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