Honeysuckle Memories…



Deep within my soul I sometimes go to

a place where my life began, I take an

emotional journey, from time to time.

Memories with or without images of

those days are like a thunderstorms’

distance echo, you cannot see it, but

you know that it was there.


A furrowed road, wild honeysuckle; a

crumbled chimney beneath the kudzu

vines, the remnant memories of that life

and dim images never change.  The cotton

fields surrounding the old weathered shack

where we lived that stole my father’s

wandering soul.


In the warm red dirt life sprung from the

blood and sweat that nurtured the white

gold called cotton, it broke spirits, and

hardened souls.  In memory, the image

from the past holds but one old leathered

face; my fathers.


Life goes by quickly, places and people vanish

without a trace, time and progress erases the

landscape of our lives, but…the memories is

how I survive.  In the shadows of the mind is a

time of how life use to be; with only a thought

I can recall those sweet honeysuckle memories.



Note: The poetry book “Honeysuckle Memories” was taken from this poem. ajm


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