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JamesBowie
Member

since 2000-11-25

Posts 252
big old Bangor Maine up by the shack

0 posted 2002-05-03 10:13 AM

I can remember as a young boy riding
along the rocky granite shores to Lubec
while the car droned over the summer
warmed asphalt, I waited to hear the
crunch of gravel under the car tires
that signaled our arrival

Opening the door and stretching my legs
I take in a breath of cool salt tinged air
drifting in from the deep sparkling
bay that stretches on to the horizon
becoming entwined with the
beautiful azure sky above

A warm voice calls from the opening door
with a smile in her words and a warm
welcoming hug, she leads my father, mother,
and I into a familiar smelling place
where we always felt at ease
where we always felt at home

From the front porch facing the sea, I hear
my grandfather saying hello as he makes
his way in to see us, and I can still see
him telling stories to us grandchildren
with that same warm voice that kept
us entranced for hours

By chance I look across the room to see
my grandmother looking at me with
her sensitive, intelligent eyes as she
asks me about my summer and how
much she loves us and enjoys the time
we have taken to come and visit

I remember many things about my
grandmother, the smell of the ocean
around her house, the warmth of her
hugs and the welcome in her voice
but most of all, I remember the love
that I saw in Nama's eyes

A real man

kisses his children goodnight

SmittenKitten
Senior Member

since 2001-06-20

Posts 1131
where the sky and horizon meet

1 posted 2002-05-03 10:20 AM

James~ A sincere and touching write...you've expressed this lovely memory with poetic ease.

*hugs*
~Krista

Your beautiful words & creativity allow me to connect with the same in myself.
Thank you for having the courage to share yourself so that I can too

Marge Tindal

Member Empyrean

since 1999-11-06

Posts 42384
Florida's Foreverly Shores

2 posted 2002-05-07 02:40 AM

JamesBowie~
This is so touchinly lovely~
Soft and tenderly shining, like Nama's eyes~
*Hugs*
~*Marge*~

~*The pen of the poet never runs out of ink, as long as we breathe.*~
noles1@totcon.com

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