Thurman P. Woodfork


Photographs from long, long ago
touch my heart and move me so;
nostalgic portraits of ageless friends,
some whose names I no longer know.

Such indelible faces, their deeply etched
traces will never fade; they’ve become as
much a part of me as my bones; Johnson,
Davis, Mallory, Jones, and all the ones
who’ve gone on home, taking their names
with them into eternity. They’ve become
a permanent part of me…

Reminders of distant lands, difficult times,
and helping hands; warm, sunny days and
romantic nights; blood and anger and
searing fright. Photos that bring rebirth to
the room before I rise and again resume
my long journey back to the earth.

I stow them all gently away to await the pull of
Of another day when bygone years call me back
to smiles and tears. I’ll relive the joys and fears,
and fondly gaze upon the faces that take me
back to those remembered places.

Comrades, acquaintances, friends, and foes
all bring back old joys and woes. Somewhere,
someone gazes at a photo of me, wracking his
poor brain in vain, “What the hell is his name?”

This poem was inspired by “Journey” - ©Copyright April 8, 2009 by Alan L. Winters