“there in the darkness we listen…”
— poem excerpt by JD Wissler
"Remembered Reflection" ink on paper 8.5 x 9.75 inches
Poems and Paintings by JD Wissler
Cry of a Lone Bird
as we stand at the edge of light, there where the barn wall turns....
leaning together…peering into the void, we hear the sound.
a cry...in the dark (our eyes adjusting, we see edges of things)
cry of a lone bird....calling, no squawking...as if to find another...there in that unknown night landscape
(we would know it in the light of day....but not now, even though we recognize the dark mass of leafless tree)
there in the darkness we listen (mom and I) leaning...both listening
we are silent...the bird ...its squawking begins a rhythm..1-2-3 there.
There it is again. 1-2-3 again...
what is it...this bird...a lone hawk....crying....
(a night hawk, is there such a bird? a black crowned night heron....?)
the moments, adding up...unaware of how long we are standing there...we listen, we share
leaning into the dark at the edge of light...I shift...she looks.
we both turn, the gray flat surface of the driveway looks vast....she walks toward the house...a light in the window....her figure (small) moving slowly...looking in...looking at the house....
the lone cry becomes distant...the bird has moved away...mom does the same.
It is different now, these experiences....
oil painting by JD Wissler
Leaves, golden brown
leaves , golden brown.
air moves them
one falling into the meadow
our eyes (we three) follow the other
falling into the creek
the surface of the water is a crisp reflection of sky
we look at each other
eyes welling with tears, reflecting the same
the leaf comes to life as it rides just under the surface of the clear water
touching the billowing gray white cloud
the cloud
My father saw these things in this place
as a child
as an old man
he loved them
water, sky, leaves
us
water now carries him
a gray white cloud through the stream.... moving, ultimately to the ocean
we say these words....remembering
remembering his life
his love
moving
moving, like water
stream
through us (we three)
the sky is crisp
clear
beautiful
diptych by JD Wissler, oil on canvas, 30 x 48 inches
Rain
rain
hitting a window, which side of the house?
where is the wind coming from?
his feet are wet....
soap on the rag, his foot in my hand
washing
where is the rain hitting?
stop to listen
it...seems important
something we all should know
where the wind is
where the rain is
his feet
showing time
old, how long they have walked.
where have they walked?
rinsing them now
we stop
stop to reminisce
where have they walked...
his feet
toweling them dry now
carefully... between each toe
smiling as they tickle
I never knew
he was ticklish!
his feet!
in my hand
dad
in my hand
the rain is no longer hitting the window
we look to see
if it is over
the rain
no longer hitting the window
mom smiles
she is there
always there
she, he
rain
window
me
oil painting by JD Wissler
"Silent Jazz" ink on paper 5.5 x 9.25 inches