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Reflections, Memories Past represents poetry written with homespun values of love and friendship--values that continue to hold true, governing traditional ways of existence. These long-held traditions are expressed in eloquent poetry and prose, representing yesteryears memories tht remain forever treasured in hearts...even today.
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Reflections, Memories Past Webpage
Joseph A. Zapalac: Poet, writer and dramatic narrator of the written word. He's recognized as an accompolished author and published for five consecutive years. He is a native-born Texas, born on July 4, 1938, and was raised by his loving Grandparents on a farm in the small rural Texas town of El Campo.
His passion for writing began as a young boy and it now gives him the ability to creatively paint vivid scenes with a pen and paper, allowing the reader to revisit yesteryear.
Vada M. Wolter--Photographer/Writer was born and raised in El Campo, Texas and now resides in the Houston, Texas area. Her passion for photography began at an early age. She loves being creative. Her talents in photography and the computer evolved into a business "creating memories for a lifetime" using audio production and her photography.
She designed and shot the cover of Reflections, Memories Past and some of her photographs are included in the book.
She and Zapalac graduated the same year and after fifty years being apart, they have become writing partners.
Excerpt
The Fishing Hole
When memories come to mind
I think of summers past,
Which father time has not erased,
Of youthful days that did not last,
As I grew to become a man.
I remember, oh, so well,
My favorite fishing hold
Where I would fish underneath the bridge
Or watch turtles swim or bask in the sun,
And the crawfish would bite.
On those hot summer days, I'd fish,
And the catfish would bite,
Disturbing the murky water,
After putting up a gallant fight,
They wuold be taken home, cleaned
And prepared for the frying pan.
Ready to eat!
There were times I'd jump into that creek,
Clothes on or not, splishing splashing
Unafraid of what was in the water,
Pretending I was Huckleberry Finn,
Enjoying the oozing creek bed mud
Squeezing between my toes.
From midday until the late afternoon sun fell,
I trudge homeward, tired and weary
With my catch in one hand--
And my fishing pole in the other,
Watching the sunset
After enjoying a day at the fishing hole.
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