Welcome to where I am, where my kitchen's always messy, a pot's (or a poet) always about to boil over, a dog is always begging to be fed. Drafts of poems on the counter. Windows filled with leaves. Wind. Clouds moving over the mountains. If you like poetry, books, and music--especially dog howls when a siren unwinds down the hill-- you'll like it here.
MY NEW AUTHOR'S SITE, KATHRYNSTRIPLINGBYER.COM, THAT I MYSELF SET UP THROUGH WEEBLY.COM, IS NOW UP. I HAD FUN CREATING THIS SITE AND WOULD RECOMMEND WEEBLY.COM TO ANYONE INTERESTED IN SETTING UP A WEBSITE. I INVITE YOU TO VISIT MY NEW SITE TO KEEP UP WITH EVENTS RELATED TO MY NEW BOOK.
MY NC POET LAUREATE BLOG, MY LAUREATE'S LASSO, WILL REMAIN UP AS AN ARCHIVE OF NC POETS, GRADES K-INFINITY! I INVITE YOU TO VISIT WHEN YOU FEEL THE NEED TO READ SOME GOOD POEMS. VISIT MY NEW BLOG, MOUNTAIN WOMAN, WHERE YOU WILL FIND UPDATES ON WHAT'S HAPPENING IN MY KITCHEN, IN THE ENVIRONMENT, IN MY IMAGINATION, IN MY GARDEN, AND AMONG MY MOUNTAIN WOMEN FRIENDS.
On Father's Day
When Kelly Flew Over---for Kelly Wingate and his special passenger, C. M. Stripling
When Kelly flew over the farm
with our father,
we waved. In the clear morning,
we knew that soon he would be part
of what he loved, his land,
the field he had chosen
as resting place. When Kelly let loose
his bodacious white message
of smoke, we cheered!
We knew our father was home again,
settling himself into stubble and roots,
getting eternally comfortable
inside the dirt he loved. Good dirt
that got us through hard times,
that held firm and gave forth.
So sleep well, my father, and grow
up a good stand of anything you want
to grow. We will keep growing
you, memory by memory,
always remembering Kelly's bright
yellow plane overhead,
making our hearts swell with sheer
joy at knowing that you, too,
were having fun, taking that last
ride, then floating to earth
in your own sweet time,
the field underneath you waiting
to welcome you home.
5 comments:
Kay, what a beautiful poem. My father was a man of the earth. He loved his land and wanted to be buried on it. And he was.
Now he, too, is part of that south Georgia dirt he loved to work.
Your poetry always touches me in a good way. Thanks,
Glenda
Glenda, thank you. I'm glad both our fathers are a part of the land they cherished.
Kay
Beautiful :)
Glad I found you blog.
Just a lovely poem-returning to the earth he loved-I like that.
Kay - what a serenely splendid poem, and funny too. So "you" in its rhythms (smile). i love it.
(Partly b/c i only had a "bio-dad" so i enjoy, sometimes, reading about "real" fathers.) When we visit again, show me where he's "growing," please. And i forgive you, i guess, for coming to SW GA & not visiting me.
- dorissima
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