Monday, June 16, 2008


Every Father's Day there is an airshow somewhere close. Like a lot of men I love aviation, but I chose not to go. I garden instead.


Pulling pigweed from potato hills
and watering strawberry row,
I hear a warbird roar.
No. Two in formation fly by,
and off in a distant drone.
Blue sky through trees,
and white clouds,
like smoke on horizon.
My attention is drawn up
and northward. Reaching.
I remember another life...
Was it Nam? or France?
Or a movie clip
that moves my soul.
I go there for seconds.
Maybe minutes like the first.
Then a bluejay lands in the maple.
And another. Excited. Ready.
Like dads at an airshow.
I watch -- and they're off
in a dive, a bank and a roll.
Dad at an airshow
as I take my hoe.
Delighted again
in reflection.


  1. I like what you said. I've been to many air shows myself back in the past. But the best air shows are true nature flying up there in the sky! Nice poem.

    I am now reflecting what we are doing or "Not doing" to help our wounded veterans coming home who are being abandoned and forgotten.

    Come visit my blog..I'm "Back"..kind of..for a bit at least..

    Angel Blessings to you Ardi,


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  3. so much was captured in a short poem! going back and forth with "now" and "then". Nice--

  4. Did I write something wrong? I'm sorry if I did.