I cried at the sight Of you frail Unaware of My presence- Chose to remember Different images On that day- Tall and lanky Uncanny ability To sit comfortably On your haunches Elbows perched On knees Backside inches From the ground- My college senior Piano recital Me in my black dress You in your blue Cotton shirt and pants Both beaming- Five years later Christmastime My newborn son Sleeping in your arms- After you were gone I saw your reflection As my son sat On his haunches Elbows perched On knees Backside inches From the ground- Pictures of you Held dear, Grandpa
Workshirt
The morning Is dark blue The kind of blue That almost Looks black But once The sun rises Turns to cerulean- As the day Progresses The sky shifts Until night washes Over the work Of the day Bringing rest To the Earth- And rest to you Handsome you Strong you Wearing your Favorite blue shirt Faded with time As the dirt And sweat From a lifetime Of hard work Was washed away
I wrote the first poem specifically about my Grandpa Crow. He was a sweet man. Hardworking and loved to fish. The second could describe many different people from my growing up years. Maybe you can relate. 😊❤️
The clock ticks One second At a time The sun shines One beam At a time And yet, with love One second Quickly becomes One thousand One sunbeam A multitude Flooding Darkness From the heart As two sit Together In this space Of time and light Giving no thought To the ticking clock Or the sun’s rays Only the desire To remain seated And experience The transformation From the measured To the unmeasurable
I stood At the foot Of a grave Shaded by Lovely birch On a rolling Green slope Overseen by A church Painted white Filled with History on Both sides Of glass panes- I stood At the foot Of a grave Cradling remains Of those gone From this earth Centuries ago Memories Carved In marble Beloved Daughter, wife, mother Honored Son, husband, father I stood At the grave Of a poet My heart touched By remembrances Of persons I have never met
Enjoying Art and Nature Exploring Lessons Offered By history- Our own Others- Reminiscing Our combined Years of living In only seven Of these Precious Allotments Of time Each holding The same Number Of hours Each passing Too quickly
Greetings from Massachusetts! My first visit to this beautiful state. Even though the weather was cloudy and rainy upon arrival, I quickly noticed the many shades of green. No matter where I looked, a different type of tree. Some familiar, others not.
This morning the sun is shining, and the sky is a perfect blue! I am excited to explore with my Aunt Martha and Uncle James. Such a treat! 💚
View from their lovely backyard in Lee, Massachusetts.
Chanel No. 5-Reblog from September, 2019
I don’t wear a lot of perfume. I’ve had a couple of favorites as an adult, but allergy sensitivities often keep me from enjoying them. Currently, I own one bottle of Chanel No. 5.
I’m not sure how long I’ve had this particular bottle. During our recent unpacking, it caught my eye. I could not remember the last time it was open. The design is so classic and pretty, I decided to leave it out.
One morning last week while getting ready for school, that bottle of Chanel caught my eye again. This time, I opened it and placed a small drop on my finger, then dabbed it on my neck and wrists. “It might be nice to wear a little perfume again,” I thought.
As the familiar scent filled the air, a flood of memories filled my mind.
When I was a little girl, visits to my Aunt Martha and Uncle James’s house were a treat. They, along with their children-Jim, Angela, and Brad-moved several times. I remember trips to Fayetteville, Memphis, and Louisiana. Typically, it was a week-long visit during summer vacation.
Some memories are as clear as a photograph. Dressing my cousin, Angela, up in her Raggedy Ann doll clothes. Riding the bus with my cousin, Jimmy, from Little Rock to Memphis and spilling an entire big bag of M&Ms. Kick boxing with Uncle James. Rolling a piano from room to room so I could play while Martha and James painted their house.
So, why did this sweet smell cause such reminiscing? Because Aunt Martha always had a bottle of Chanel No. 5. And when I visited, she would let me wear some of her perfume. Just a tiny drop on my finger, then dabbed on my neck and wrists. Such a treat for a little girl.
I continue to be amazed by the beautiful complexity of the heart and mind. The simple scent of perfume has the power to transport me back in time. It leads me to precious childhood memories. And it reminds me that the love I experienced then has only grown over the years.
I still live far away from Aunt Martha and Uncle James. I look forward to our visits, no matter how far apart. And I am thankful for time spent with them as a child.
Who would have thought a bottle of Chanel No. 5 could make such an impression on one little girl? 😉
Five days Waiting As doctors Prepared To repair To replace Pieces of Your heart Restoring Strength to The rhythm Of your days Five days Worth Waiting
I snapped the first photo on Dad’s first day in the hospital. Due to COVID regulations, visitations were limited and only one of us at a time, so I was thankful for these moments. The second was on the day he was released to go home after open-heart surgery. Happy Father’s Day, Dad! I love you! ❤️
When considering Items in my kitchen Which one do I most resemble Smooth pottery mug Patiently waiting To hold warm coffee Or comforting tea Maybe a teaspoon Carrying sweet sugar Or golden honey Some days I am warm Sweet and comforting Helpful… But there are other days, Days I can be more like The cheese grater If I’m not careful Careful to think Before I speak Careful to get Enough rest Oh, I don’t Want to be The cheese grater Fussy, irritating No-I’d much prefer The spoonful of honey I’m sure that is Your preference, too
I will never forget the first time I saw you, my new student. You hobbled sideways down the hall. Balance so bad, I was sure you would fall. Yet, you had learned the quickest way to get around or getaway!
One of your arms had to be amputated when you were a baby. Your vision and hearing were impaired. I cried at the thought of being your teacher.
I am not proud of my initial reaction. But I had no idea where to begin, how to connect. And no idea how you or I would manage with the other students in my classroom. As is so often the case, you became the teacher.
Oh, it was far from easy. Working to discover what you understood, what you wanted or needed. Sometimes it was trial and error, but you would not allow anyone to give up. And though you were often frustrated, your happy moments were life-changing.
One, in particular, is forever etched on my heart.
Our class was fortunate to have a college student volunteer in our room weekly. He was tall and quiet, and the students loved him. He would push them high in the swings on the playground.
One day, as the students were lining up to come in from recess, something interesting happened. Our young college friend was picking each student up so they could touch the ceiling where they stood. Each one excitedly waited for their turn. Each one reached up as if they were reaching the sky. It was a precious sight.
And then I saw you, my new friend. You were hobbling sideways up the grassy slope as fast as you possibly could move. Making your way up the sidewalk, fully aware of what was happening in that line.
You jumped up and down in front of our college friend, raising your one hand high in the air. There may not have been any words, but you were clearly saying, “My turn! Pick me up now. I want to touch that ceiling.” So, he did. And I have never heard such sounds of pure joy in my life.
I often wonder what happened to you. Even then, I worried about what your future would hold. I hope you are safe and well. You taught me so much in the short time I knew you.
Yesterday marked three years since I began this blog. And today marks the official release day for my first poetry collection! I continue to be amazed at the connections I’ve made through this WordPress family. So many creative and supportive spirits. I am glad this has become a part of my journey.
I must say a big thank you to my husband, Gart. I clearly remember him saying, “Have you ever thought about starting a blog?” It seems many rewarding things in my life began with him asking, “Have you ever thought about…?” He has a way of seeing things in me and helping me have the confidence to pursue them.
And, of course, thank you to River Dixon for taking a chance on me! I am honored for my writing to have a home at Potter’s Grove Press.
Available now in eBook and paperback. The debut poetry collection from Kelley Morris. If you are interesting in supporting Amazon alternatives, the eBook is available at the Potter’s Grove store. (paperback coming soon) The poems in this collection are reflections and stories of both the beauty and heartache of life and death, family, friendships, and […]
Piano Girl 