Ladies In Waiting

Waiting on Words


For Carry On Tuesday Prompt # 70 One Misty Moisty Morning*

When I remember my father,
I see misty morning light
creeping over cold bay water
sneaking toward shore,
hear creak of wooden oars
that softly plash as dark
water laps against low
riding row boat. Moist
air brushes skin of cheek
instantly drying, almost
like soft  kisses, barely
felt, yet long remembered
even  half  a century

Elizabeth Crawford  9/13/10

*Folk song recorded in 1973 by Steeleye Span


  1. Beautiful and evocative……..I know that feeling of the soft mist, the plash of the paddle. You have captured it perfectly. Lovely.

    • Thank you Sherry. My dad drove semi and would come home before dawn, get me out of bed and we’d go fishing. Those were wonderful times and I miss them and him,


  2. I love this gentle poem – particularly the sound of plashing – so much more subtle than splashing, and exactly describing the sound of desultory oars in calm water.

    • Viv, so do I. It feels like what it is about. A soft gentle memory of a gentle person who shared it with me. He loved those mornings as much as I did. And thank you for sharing it as well,


  3. Oh how lovely. Lovely.

    • Thank you Tillybud, I think a soft little piece like this is necessary once in a while. It is a good lovely memory and I cherish it,


  4. Love that final, soft, lingering thought! A beautiful little poem!

    • Gemma, we need those every once in a while, don’t we? My father passed away over twenty years ago, but this is most often how I remember him.


  5. Beautiful memories of a beautiful time! And I loved the sound of the plash.

    • Thank you Nimaruichi, I loved that sound, it is one of the strongest memories I own,


  6. I like the timeless quality of it..

    nowhere island

    • Gautami, isn’t it amazing how one moment can come to signify an entire relationship? My father and I spent many hours together, had lots of adventures, and did a tremendous amount of gentle teasing, yet it is these simple gentle sense memories that represent all of that. Thanks for taking time to read and comment,


  7. Beautiful poem and precious memories

    • Hi Kristen, and thanks for commenting. This one wasn’t hard to write, I think it had just been waiting for an excuse to find its way forward and be seen. And I love it when that happens,


  8. ohhh…. rarely felt, still remembered. I wonder what it smelled like on those mornings? It is like I inhabited your skin for this poem. So perfect!


    • I really don’t know what it smelled like. The cold and moisture usually had my nose running and it didn’t stop until the sun was well up, and then it smelled fresh and fecund all at the same time. Thanks for enjoying it, smells or not, I certainly did,


  9. Just found this, it’s lovely, every word (practically) a picture – awesome take on the prompt…

    • Hi Ruth, I think its absolutely necessary to simply withdraw into those quieter, softer moments and hold them for a while. I’ve been thinking a great deal about my father of late and our relationship and how it shaped me in so many ways.

      Have no idea about what he would think of all this writing I do. Am pretty sure, however, he’d grin that crooked grin and tell me, “Oh Pea Soup, what do I know of poetry?” Think he’d get into this image and might even launch himself into how he often had to wake me twice before we could leave. Until the day he left without me because I didn’t get up the first time. He never had to come back a second time after that. He taught me such good fine lessons,


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