Faye Williams Jones
2009 Creekwalker Poetry Prize Winner
Faye Williams Jones (1949-2010) collaborated with her husband, Bob Jones, to create framed poetry and photography exhibits for museums, libraries, public buildings, and literary events.
Her poetry frequently won awards and was published in anthologies and literary journals. Spinning Words into Gold: A Hands-On Guide to the Craft of Writing, Sincerely Elvis, Cuivre River III, Grandmother Earth, Lucidity Poetry Magazine, Art with Words, The Storyteller Magazine, and CARTI’s Perspective are some of the titles including her work.
Faye enjoyed attending writing conferences, retreats and literary events. Memberships included National Federation of State Poetry Societies, Poets’ Roundtable of Arkansas, River Market Poets, poetry societies in six states, and severallocal writing groups.
Having lived with cancer since 1999, Ms. Jones felt the creativity of poetry helped her maintain a high quality of life. Erasing People (Finishing Line, 2009), her first chapbook of poetry, contains a selection of her cancer poems. Faye also wrote award winning prose and loved painting, gardens, travel and reading.
Faye Williams Jones was born May 7, 1949 in Little Rock, Arkansas. She passed away September 8, 2010 in North Little Rock, Arkansas.
Her poetry frequently won awards and was published in anthologies and literary journals. Spinning Words into Gold: A Hands-On Guide to the Craft of Writing, Sincerely Elvis, Cuivre River III, Grandmother Earth, Lucidity Poetry Magazine, Art with Words, The Storyteller Magazine, and CARTI’s Perspective are some of the titles including her work.
Faye enjoyed attending writing conferences, retreats and literary events. Memberships included National Federation of State Poetry Societies, Poets’ Roundtable of Arkansas, River Market Poets, poetry societies in six states, and severallocal writing groups.
Having lived with cancer since 1999, Ms. Jones felt the creativity of poetry helped her maintain a high quality of life. Erasing People (Finishing Line, 2009), her first chapbook of poetry, contains a selection of her cancer poems. Faye also wrote award winning prose and loved painting, gardens, travel and reading.
Faye Williams Jones was born May 7, 1949 in Little Rock, Arkansas. She passed away September 8, 2010 in North Little Rock, Arkansas.
WHEN PASSING THE POSSUM
on the way to chemo today a possum curled up and died
I remembered banding hummingbirds by the busy highway
held captured birds playing possum at a familiar spot
lifeless—then released to frantic flight I hold my breath
pretending the band is not attached— today as in childhood
acting as if the chemo does not flow I walk alone
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death
THE WIND LAUGHED
pirouetted over azalea bushes carressed blossoms
whirled through wisteria scattered fragrance
soared above treetops flew with mockingbirds
dove from the crabapple circled the camelia
billowed in the forsythia fluttered through irises
veered around a tulip magnolia kissed the lavender
danced a cadence I tried to follow
the front yard oak
is too tall for neighbors’ cats to climb hosts robins’ nest with baby birds
waves new green leaves with powdery pollen cools the yard with evening breeze
towers over smaller plants shades the house from noonday sun
spreads branches towards the house holds a swing for laughing children
litters the neighborhood with brown acorns welcomes squirrels to stash the nuts
covers lawns with dead leaves mulches flower beds through the cold
scratches at a window pane survives the storm again today
BACKYARD SECRETS
Sycamore leaves in my flower beds
tell me someone’s backyard secret.
A sycamore tree does not mix and mingle
with front yard oaks, magnolias, and crepe myrtles.
If a tree hides in a backyard,
what other secrets grow among crabgrass, dandelions,
wood piles, and honeysuckle entwined
with privet hedge on a fence?
A formal garden mulched and weedless
no longer hosts an aging couple.
Roses bloom next to the same privacy fence
as tomatoes.
Rabbits hop from yard to yard
and dogs do not look up and bark.
Neighbors do not hang clothes to dry,
pick fruit from trees, and visit over fences.
I do not know who lives next door.
I will not share my backyard secrets
and pretend that neighbors do not whisper,
“The woman next door has no hair.”
DAFFODIL FESTIVALS
The fragile ladies’ trembling fingers
pull sweaters close around shivering shoulders
in sunshine not yet warming the air
as they amble through daffodil fields.
Bulbs herald another year--
coronas and trumpets wave in gardens,
escape into ditches,
mark abandoned home sites.
Ageless delight--
harbingers of spring
welcome senior citizens
after winter’s confining coldness.
© Copyright Faye Williams Jones. All rights reserved.
Last updated May 7, 2017 1024 PST