Sometimes

Sometimes, not often enough to count, 

but every so often, 

my mind wades in memories,

 causing ripples in the wake of my dreams. 

That shiver the timbre of my loneliness of voice. 

Gees and haws, as I in driven feeling,

 try to find direction,

 echo from a preadolescent past

 as Grandad sits beside me on the faded wooden wagon seat, 

weaning me from mother's milk with warm beer.

    

 I flash onward to Midway Island, 

staring upward into wheeling swirling birds

 that somehow never touch, 

 

then bank to sit at sunset, sipping Andre White,

 watching my beloved stare at a group of white tail deer,

 as they peer into our truck.

 Sometimes it's a wading 

woven to wrap me in contentment.

Reviews

[Doreen]

This brings about some memories of my own as I read this. It's sentimental and warm. Nice work.

[Gandré]

You never disappoint. I so like to read your lyrical renderings creating a three dimensional picture of that what was, that what is, and that where it is going to..