may even “go to town”.


Swiftly Alone

Posted: July 6, 2016 in poem, poet, poetry
Tags: , ,

The coming and going of the ones in our life
One day they are there
the next they are gone
They move on in their travels
as I do and they say the same of me
None of us really knows where.
River of life is filled to its banks
with the flesh and souls of the ones we once knew
Family tied together by thin threads
Others appear as strangers one day
and we are carried by the currents together
trying to stay within reach with heads above water
attached only by our weak grips and wet string
but swift and deep waters slowly move us apart
Pulled from the last touch of our finger tips
we can only raise our hand in good-bye
yelling of places we will meet just around the bend
watching and listening until we lose sight
and each other’s shouts are no longer heard.
we are left moving swiftly alone.


Olympic Art

Posted: July 1, 2016 in poem, poet, poetry
Tags: , ,

The arch of the foot
the curve of the back
the lines of the thighs
The smooth feel of the torso
Determination in her eyes
the placement of the arms,
The tight form in erect rolling motion
to the splash-less submersion.
The dive of 10 meters.
Poetry in motion.
Olympic art.