-For Cassy, my wife
Friday, November 23, 2012
-For Cassy, my wife
Thursday, November 8, 2012
-for Tracey,my sister
-for Jack, my Papaw
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
Monday, August 13, 2012
Saturday, July 21, 2012
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Sunday, April 29, 2012
Sunday, April 22, 2012
Monday, April 16, 2012
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Saturday, April 7, 2012
|My grandfather, D.Bewick- back row, third from the left.|
Thursday, April 5, 2012
I meant to give you a new roof,
have the tree branches trimmed,
and add on a big deck in the back.
I wanted some stylish front doors,
insulated windows, brighter lighting,
central air, a new hot water heater,
hardwood floors in the living room,
another toilet, a better shower stall,
and ceramic tiles for the side room.
I planned to paint the foundation,
pave the driveway, fix the doorbell,
power wash the siding and shutters,
and put up a white stockade fence.
I talked about more counter space,
bigger cabinets and a dishwasher in
the kitchen we rarely use for cooking.
I dreamed about a finished basement
with a party room and flat screen tv.
I thought I’d plant a dogwood tree,
a row of forsythia, and a lilac hedge.
Here we are, it’s twelve years later,
I have to say I’m sorry for the little
I’ve done for you, to help you improve,
to make you stronger and better too.
Someday I promise to make it up to you.
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
At a counter in a crowded kitchen
decorated with roosters and hens
we sat on stools drinking black coffee
in mismatched cups and chipped mugs.
He showed me his gun cabinet, his prized
Winchester, the gun that won the West.
I knew you’d come one day, he said as he
pulled my kindergarten photo from his wallet.
She mixed the flour with shortening and
used a jelly jar to perfectly cut out biscuits.
I told your Dad that when you got two babies
you have to stay, but he just couldn’t do it.
Sharing memories of the times back in Jersey
turned to a conversation of misunderstandings
and regrets but when I went to leave they said
what they always said to us all, Stay with us.
Sunday, April 1, 2012
So much was made of the heading,
the greeting, the body, the salutation.
Red line drawn down the right side of
the white lined composition paper to
align the home address with the closing-
“Sincerely yours,” and my new signature.
Penmanship and punctuation- a must.
Rewrite it, do it again, not right? Again.
Stamps purchased for their artistic beauty.
There were special boxes of pastel, floral
themed stationary or was it stationery?
Finding a letter in my mailbox today made
me sit on the steps to read it, to follow the
numbers of the pages, to keep track of the
anecdotes about people we once knew,
last week’s weather, a meal made for dinner.
And as I read it, I heard it all in your voice,
the way I’d seen it done in so many movies.
I sat for a moment to think of how I should
write you back, mention the coming season,
ask about your health or wish you well before
closing with a “Truly yours,” or “All the best”.
Sunday, March 18, 2012
The best way to succeed in life is to
act on the advice we give to others. ~Author unknown
Sun on my face, birds on every branch,
bulbs sprouting, green grass emerging
before our eyes in this patch of nature
wedged between busy state highways.
All feeling the same way, the same joy,
blessed by whoever we pray to, but today
we worship blue skies, and magnolia trees.
Here together, but alone, not a word said,
barely a nod as we stroll past one another.
On days like these, I wish we could talk to
each other. I would tell them what I know
what I see, what I think and how I’m feeling.
I’d tell a Dad, be patient with your boy as
they try to fly a kite with not much wind.
I’d tell a Mom in tight fitting jeans to go slow
on her bike, don’t worry about your weight
from where I’m standing, you look mighty fine.
I’d tell a guy walking with headphones to take
them off, listen to children laughing, jays calling,
the swings swaying and the little dogs yapping.
Turn off your phone, walk a trail, read the signs,
identify the trees, admire them, know their names.
I’d tell young parents- let the kids shed their coats,
let them run wild across the fields in the sunshine.
Let them pickup sticks, turn over rocks, look for bugs.
I’d tell another guy by the swings not to say it’s time to
leave and keep pushing until they say they want to go.
I want to ask them all to not scold their babies about
muddy sneakers, grass stains on knees or torn shirts.
I’d remind them how cheap band aids are and how
soap and water is most plentiful in this great country.
I want to offer to take a picture for the one family,
because Dads need to be in some of the photos too.
I’d tell an older couple it’s cool how they still hold
hands after all these years as they walk the path.
I want to tell a lady she’s reading an awesome
book and how it’s much better than the movie.
I’d like to tell the elderly couple that I know what
they’re thinking as they watch a girl dig in the dirt
or when they smile as a boy throws his football.
I wish I could advise the teenager under a scarlet oak
not to worry about what she’s writing in her notebook
or what people will say if they read it. Write it down and
always have some extra pens with you is what I’d say.
I want to wave to a Mom with a plaid blanket spread out
for a picnic lunch. I’d tell her that in forty years her kids
will remember days like this one and they’ll miss it too.
Saturday, March 3, 2012
"I don't want to be alone,
I want to be left alone."- Audrey Hepburn
I prefer to do my banking online.
I don’t answer my home phone.
I avoid going to the Post Office.
I Christmas shop on the internet.
I buy groceries in the early morning.
I still say "hello and see you later",
but I wave and always keep walking.
I like to prepare my coffee by myself.
I look for a seat by the window in the
Bagel Shop and I could do without the
Beyonce music blaring from speakers.
I’d rather not listen to the droning list of
Sports Center clichés on the flat screen
TV that’s suspended from the ceiling.
I take back roads, avoid highways,
go to dinner in the late afternoon.
I don’t want a table by old people,
babies, teens or families with kids.
I park at the back of the lot, far away
from the mess of cars that cruise rows
with blinkers in search of a front spot.
And when I come out of the stores,
each and every time, I find my Jeep
surrounded by trucks and other cars.
It’s a magnet that seems to attract
them or maybe it’s a well planned
conspiracy organized to make sure
my efforts to be left alone are in vain.
Sunday, February 19, 2012
A large box of Saltine crackers,
two cans of Campbell’s Soup,
red & white label, chicken noodle,
a package of Lipton tea bags and
assorted colors and flavors of Jell-O.
Half gallon of Tropicana orange juice,
a six pack of Canada Dry Ginger Ale
piled in a blue plastic shopping basket.
If I saw all these on the conveyor belt
gliding along, on the way to the cashier
it would only mean one thing for me.
Somebody must be sick in that house.
Maybe I’m strange, maybe everyone
else has different ideas about what you
need to help you get better, or what
you should buy when loved ones are ill.
Saturday, February 11, 2012
He’s at the mall with the other teenagers.
She’s at her monthly meeting for school.
Tonight I’ll take myself out to dinner to a
place I go when I’m alone, because it’s ok
to be alone there. The pizza guys make me
feel at home when I approach the counter.
I tell them, I’m going to stay here tonight.
Assorted red and green neon signs shine
above my cheese steak with fried onions
as I tap the bottom of a bottle of ketchup.
It occurs to me that in a few years, this may
be me more often. Sitting at a table for four
by a window watching families come and
go on a Friday night, laughing together as
they rush out the door with pies in hand.
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Under sprawling branches of their sycamore with its
peeling bark, a dozen birdhouses hung like ornaments,
but served a purpose, shelters for those little tiny finches.
We drank the red wine, rolled the dice, spoke of the future,
planned to travel to places that made him the strongest.
Looking back on that day, I’d have to say it was just right.
The right amount of sunshine, laughter, warm breezes, mixed
with the cup’s rattle and slam on the table with its woven cloth
of green, red and blue threads. A second bottle was opened from
“the cellars of the devil”, and with charango music on a boom box,
he stopped to say once more-These Chileans seem to have the idea,
but I still can’t forgive them for taking away our pathway to the sea.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Temperatures in the teens this morning.
The scent of smoke travels quicker in cold
winter air, there must be a reason for this?
A fifth grade science fact long forgotten.
No one smokes inside their homes anymore.
Peek through the blinds, on my way down
and I see him banging a pack of Marlboros
on the heel of his hand, a custom of many.
Younger ones smack longer, twice as hard
before removing the cellophane wrapper.
Next door, the lady with all the dogs yells
because they’re barking and growling again.
I hear her coughing and know that she must
be fumbling in the pockets of her bathrobe
for the lighter that will start her busy day.
From my kitchen window, I see a big man
in his pajamas, winter coat, and a wool cap.
He puffs away on his Newport, shuffling from
side to side, attempting to keep himself warm.
Days like this must make them think of quitting.