The air, white with rain
so dense it looked like snow,
fell straight and strong
in drops huge and heavy
presenting an impervious
wall of water.
"You'd be soaked to the skin
in two minutes flat," he said.
It stopped as suddenly
as it had begun,
leaving a strange after-light
in air as clean and crisp
as just washed lettuce.
The sudden stillness
and absence of sound
brought an eerie peacefulness
and a sharp awareness
of the hidden power
controlling one's destiny
Cona F. Adams, 9/7/11
Passenger seat travel
is boring, boring. boring
Pencil and paper
occupies time, hands
and mind.
Put pen to paper,
record the unusual.
Humorous signs
ugly buildings
hawks in treetops
crows feasting on road-kill
broken, abandoned cars
hitch-hikers
roadside stands
when suddenly
breathtaking scene
gone in a flash
speaks eloquently
of the Master’s touch
and lingers for miles.
© Cona Faye Adams 7/18/2016
shining water flows cold . . .
life blood of our ancestors . . .
gift to our children . . .
dedicated to Harsh Wind, Grandmother of fellow Souper - Cona Adams
David Meade
11/26/2014
Live Generously
(Why I'm Still Breathing)
When the cow was dry, she was compliant.
When she calved, she turned vicious
and no fence could hold her,
but she gave milk in abundance,
and Dad refused to sell her.
She chased Mother 'round and 'round the barn
until Mom panicked, climbed the corner logs,
and perched under the roof,
clinging like a cicada shell on a weed-pod.
Beasty pawed and bellowed until Dad came home.
"I could gain on her on the corners,"
Mother said, "because I could turn faster,
but she gained on me on the straightaway."
Plug-ugly tore through the fence,
into the garden, where Mom and I worked.
"Run, Cona Faye, run," my mother shouted.
How did she know? The cow passed Mother
and thundered straight for me. I ran.
At the fence, snorts filled my ears. Hot breath
steamed my back. I saw myself stomped,
pulverized into the dirt. I turned, screaming
at full volume, and flailed my arms
like a windmill in a strong wind.
That old red cow locked her front legs
and skidded like a freight train on full brake.
I seized the moment, and scaled that rail fence.
My name is Cona. Have you
ever heard such a name? Well,
let me tell you, where I grew up
you were always referred to by your
full given name, whatever that was.
Therefore, I grew up as
Cona Faye, with a drawn-out
emphasis on the first syllable.
“Why, it’s Ko-o-o’na Faye,” they
would say, using the long “O”
This wouldn’t have been
so bad, except that we were
farmers who raised corn.
All the boys at school
called me "Corny."
We moved to a new town.
My name changed to “Faye.”
No more twang, no more slang
end of problem, end of story.
Except, now, I’m often called
Fern or Fran or Kay and no one
spells my name with four letters
It is either F-a-e or F-a-y
but almost never F-a-y-e
Oh, well, what’s in a name?
cfa © 7/28/03
If I Were a Man, I'd:
Never purchase another dress,
chop the heels off my stilettos,
burn every pantyhose in the house,
allow my ears to close their portals,
and use pinking shears on all the bras.
If I were a man, I’d:
Place my jewelry up for grabs,
cart the curlers over to Goodwill,
paint the town with cosmetics,
and visit the barber for a buzz cut.
If I were a man, I’d:
Buy cowboy boots, a straw hat,
season tickets to baseball,
and a zero-turn lawnmower.
If I were a man, Id:
Control the remote at all times,
commandeer the recliner,
sit however I please, with perfect ease,
and change my name from Cona to Chuck.
If I were a man, I’d:
Reserve the right;
to track mud into the house,
leave drawers/doors standing open,
leave clothes/shoes lying where they drop,
control the money, and always ask,
“What’s for dinner?”
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