Friday, June 1, 2018




Love is a seed
Dispersed in the gale
That falls on vacant fields
Filling landscapes
With spectacular colors,
Textures and scents
It colors the world
With hope and happiness
Love lives on long after
We have moved on
Its scent lingers
In our sense
Of touch,
Smell and taste
It lives on
In memories shared
Love is like
The scent of the rose

Soft, unforgettable,
Stunningly fragrant
But unlike the flower
That withers and dies
Its essence and scent
Remains in our heart
It is a seed
That grows
And spreads coloring
And scenting
Our view of the world
Mother, your seeds grew
The most beautiful gardens
©Juanita Garcia Vera
All Rights Reserved 13-06-2005
Revised 10/ 05/2017
Photograph Pink Hibiscus


Excitedly, we ran
Into the Watermelon Field
Our eyes bulging
With excitement
To taste the sweetest
Of Summer’s fruit
A childhood memory
Peeks its face
Through layers of time
And space
We lived to savor
The ripest of melons
Thumping, testing
Tasting all its sweetness
We sat in the open field
Making a circle
While we ate, laughed
Recited stories and dreamed
Dreamed  of all the pink
And cool green around us
Like icicles that kept us cool
On the hottest days of Summer
Watermelons, watermelons
All around
I dreamed of Watermelon Fields
That extended on and on
Beyond my wildest dreams
Beyond the years
Beyond my expectations
Gone is the innocence of yesteryear
Still, it lingers in the memory
Of those long hot summer days
We ate, laughed and dreamed
Of unbelievable things
It’s taste and scent imprinted
In my mind
Frozen in time
Thawing out
At my command
A picture most vivid
The hot air steaming
wiggly waves
In the clear horizon
A sight unforgettable
My memories like blood
Flowing through my veins
Bringing thoughts
Most beautiful
Every now and again
I have dreams
Of Watermelon Fields
Unlike a dream
I feel the steamy heat
Smell the delicious scent
Hear the incessant chatter
Of children at play
Growing dreams
Happiness that grows
In the fields of my memory
Where its vines hold me
Captive in time
©Juanita Garcia Vera
All Rights Reserved JGV 2013
Photograph Windmill...Juanita Garcia Vera


When I was four years old
I wanted to be six years old
So I could go to school
I’d spend the day
Tracing letters
I’d trace over and over
On paper sacks and dirt
I didn’t know
What the letters meant
But I knew
They were important
When I was ten
I wanted to be thirteen
So I could be a teenager
And go to junior high school
Then I was fourteen
And wanted to be eighteen
So I could be grown
Finally, came the day
I was twenty-one
How happy I was to reach
That milestone
The years flew by, so fast
Today, I thought once more
Of the child of four and six
The one that was carried on Papa’s arms
The one that was tucked in bed by Mama
The child that had non a care,
But to play and dream
About tomorrow
Tomorrow is here
And I remember
And dream of yesterday
Of the years I was Four, Six,
Thirteen, Eighteen and Twenty- One
In memories time stands still
I remember
The times I’d spin in circles
While I danced in the rain
I’d   fall down
While laughing so hard that
I cried and my tears became rain
I remember making mud pies
And I dream of playing tag

As I run in fields of whitest cotton
Chasing time always
But time is so elusive
That it leaves us behind
Back to those innocent,
Sad, painful and beautiful times
I am here
Now this day,
This hour
This minute,
And it’s gone
Like sunshine
On a rainy day
Is hope, sunshine
And time
To dream, to share
Today I live like there’s
No tomorrow
Because tomorrow
Is not  a promise
 ©Juanita Garcia Vera
January 1, 2015


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