When Daddy’s Hands Were Bigger


Staring at an old framed photograph hanging on my parent’s wall,
It stopped me in my tracks as I was walking down their hall,
I just stood there, going back in time, letting it all soak in,
As memories, like a slide show, reminded me of life back then.

Hauling hay, smelling the sweet grass, riding high on a half-ton Chevy truck,
Splitting wood until blisters formed, then stacking all of it up,
Raking leaves around the roots of the giant white oak late in the fall,
Shooting hoops in the driveway and chasing down the ball.

Riding my bike on Harmony Drive, peddling that black Huffy for hours,
Building a fort in the woods under fallen pine trees near the pasture,
Removing debris damming the little backyard creek to help it flow,
Growing up outside, a young man, always on the go.

The flashbacks began to fade as I slowly came back to the present,
But the last thought I had held me there for several more seconds…
Back then it was a different world of busy, and life was so much simpler,
When Daddy’s hands were bigger.

The Porch


The Porch guarded our small brick house,
When we left for work and school,
And he welcomed us back each time,
With smiling anticipation.

We sat together as cars passed,
Waving to friends and neighbors,
And he would host those who stopped by,
Then add to our conversation.

When summer sun was beating down,
The Porch called to find a breeze,
And when spring rains poured, he listened,
While keeping us dry underneath.

When the garden produced green beans,
The Porch supervised our work,
He watched us gather shells and strings,
Until the last task was complete.

Occasionally he would tire,
So we refreshed him with paint,
But normally it was reversed,
And he’d cheer us while we reflect.

I remember that friendly Porch,
Where we sat and talked for hours,
Those hours, well spent, turned into years,
And The Porch still has an affect.



Guarded by barbed wire and grazing cattle,
Growing hills of green gently slope toward

Glittering water reveals an old dock,
Giving fish and worms a place to bob in

Shoes run along streams sheltered by tall trees,
Sneaking among snakes to find kudzu vine

Secret hideouts named because they should be,
Support weary soles on their dangerous

Sunset soon whispers, “Dark shadows are near,”
Stomachs sell their shoes to chase more filling

Behind the lines

Childhood memories.

Create a website or blog at WordPress.com

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: