Tuesday, December 13, 2011


The angry wind pelts the windows
with icy finger of rain.
Rivulets like white blood flow
across the transparent surface.
It's furious voice rips across the roof
pounding, seeking entrance.
Roaring in it's fury,
white lines of fire thread, zig-zag
to the wet earth.
The parking lot, a black river.
The dark sky rumbles
A mighty bellow and
once again the fingers of fire race to earth.
The pelting rain increases it's tempo
while white flashes like
flickering neon signs
light the silent parked cars.
Then the clattering on the roof softens.
Finally it slows to a soft patter, then ceases.
 Janice Kuykendall

Thursday, November 10, 2011

My world is rich with texture
filled with light and dark
fog enchants me
rain challenges
colors are my tapestry
People intrigue
nature fills me with wonder
Everywhere I look
my mind creates photographs
Janice Kuykendall

Monday, October 31, 2011

What If I Told You

What if I told you the truth
No, I don't love you
Once I did, before
You took my heart
Yes, I offered it gladly
For I believed you
Your full, warm lips
Promised me with beautiful lies

What if I told you the truth
You looked through me
Shadows of other women
Danced in my light
Blossomed, wilted
and faded away leaving
only me to drown in
the void of those black eyes
Janice Kuykendall

Thursday, October 27, 2011

The heat, the smell of the yellow roses
A fly crawled across the back of my hand
Someone shifted uneasily in the front pew
A cough from the back of the room
The minister stood and cleared his throat
I watched his mouth move, his words invisible
I swung my legs and played with pop beads
Till my Aunt reached over and took them away

The heat, the smell of the freshly dug earth
An ant crawled across my shiny new shoe
Someone blew his nose into his white hankie
A stifled sob from the row behind
The minister stood and cleared his throat
His thin hair lifting in the hot breeze
I dug the toe of my shoe in the loose dirt
Till my aunt stopped me with a warning look

The heat, the greasy smell of the fried chicken
Everyone kept shooing and swatting at flies
Someone dabbing at their red, swollen eyes
A murmur of voices from the back yard
The minister stood and cleared his throat
Sweat beaded out on his brow and nose
I sat in a tree reading, swinging my legs
Till my aunt came and made me get down
Janice Kuykendall

Saturday, October 15, 2011


Sadness overwhelms me
Despair is not far behind
I  am overcome with need
To go round and round
Until I meet myself again
I will look into my eyes
And perhaps that old refrain
Of all my silly, empty lies
Of who, why and how
Will let me rise and  fly
Away in the light of now
Janice Kuykendall

Friday, October 14, 2011


Steel stretching across the blue
standing with your feet in the water
arms reaching side to side
Janice Kuykendall

Friday, September 30, 2011

My Mother

I just took my Mom to the hospital yesterday, and it made me think of how fleeting time is. So, here are some memories of my Mom.
Mom with her sister, she is the one on the right.
Me, my Mom, my brother and his wife.
My Mom and I.

Tuesday, September 27, 2011

There is a sign that points to Nowhere
Now it's a ghost town empty and bare
The streets filled with rolling tumbleweeds
and dusty signs, paint faded with wear
the relentless wind and sun that feeds
on the forgotton benches and chairs
scattered among the consuming weeds
and the rattling bones of the inns
scraping, scratching in the lonely wind
A reminder, the town of Nowhere
once stood lively and brazenly there
Janice Kuykendall

Saturday, September 24, 2011

A Tribute to my Father

My father was born on October 12 or 13, 1914 (he was a fraternal twin and they always argued about who was born first, as one was born on the 12th and one on the 13th) in Johnson City, Texas. He is the on the left who is smiling.
Here he is with his brothers, he is the third from the left and his twin is the second from the left.
My grandparents were descended  from sturdy Dutch stock. My father was a dreamer, he passed on to me the magic of childhood that lasted into adulthood. He told me marvelous stories about outlaws, that fired my imagination and about fairies that lived in the garden flowers. He fed my hunger for literature by buying me comics, books and Illustrated classics. He took me to movies and played music on an old victrola. 
We would wind the handle and set the heavy arm on the record, and the scratchy sounds would fill my head with far away scenes. I would float on the river with the sun shining on my closed eyelids or sometimes I would sit on a wooden bench in a honky tonk while the guitar notes danced around me like women in full skirts. I would see my daddy all golden and handsome on the dance floor twirling a beautiful lady and looking lovingly into her laughing green eyes (she always looked like my momma). 
 Then the needle would start to drag and I would be back in the dusty room with the old 78's. I was twelve before I gave hope that my mom and dad would get back together.
 Dad is the tall one, second from the left. He was the only one of Grandpa's boys who didn't serve in the armed forces. In those days is was customary for a rancher to keep the son of his choice at home to help, and Grandpa picked my dad. He is standing with his brothers and his father is the the first one on the right.
Daddy with his brother-in-law, who was burned in a fire when he was a young boy. They were best friends.
 I treasure this picture, Dad is holding me and my brother is standing in the back.
This is Dad and my brother looking goofy. Dad died on January 20, 1981 in Roswell New Mexico. He was only 66 years old. He worked on Grandpa and Grandma's ranch, then worked his own farm. He was a good and loving dad an I miss him every day.
My brother and I in New Mexico for Dad's funeral.



The lines on my father's face
the grey in his hair
tell me time is a race
I line the drawers
place his meager belongings
on the blue flowered paper
I line the shelf and place his
worn shoes on top
I line the mattress
with water proof sheets
make the bed
place his faded quilt on top
He sits and watches me
with watery blue eyes
I can see by the sadness
that lines his face
he remembers when
he was young with dark hair
Janice Kuykendall

Friday, September 23, 2011


I found the letter
in your pocket
written on thin
blue paper
words of love
on every line
kisses stolen
passion burning
pretty words
of love shared
between two
I read between
the lines
do you take off
you ring
tell her you're free
Do these lines on paper
make you forget me
Janice Kuykendall