The Water Wagon Cart

Running after the water wagon
Dusting down the meandering roads
Through fruit orchards
And blossoms fallen.

Little daughters Of Italian
and Portuguese immigrants,
And the wee boys of the families
Of the Valley of the Heart's delight -
This Santa Clara Valley.

Time Dancing the Sixties

Hearts and souls
Landlocked in the decade
Of Camelot and flowers
Of war and powers,

And crossing Golden Gate
Into unforeseen lands
And the mystic Francisco
Of sweet youth dreams

And visions of the present
Thinking it the future
Great love that it became
Too soon, too late

Entwined and waltzed about
In the cruel juxtapose of time dances,
Betwixt the slip away loss of love
From the grasp
To below the conscience
Of thirty years and the depths

In the metaphysical oceans
Of university campuses,
Triple decades and howlings
At the many moons ago."

Olde Wordsmen Never Die

Olde Wordsmen never die -
They just scrabble away...
Have keyboard will travel -
Be on your screen in seconds
And your copywriting needs -
Problematic? - will unravel!

Olde Scribesmen never die -
I'll tell you why:
Gotta give that storyline,
One more try...

Olde Penmen never die -
They just jot away...
For on the road
To Penmen heaven,
They've got the write-of-way.

So grab a mouse
And click your text to Jay!

Raining On A Faraway Desert

Soft rains fell
On a faraway desert

And the Mockingbird sat
In the Sycamore Tree

With night songs of love
She sang to me
As it came to be
The souls of Eagles
Chorused on the highest limbs
Of the Cottonwood Tree

And rain flowers arose
On the desert floor,
Dancing gentle on breezes
Of Springtime score,

While promises of Summer
And dreams played encore
To love for now and forevermore
From the gates of heaven
To Camelot’s door...

Walking Long The High Desert

On the day
She walked out
of the high desert,
Stumbling out and away
From parched and arid moorings
And marched for a fortnight
To the music of freedom,

It was a mere shard of a millisecond
That like a juggemauted epiphany,
The revelation of having said,
To this place: "We are no more!"

Came as stunningly
as her Phoenixed wings lifted her,
Up drafted and out and over the desert
And into the oasis of her heart's delight,

For the Camelot tree of her dreams
Bore real fruit
And what had been
The desert prison of her soul,
Became the verdant, rolling hills and meadows
Of all her flowered tomorrows...

Jay Licata Tanka 888

Judas and Brutus
Jezebel, Abel and Cain
A brother's keeper
Thirty pieces of silver
Scarlet legacy and pain.

My Beautiful Mother

Carol Ann (Elizabeth) 1924 - 2007

Barbara's Father

"A son is a son,

until he takes a wife;
A daughter is a daughter,

all of her life" - an adage from folklore.

"Barbara's Father"

Having just missed the call,
i played back her message
within a few moments.

The voice was a small girl
Who had become separated
From her father in a large crowd,
Thus with panic and grief
And shifting with each word,
As if pressing against a fluttering heart,
to say that "Dad passed away this morning"

And all this from a whip smart,
Always poised and emotionally prudent,
Middle aged and practical woman
- and a student of mathematics to boot.

She found him, however
Soon after, as he had quickly
Found and comforted her,
Though this time
He had come from another place

But as always
In his invariably steady and measured manner -
This wonderful ninety-one year old,
Professor Emeritus and finest caliber Father,
And Grandfather as well, was there.

Albeit, her two brothers
Most certainly felt their grief
As nobly as a son could,
Neither may ever be able
To fully gather in the bond
Between this father

and his daughter,

That was found again
In that milling crowd
and sealed forevermore
Into the bittersweet of eternity,

On that early morning
When like the distant
Will-o'-the-wisp
Of a church bell's ring,

A father's daughter
And a daughter's father,
Sang soft and low,
Love's sweetest duet,
Into the endless Spring

And when not with him
She can hear him sing
While he walks hand in hand
With her mother,
Along Northeastern Oregon's,
Country Eight Mile Road,

His golden baritone,
New York and Whitman trained,
Echoing like a Showboat tune
Along a Northwest Plain...

My Lovely Grandmother

Lucy Valerie Berry ( nee Hill ) 1892 - 1966

Aunt and Uncle

My Uncle William Reni Kemper in His Naval Garb and Aunt Lois Margaret Kemper, Along With A Delightful Companion - circa 1943

Mother 1942

Carol Ann - circa 1942

Mother's Eighth Grade Class Picture - 1938 Seattle

1938 on Seattle's First Hill