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Remembering You

Remembering You

A ghostly flower blooming and withering,
(or blot) blinking with colors that strain to brightness,
to equal those of what were seen before;
fragments, with the music or plain utterances
attempting to be as loud (or as soft)
as what they really were...

But all in vain.

Blurred and ephemeral. Just for a haunting and fleeting...
Many times an unexpected visitor,
an intruder, inside...

What is complete and constant is that depressing spirit:

Void of form and details, yet lingering, encumbering,
dragging. Punctuated, highlighted,
by the thief that intermittently
gives, curses, and leaves

with a piece.

River Road

River Road

Dusk is falling.

I drive with care,

deer are headed for water.


The blue of the hour mutes color with shadow.

The foothills are sere – sun that singed grasses

left the wildest flowers to glow orange and gold.


Today, two eagles fly between the canyon walls,

wing beats slow. Do they, too, savor

these translucent hours - bordered by

fields and hills and water?


Soon the moon will rise,

bathing the hills with silver,

laying a path across the river for night creatures to follow.


Home lies at the end of this road,

but I’ve been home from the very first mile.
Judith Kelly Quaempts

Judith Kelly Quaempts lives and writes in rural eastern Oregon. Her short stories and poetry appear online and in print, most recently in Windfall, The Crafty Poet II: A Portable Workshop, and Women's Voices, an anthology published by These Fragile Lilacs Press.


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