The Poet's Family Album
by
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Someone once said, that the more things change, the more they stay the same: I haven't found that to be so.
I often visit the land of my childhood dreams in a long-ago time before developers spayed and neutered it. Not imaginary at all, it was a real place where butterflies and birds filled the air with their bright colors, while horned toads and lizards did push-ups in the hot sun. The
Playing in an orange grove close to our home, my friends and I many times found and lost the location of a blood orange tree that was hidden among the common ones. Sometimes we came upon huge oranges hanging in the tops of trees which had eluded the pickers in a bygone time of harvest. I can't begin to estimate the number of oranges I've ate while their juice stained my shirt and ran down my arms and off of my elbows.
There were several orange packing houses in our town. On the way home from school, I often went inside and watched with fascination as thousands of oranges were herded along a slatted surface with ever-widening places in the floor where small oranges fell through first, and then those that were larger, until finally, a few oranges which were so large - as big as soft balls, rolled to the end of the grading shoot and waited for a small moocher-boy like me to coax the workers out of them.
The owners and packers didn't seem to mind when we pestered them - I guess that torts had not yet been invented.
Memory Comes Walking
Memory comes walking, like a fair maiden
In her bare feet through the wild flowers;
Smiling her smiles, laughing her laughter,
Cheering the days, beguiling the hours.
Ever so youthful, ever so wonderful,
Always so lovely, always so sweet;
Memory comes walking like a fair maiden,
Through the wild flowers, in her bare feet.
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About the Book
You may love photography or heritage scrap booking, remembering gentler, less complicated, romantic times. Or you may be a history buff. And, you may enjoy poetry and prose. If you do, you will certainly find a feast of history, poetry and family in these pages.
This book celebrates the life of a man who was born a story teller and lived the life of a poet. His poetry and life were one. His family traveled at his side on this incredible journey. All of life's experiences became the stuff out of which his verses emerged and lived. I often traveled with him: I'm his oldest son Calvin, and co-author of this book.
About the Author
"These thoughts are about the author of this book, who worked with my future wife at a home for severely abused children."
"Ten years ago I was standing in a parking lot waiting for the gentleman who was going to marry my self and my bride. I heard a man behind me say, "You want a big gulp?" What is a big gulp I thought as I turned and saw the kindest eyes I had ever seen staring at me? There was a crystal-clear gentleness that oozed from the man I just barely met. As we drove to the local 7/11 the conversation was designed to feel each other out. Therefore, I sensed he was trying to collect information about who I was. We sat and talked for an hour or so and he digested my answers to his questions - I was doing the same with his. If this was to be a war of wits and understanding, then I was on the losing end of the stick because I was taken by his acceptance of self. I became cognizant of Cal Towler's complete personal security. As he talked about marriage, my wife's children, his marriage and family plus the future, I realized his years of selflessness and charitable trust was an open book. He shared his unquenchable love for his wife of many years with me, a perfect stranger. Within the hour I met a man who was to become a trusted hero."
"
Eddie Foy III