Beauty of child’s Play,
With sleds on snow-covered hills.
Laughter is music.
(c) Rick Wyman 12/2/2025
Childhood
Haiku, Sugaring Time
Spout dripping sweet sap.
Snow skirts around maple trunks.
Sweeten my pancakes.
©Rick Wyman 2/25
Poem, The Makings of a Memory
Classic notes on the piano,
The rumble of the furnace,
Background steady beat.
Music lessons propel
My daughter’s fingers.
Outside above the city skyline
The full moon takes a bow,
The bright disc shape looks down
As clouds provide curtain calls.
Meanwhile notes fill the air
And my heart fills with warmth
Another memory being made.
©Rick Wyman 11/16/24
Poem, TV Violence
Soft eyes of youth
Gaze upon opening wounds of flesh.
Abstract violence from behind glass.
When it’s gone
No smells and no bodies to remove
But the mind holds the image forever
With no empathy to slow an adult hand.
(c) Rick Wyman
A Couple of Those Baby Boomer Winters
I had a lot of things happen in the winter as a kid in the 1950’s and 60’s. It happens frequently that I hear people about my age refer to the deep snow falls we used to have back then. They are constantly comparing them to the snowfalls of now. I imagine most people forget or choose to ignore climate change as a valid factor. I was one of the unfortunate children of the 50’s that had a birthday in the middle of January. January 20th seemed often blessed by a snowstorm of substance, which was great for sliding and building snow forts, but not so great for having a birthday party. We lived on a single lane dirt road in Vermont.
Country Train
The wooded hills and valleys stitched with ties and steel
Brought me special moments still deep within I feel.
The calling of the whistle that promised something grand
I’d run for half a mile to get a view and take a stand.
Sometimes in country silence when darkness was so deep,
Putting Meat On The Table
For many people it’s hard to recall the first time they encountered the concept of death. I suppose usually it is the loss of a family pet. For me it was the shocking reality of the loss of a young bull we were raising for meat, but I had begun to think of as a pet. I was barely 3 years old. My folks had no money to speak of, and we were apparently poor, but being as young as I was, I wasn’t really aware of this fact. Continue reading
A Young Perspective
Autumn is the time of year for venison and for hunting in the forest for the illusive white tailed deer for many Vermonters. For my family, it was one of the most cherished times of the year. My father and his brothers were avid hunters. My uncles always looked to my father for guidance in where to go and where the deer were traveling on a regular basis. Many evenings were spent planning and figuring out where to go Continue reading
Big Brother, Big Help
When I was six years old, I was blessed with a new baby brother. My new brother’s name was Jeffrey. Back in those days no one under 12 years old was allowed to visit in the hospital. My sister and I waited in the car for Dad to come back each time he visited Mom. One time, he returned to the car and told us to look up. Continue reading
Can I Go With You Dad?
Most of us, at one time or another, have been pests to our parents, asking if we could go with them every time they left the house. I was no exception to that, as just about every time my father went out the door, or even told my mother he was planning on it, I asked if I could go. It was more like, “Can I go too?” I also recall there were more than one of those occasions that I regretted having spoken the question.
One of such times was when I asked if I could go with my father and Uncle Dave to the top of Saltash Mountain, to listen to a radio broadcast of the Red Sox baseball game. The reception was better there. I have no idea who the Sox were playing, but I do remember Continue reading
mind salvage 