I have landed
in the world
I wonder how
long I can stay,
it occurs to me
without a word
that this is
the only way
but why is
the path so
hard to find
why can’t I
simply open
my mind
whenever the
to merge
into the light
of fancy flight
that carries
me over the
and sparks
the creative
that started
this mind blowing
wild-ass game,
for today I feel
as if I could
and will
and might
and maybe should
do all those things
that seem unreal
when all it takes
is just the skill
to climb into the
wizard’s ship
and hold
on tight
for the
magical trip,
but you can
have it
either way
it’s really only
the price you pay
to just survive
or celebrate



©J.W.WINSLOW 12/1/09

Seychelle Ann Curry is the end of the line in our family, the only grandchild of my mother, the only child of my brother, and my beautiful loving niece. Given the circumstances of her life, being struck down on her 18th birthday, it is doubtful that she will fulfill the prophesy of her birth, but we will always pray for a miracle to bring her back to us.

Chelle was raised by my brother Chris as a single parent, and you will never find a more proud and loving father. My mother jumped in and vowed to help teach her all the things little girls should know. While Chris worked to support them, Chelle’s grandmother surrounded her with love and care, showing her the myriad of duties that include good manners, shopping, a respect for the beauty of nature and of course, baking cookies. She made my mother’s life complete.

Chelle and Chris visited me in Carmel on their vacations, crowding into my tiny cottage together and walking to the beach every day. Chelle loved the ocean and found a special place we called CHELLE’S COVE, where she built entire cities made of sand and squealed when the tide rolled in and covered her creations.

We taught her to be strong and smart, to respect others and give of herself, and evidence of this was never more clear than those first awful days in the hospital when she was barely alive. The waiting room was jammed with friends and parents and schoolmates, some that we had never even seen, but all were people who knew and loved Chelle. She was generous with herself and her belongings, collecting a group of vagabonds who became dear friends.

I will not say that I miss Chelle, because she is in my heart and soul every day. I look forward to seeing her, regardless of the fact that she cannot speak to me, because I know somewhere inside those big bright eyes, she is there. Her life will not be wasted because it was taken away from her, because we will honor and love her always. We will find a way to teach others about what we have learned, that the spirit lives forever, and you never give up. Never.

She is a fighter, and a winner and wonderful young woman who was taken from our lives in a way we will never forget. We are grateful for justice to be served in this case, and thankful for all those who have helped and guided our family in a time too difficult to describe.

When I think of Chelle, she will always be playing at CHELLE’S COVE, surrounded by the light and roar of the sea. I like to think she is there now.

J.W. Winslow

Glass walls sparkled
against the sun
blazing there
on the corner of
a famous square
in The City
as we entered
the ornate
old building
oozing grandeur
and charm,
the orderly
elegance of
very expensive
things set
the stage for
our destination:
the rounded
respite called
The Rotunda,
a place not to
be believed
a circle of
leather backed
seats and white linens,
waiters silently
filling the chilled
water glasses
sweating with dew,
we ordered something
wonderful, small
and perfect for
a tea room,
but more to soothe
the savage brow,
and settled in to
reminisce about
girls and their
mothers, shopping in
fancy places
like this,
once called
The City of Paris,
when it shone
like a
lighthouse with
the huge Christmas
Tree that graced
towering corner
windows, awesome
amazing and scary
for a young girl,
using those proper
manners and sitting
up straight,
we thought of this
while we ate the
scrumptious morsels
they call lunch,
lost in a world
long gone, watching
the throngs outside
having found
a place to hide
just for a moment
we reveled in the
past, making
new history
into memories.



©J.W.WINSLOW 10/1/09

I was supposed
to be working
but nobody came
I stood there
by tomes
of famous
and not, of
fiction and
slowly looked
the store was
bare and
no one was
there, on
the street
there were
no sounds,
it was as if
I was in a
magical place
filled with books
and more books
in every space
artfully arranged
cookbooks and
help books and
even Ayn Rand
as my eyes
found Steinbeck
and carefully
his terse hot
and mystic
I don’t know
where the
time went
for when I
the poet’s book
I was wildly
upon reading
his every word,
not like me
you say, but
you have not
heard the best
of things to come:
I found myself
simply mystified
my heart and
soul and life
untied and
given up in awe,
I could not really
believe what
I saw, the prose
of a master from
long ago,
written just maybe
a stone’s throw
away from the
door of the shop
where I read,
living and breathing
the rhymes that he
said, and when it was
time to say goodbye
pack up my goods
and wonder why
nobody came to
see me that day,
it seemed to be
the only way
for my seminal
I will never
be the same
and my poetry
has become
the game
of love,
of giving
and praising
the dove,
the flight
of fancy today
I have come
to write
and pray…
©J.W.WINSLOW 9/1/09
It’s famous for
a lot of things
the high rise
towers, the
churchbell rings
but truth be told
this summer day
there’s one big
thing they
NEVER say:
Jaywalkers rule
APPLE, bold
and quick
always snapping
up the slightest
chance to run
across against
the red and
steal a minute
in their stead,
while tourists
wait so patiently
it’s very simple
to perceive the
real Manhattanites:
they quickly
skip out
with flying feet
and suddenly take
flight from curb
to street,
they push between
the cars, and look
askance at the
rest of us
as though we
were from Mars,
so just remember
in your book
the guidelines
of New York:
watch for the
geniuses who
simply pop a
cork while
waiting for
the light to
change, they’re
to exchange a
minute for a
it’s called
the hustle
of getting there
without much
song and dance,
trust me when
I tell you this,
it won’t take long
for you to kiss those
mannerly goodbyes
and hop the train
to Jaywaker’s lane
and finally comply,
now you’ve become
one of them,
over and over
and over again 🙂

©J.W.WINSLOW 8/1/09

How do I say
the kind of joy that only
summer brings:
I cannot help
the wily pang
that sets my
heart to strings
the gentle touch
that wakens me
earlier than
the rising sun
the early run
of geese
who swoop
and soar,
there’s something
about a child
born into
this prime,
they seem
to dream
and play
and scheme
much more
than Christmas
yet with
all the grief
and harm
the world has
given us
that solstice
and we all
in wanton
summer lust,
just believing
roses come to
and every place
you look around
the light has
filled the room,
I await this day
every year
secretly wondering
if I’ll hear
the fabulous
and taste the
from the
seas, and smile
to catch it all,
it’s really just a
gift, a few sweet
a vibrant lift,
before we come
to Fall!

©J.W.WINSLOW 7/1/09

She enters the room
like a race horse
shining bright
holding tight
to that smile
she takes a
program and
wanders ahead
into the fray
just another day
at the sea of life
making her bones
with the folks
it’s important
for them to
see you
says the noted
Public Relations
let them sniff
the jasmine and
spicy grapefruit
smell clean hair
with blossoms
amidst the green,
act a little bit
like a queen,
only just for
a minute,
don’t go past
your limit,
it’s simply a
a way to
please the
masses and
their pocketbooks
the second looks
from towering
madness are


©J.W.WINSLOW 6/1/09

They arrive
quietly in
the midst
of dawn
with an early
in mind,
large lumbering
horns and
more dainty
does, prancing
in damp grass,
unaware of
the resilient
eyes of their
many admirers
in a quest for
the greenest
shoots, the
early vestiges
of a Summer
feast appears
above the ground
while things
begin as usual…
Until the sight
of tiny wobbly
legs and skinny
rumps betray
the secrets of
early Spring:
the babies
have formed
and been born
by motherly
ritual, and
now they are
ready to run,
to play and find
their place
in the sun,
so wild and
free are they
today, nipping
at the old deer
who must be
grandpa and
tripping up
a couple of
dainty ladies
to frivolity,
(who have
forgotten the
days when
they tortured
their tribe)
but now is
the day for
the new
to arrive,
bringing a
sense of joy
in their play,
the innocent
way they chase
bounding across
the meadows
before the
golfers race,
it’s Disneyland
for deer
around here!


©J.W.WINSLOW 5/1/09

It always
when I
need it most,
a flash
of light
directed out
of myself
and into
(a greater
cause with
no applause),
simple service
quietly given
driven love,
as I watched
him speak
barely above
a whisper
I strained to
hear the
inner wishes
of a heart
torn apart,
the youngest
ones grow up
and when
we see their
tender eyes,
we know the
time to grow
their lives
is now,
the greatest
gift of all:
urging them
to stand up tall
believe in
the credos of
and freedom
that is all
you’ll ever
need to dance
the dance
of life,
it’s all within
your reach,
to be and smile
and learn…
and teach!


©J.W.WINSLOW 4/1/09

Out of the blue
there was
morning sun
after the
cruel run of
which barely
left my heart
souls in
her wake,
it’s always
mistake to
but my report
lies in what
when white
apple blossoms
opened on complex
barren branches
and suddenly
I looked up
to see
in the
opposite tree,
I had to
run and
I really
my eyes,
but there
they were
as promised
by the
and the
my medicine
from the
Indian Tree
two big
old Owls
to watch
over me…
it’s kind
of an





©J.W.WINSLOW 3/1/09