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    Parker Owens
  • Parker Owens
  • Author
  • 01/30/2020
  • 152 Words
  • 1,262 Views
  • 21 Comments
Poetry posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

Disasters, Delights and Other Detours - 64. Portraits of My Father

My father has been gone for years now. I could paint so many of these little portraits. Here are a few of them.

Portraits of My Father

 

Dad still sits

at the kitchen table

writing letters on his legal pad

while the radio recounts an unfolding game,

Red Sox, Celtics or Canadiens;

each longhand line brings him

back to life.

 

Barking Dog

was Dad’s pipe tobacco;

he got more pleasure fussing with it,

scooping, packing and tamping, getting it to light,

than its acrid wreaths of smoke gave him,

but those grey memories

make me smile.

 

Dad wrestled

the massive red tiller

from the back of the ancient Ford truck,

and despite a bright June sky that begged him to play,

he taught me how to turn garden soil

laden with stones into

Tomatoes.

 

One bright day

in late January

he gave me my first driving lesson

behind the wheel of the old rear-wheel drive Plymouth;

there was no danger from the snowbanks

but we both enjoyed the

excitement.

If you have any comments or thoughts, please leave them here. I value every one of them.
Copyright © 2017 Parker Owens; All Rights Reserved.
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  • Love 11
Poetry posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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Parker Owens
3 hours ago, northie said:

My father was a pipe smoker. And yes, cleaning, tamping down and all the other little tasks were as much part of the ritual as the actual smoking. In later years, he was banished to the study for a smoke. Thank you for this memory. :)

 

I think the ritual was as important to Dad as the smoke, too. I can still smell it. I’m glad this brought you as good a memory as I gave me. 

  • Like 5
dughlas

Oh what joy ... to take your memories and paint them in words that we too might share in them.

My grandfather smoked half 'n half in his pipe. He would sit by the window in the darkened kitchen to smoke and listen to the baseball game on the radio. I can close my eyes and smell the smoke, see the cherry glow of his pipe and hear the excited murmur of the announcer. 

Thank you.

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Parker Owens
1 hour ago, dughlas said:

Oh what joy ... to take your memories and paint them in words that we too might share in them.

My grandfather smoked half 'n half in his pipe. He would sit by the window in the darkened kitchen to smoke and listen to the baseball game on the radio. I can close my eyes and smell the smoke, see the cherry glow of his pipe and hear the excited murmur of the announcer. 

Thank you.

You’re most welcome. Even today, the scent on newly lit tobacco has me looking around for dad. He left me preferring radio sports and a penchant for gardening, among other things. I’m glad these could evoke good memories for you. Thanks for reading!

 

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Headstall

I must tell you, Parker, when I saw the title, I couldn't click on it. I still carry too much emotional baggage for my 'father' and my stepfather. I finally worked up the courage, and a s per usual with your poetry, I loved these little glimpses. I don't have memories such as these, but I have some good ones, and these made me smile and recall something I had forgotten about. Thank you. :hug: 

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Parker Owens
8 hours ago, Headstall said:

I must tell you, Parker, when I saw the title, I couldn't click on it. I still carry too much emotional baggage for my 'father' and my stepfather. I finally worked up the courage, and a s per usual with your poetry, I loved these little glimpses. I don't have memories such as these, but I have some good ones, and these made me smile and recall something I had forgotten about. Thank you. :hug: 

What makes me sad is that anything I’ve written might give you such apprehension. What gladdens my heart is knowing these snapshots made you smile and recall something worthwhile. I know there are others who will one day remember you with smiles, too. You were very kind to read and comment on these. Thank you.

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