Photographed by Brenda L. McCartney
I remember watching my then two year old serenade her grandfather, as he taught her to curtsy. She would read and sing to him as if she was beyond her years. He would talk to her as if he was speaking to an older child. They had a connection and her behavior around him was somewhat surreal. There are times she would cry, “I want to be with grandpa,” A few weeks after he passed away unexpectedly. At the repast she sat in the yard, where she spent so many times with him, with her hands under her chin. While sitting she shook her head and made an open hand gesture and said “Grandpa is gone.” This father’s day would be my husband’s first father’s day without his father but we know that he is with us in spirit. To paraphrase the poet, David Harkins ‘we can smile because he lives.’ We are full of the love he shared, we will cherish his memory and let him live on and we will open our eyes smile, love and go on. For those who facing this sweet sadness of a deceased father or grandfather cherish their memories because indeed they are living in our memory.
A Father’s issues tangle with life
Patchwork of sweet sadness
Weighted memories – fragile
Eclipse a strong sense of you
Connect with essence
Steadfast replay of moments
Reserve – vacant space
The familiar territory
An ideal crafted, enchants
Pure spirited
Infinitely charming
Rich and self contained
Things noticed in the dialogue of life
Engaging open and compressed
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Poem Written By Brenda L. McCartney
To all fathers Happy Father’s Day! Enrique my love, friend, husband and father of our beautiful daughter, Happy Father’s Day.
Photographed by Hugh Shurley
Swatches of our time
Flowed in and out
Braided with kept memories
Embedded expressions ravaged
Graceful provoking motions
Heart head and hand collude
A stream of consciousness
Collage timeless
-
Poem by Brenda L. McCartney
Photographed by M.V Adler
As our thoughts are with the women in our lives and we get ready to observe and honor mothers, motherhood and maternal bonds this coming Sunday let us celebrate those we love as we shall grow to bear a resemblance to them
The day compose of many moments unseen
The spark from her sting as the beauty of spring
Manors of consoling embraces
The stains and wrinkles of time remove
Her hug begrimed with nurture
Mesmerize with laughter
Millions of faucet smiles and tears pour
Scent of protection lounge
Sunlight of wisdom mentor
As moments fat with love gibbers
Rainbows fail in comparison to her beauty
Chill with endless sacrifice
Her pulse and thoughts beats fiercely
Her hands, bosoms feeds, hold even entice
-
Poem Written by Brenda L. McCartney
Photographed by Brenda l. McCartney
I remembered the first time I visited Montserrat after the volcanic crisis; a friend took me to visit the danger zone. Plymouth (the capital) was uninhabitable and totally abandoned, boxes of shoes lay in shoe stores, curtains blew from opened windows, and the town was so empty that you could hear an echoing sound from the wind in every direction. I did not cry and my friend asked if I was that cold. In hindsight, I realized there are certain losses that are deeper than tears. I carried the loss within me then and still now; for me it was a mixture of emotions.
In my later teens and into my early adulthood I enjoyed my island as everyone should. For example there were many Fridays I packed my clothes into a nap sack and did not return to my home until Mondays as I traversed every mountain trail, drank from many ghauts and rivers and rested under many trees that provided shade from South to North of Montserrat. I did not have a sleeping bag or tent but sheets and slept in the open under the sky. The spirituality of every track, soil, bank, hill, mountain and river that once thrust inside me had once again bonded me to those moments as I gazed at my ravaged town. I am thankful that I experienced those sacred places and they took me in before they were filled with debris or were obliterated.
Another of my memories was going with my mother to her work place which stood on St. Georges Hill. That location provided one of the most picturesque views of Plymouth and surrounding villages. Later, I visited the location during another visit where the impact from the pyroclastic flow blew out the inside of the building and banked the cliff the building stood on just seconds short totally obliterating the entire place.
One of the most amazing things is that while I am writing this post, is that I did not verbalize what I am writing but my daughter just stood beside me saying that she was painting a volcano. That is the power of connection. So even though she is a descendant who has not traversed the ghauts, mountains, hills and gullies of Montserrat there is soulful connection. Isn’t life a mystery?
As the news media is bombarded with various natural disasters Iceland, Haiti, India, China, Montserrat and so many others, I empathize with the losses but there is one thing we all have that can never be taken from us. That is our memories; the stories, the experiences and the collective understanding as these calamities are all unique as they have affected what we call home.
Photographed by Freddy GBSN
I posted this because I wanted to feature the work of a Montserratian poet. He is an older poet and it reflects his point of view growing up and growing old.
Poem by Peter Lake
Click here for a larger font version of the Poem
Photographed by Brenda L. McCartney
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