Poem: Tending Love, Tending Blossoms

 

mindsalvage.com Tulip

Spring flowers push their way through to see the sun,

Babies push their way through to see the faces of love.

Sharing warmth and creating beauty.

Everyone means something to someone.

A garden of many blossoms, tended by one,

Creates a place to admire.

A comforting face, seen by many,

Assures that beauty comes from within.

Sharing self, to make another blossom,

Brings the lives of many, out into the light.

 

(c) Rick Wyman

Poem, The Trail We Crossed

Soft pine carpet

Where birds silently land

And gentle rain disappears

My love beside me

Beneath a towering canopy

Of green shade

A place of heavenly rest

Of warm hope for future dreams

The brook speaks in a calming voice

The trail we crossed

Stopped here so our minds could wander

Love within and beauty in view

This place of spaciousness

Contains the things to give me passage

To look beyond this day

And turn memories into smiles of contentment

And wishes into tomorrow’s happiness

© Rick Wyman

Poem, This Piece of Earth

mindsalvage.comCanopy

This piece of earth,
So clearly framed in my mind’s eye,
Transformed life into a watercolor.
Brush strokes blended like free flowing rain.
This piece of earth,
My masterpiece in the making,
Faded when others took it away.
While my eyes were closed,
They stole my brush,
To make changes upon my vision.
They muddied up the vibrant colors,
With lack of caring.
Where birds once sang
And flowers bloomed,
Is filled with weeds
And branches without fruit.
This piece of earth,
That had pulled my heart to its beauty,
Now scarred by others,
Shunned me away.
I sadly left it there,
With those whose care was false.
They framed it as a decoy,
And hid this piece of earth so well,
It died alone.
©Rick Wyman

 

Poem, Cold Comfort

Frozen River Poem

Stepping on river rocks and ice,

Shadows of trout race by.

Snowbanks rise steeply.

Memories unfreeze my youth,

As warm thoughts of then,

Come back to me.

Eyes closed and vivid sounds trickle,

Boots slipped between snow mounded stones,

Where I searched for calm between the banks.

Freezing air awakened a need to go home,

Though I wish I could stay here listening.

February kept a promise,

Between the lighted window of home,

And time alone on the stream.

 

© Rick Wyman

Be Careful What You Catch…Fishing on Horseback.

PhilWithFish

Living in the country on a dirt road allows for many adventures in youth, including fun outings on the spur of the moment. Fishing in nearby streams that follow the contour of the valley in Cavendish and Chester Vermont, was one of those summer activities I enjoyed as a kid. The season always started on the second Saturday in April and coasted along until September which made it a perfect summer pastime for school vacation. My father was a great fisherman and came home with a fresh catch for supper often. I wasn’t as good at it but enjoyed catching a few good sized brook trout. I spent more time fishing alone than with friends because I had to meet my mother’s “get home so I can make sure you haven’t drowned” schedule. There weren’t many kids my age to go fishing with either, and it seemed that the one neighbor that was close to my age was always luckier than I was, and he didn’t hesitate to tell me so, which made me feel a bit inferior as a fisherman.

One day we were feeling like an adventure and took out a couple of horses for a ride. At the last minute we decided to take our fishing-poles with us. It appeared this would be a less strenuous trip than even on a bicycle. No pedaling, just hold the reigns and the pole crossways in our fingers over the front of the saddle. Every time we came to a good fishing hole we could just tie the horses up to a near-by safe tree and walk to the brook and throw in the line. The creel was a canvas bag with waterproof interior so if we caught any fish it would keep the leather saddle dry.

After fishing on the Dean Brook Road about 2 ½ miles from home, we turned around to head back. The ride was pretty uneventful and the horses were calm for the most part. The closer we got to home the more anxious we were to make it a more exciting ride. I recall David was on my right and I was posting along at a slow trot. He decided he’d like to kick it up a notch and we began to trot faster and then canter. Suddenly, and unbeknownst to him, the hook he had placed in the eye of the pole bounced loose and swung over just enough to catch in my Continue reading

Poem, The More I Walk

mindsalvage.com TrailInTheWoods

Casual trail in the snow,

Cross country skier had been there though.

Deep mountainside woods,

A place I’d been before.

Travelers on skis or foot,

Seeking distance to feel

Solitude.

No door to close,

No window shade.

The more I walk,

The more my worries fade.

The snow is colder here,

Left untouched by the sun,

Not a wrinkle for the wind to smooth.

Deep breaths massage my chest

While passing silent sentences,

My thoughts layer upon my memory.

I will recall them to be laid upon paper,

That my eyes may give an opening for retrieval,

My pen renewed my calm.

Rick Wyman, 3/20/17 6:41 p.m. Spring Equinox

Putting Meat On The Table

mindsalvage-com-ricksbull

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