Patrick Meadows and Stephanie Shepard Memorial Site
Poems inspired by, or written by Patrick Meadows and Stephanie Shepard.
He bought a fresh loafThe baker swathed it in a square of paperpinched at the cornersgood to carry under the armIn the street he smiledfrom the depths of his seventy-four yearsand praised the arrival of spring. A new note, this, since a stroke of mortality (is it already?) four years ago he has touched gingerly […]
The church bell speaks twice. The cat seems to sense, and the dog, something in the wind. Yes. A flash out to sea clouds white as day. The trees will whisper, and the grass, in the night while we sleep. Dawn brings rain clattering into our dreams, but then, a song! Nightingale, we both say […]
I found this letter from Patrick in a box of stuff I’ve been schlepping around for 31 years, a letter he wrote back in January of 1981 when I still lived in Phoenix. It had been five years since I’d seen him, but we did correspond occasionally by post. JPI’m the son of Patrick of […]
The persimmon yet burns on the branch beyond our window, twisting in the sun. Soon the wind will plump it down. Your flesh glows in the post noon light while the sea wind clamors at our door. (Time collapses; it is spring.) You also are rooted in earth, out of which you soar. […]
A Letter Home for Kenneth Palmer, organist Today dawn came over the French Baroque garden with the dreary birds’ Relentless chatter in the shrubs. They drenched the armless mermaid in their bathing, cracked The skin of ice that wrinkled fast the face Of water stealing stars from space, And stirred the pool into a thousand […]
The clock above the town has tallied one more day. The tones suspend like domes no longer than before, the hours have run the normal pace. Gabled Rhineland homes as ever sleep beneath the pointed church, a crystal tree beside the wall like lace or moonlight woven in the craftsman’s search for all the lines […]
Here’s a poem Fred sent to to Patrick, date unknown. My guess is May 1963. JPI’m the son of Patrick of Meadows.
The Black and Marmara seas breed gypsy soulsAmong the Turks. The brown and umber shoalsOf shade, beneath the parrot green or blueFeathered waves, shivering to spewOnto land with raucous breakers, flicker darkAnd light like wrinkled, laughing eyes. The bladesOf sun in slashing arcs like Dervish swordsGo mad in colors that the nomad hordesHad never dreamed […]
Here’s a poem from the early 1960’s (I believe). PatrickPatrick Meadows 1934 – 2017. patrick-meadows.com
Grandfather’s bred brotherWas a black leather Bible:Each day to heavenWas begun and endedBetween onion skin leaves. He boldly ledA life of SundaysOf rollicking sermonsAnd week-long revivals loudWith trombones and banjos:A leaping preacherWas his carnival:A joker who knocked them down,One to a ball. (Never a nightFewer than a hundredRolled down the aislesTo the altar.) But now […]
My love, I know that I have been a clown, And, bending with a rose in hand, no claim To formal loving should I have again; I know, who never knew before, the sound That rain makes kissing the dark before It tumbles to the earth and breaks in crowns, That you are painting beauty […]
(Memory is many long mirrors) Corridor mirrors reflecting doors Quietly opening and then Noiselessly closing, Letting wet hats and faces In from the rain. (Memory is everything Silently Forever Occurring in mirrors) Closet doors open; Closet mirrors twist a smile and face With a great arm telescoped to the knob. A […]
Here’s one of Patrick’s poems from An Anthology of Verse: FSU: 1954-1955 by George, Pat, Donna, David, and Regina. PatrickPatrick Meadows 1934 – 2017. patrick-meadows.com