Four After Sam Joyner, by Steve Gerkin

Big Cypress National Preserve, Florida, photography by Sam Joyner (USA) contemporary

Cypress Swamp Silhouette 
 
The echoes of cypress trees last for hundreds, sometimes thousands of years.
In some cultures, cypress trees represent immortality, strength, and protection--
to others, mourning, and remembrance.
 
A group of cypress stands proud in a swamp, trunks thick and towering
clusters of branches high above the murk, immune 
to high winds and nature’s harshness, protecting 
a spiritual symbol.
 
To some, the cypress speaks of immortality, eternal 
life after death, souls moving toward the divine 
kingdom. To some, the cypress expresses sorrow, 
melancholy, and vulnerability; yet to others, it expresses
loneliness in the darkness.
 
To some, the cypress demonstrates life by its durability
and perfect green leaves. To some, the cypress seeds
and their virile elements impart endurance.
Still, cypresses are not immortal.
 
Weathered limbs succumb.
Weakened trunks tilt in saturated soil.
When this hallowed structure breaks and tumbles,
swamp water sucks it in, and the reflection is lost.
Will the sky be broken until another rises from the water,
or will the sky be mended without the interruption of the towering tree?

Harbor in Rockland, Maine, photography by Sam Joyner (USA) contemporary

Sailboats and Sailors

Shadows follow us everywhere. Some may say these light obstructions bring a third dimension to the two-dimensional world. Some may say shadows constantly change shape, angle, and intensity, like emotions and thoughts. Some may say life is a walking shadowor question if we really have to walk in the shadow of death. Most say the brighter the light, the darker the shadow’s hue.
 
Sailboats rest in partial morning light, the winds calm, and ocean water glassy. Reflections of hulls and masts lie still. Reflections that double their size, like dreams, dreams of their sailors.
 
Sailboats rest in partial morning light, awaiting the dreams of sailors, who dream as they sail through the waters, who dream of tomorrow and remember lost love, who imagine as they head to sea, guided by the wind, sometimes tranquil, sometimes disturbed.
 
The sky hidden by roving clouds, light shines through heaven-like and blessing the harbor. Heaven-like and blessing sailors’ dreams, moving through the water, sailors dream how they may live, how they may die.
 
The sky reflects a dark shadow in the water. It shows heavenly light fading into Hades’ gloom. It shows heavenly light diminished to a spark, reminding the sailor dreams may fade until the morn when the sun will rise, and the reflections will return—so will the dreams.

Carnegie Mellon, Classroom Building, photography by Sam Joyner (USA) contemporary

Ghostly

People of the past linger
in abandoned houses,
their footsteps echo
disembodied presence.
 
No one pays attention to me. I’ve been here longer than any of them. A century has passed, and I still walk this spiral staircase alone, unnoticed by students, ignored by cleaning crews. I live here, damn it. I am Estéban Garcia.

No one knows I died laying the tiles that make this staircase in Baker Hall at Carnegie Mellon University a wonder of the world. Who knew my heart would give out? Who knew I would collapse and fall down the flight of stairs I now traverse? Why didn’t I get a plaque—even a small one—to recognize my contribution to the grandeur of this Rafael Guastavino architecture? Who will acknowledge me? Nobody, I guess. 

They put me in the ground in a Pittsburg cemetery like a pauper, no marker above my head. Now I am a ghost that glides the steps I laid, next to the Spanish tiled walls I constructed, three tiles thick.
​
Still, I am content. The beauty nourishes me, and the exclamations of those who study my work give me sustenance.

Musée d'Orsay museum clock (Paris), overlooking the Seine, Tuileries Gardens, Le Louvre Arrondissement, and the Montmartre Arrondissement with the Basilica of the Sacré-Cœur at its apex. photography by Sam Joyner (USA) contemporary

​Tick Tock

No man goes before his time–unless the boss leaves early.
Groucho Marx, comedian
 
I arrive at Charles de Gaulle airport and, after checking in to my Left Bank hotel, make a bee-line for the Musée d'Orsay and the top floor of the iconic building. I have a destination—the back of a clock face, a clock placed in the late 1800s to remind those waiting for trains of the time when the building was a railway station, Gare d’Orsay. I’ve studied the photos, and I am so close. Pitching my coffee cup in the trash, I reverently climb the stairs above the main entrance, stairs that will take me to the clock. I’ve come all the way from Iowa for this moment. What if it disappoints? What if one of the hands is broken and the space is unavailable to tourists with our cameras? I panic and run up the last flight of stairs.
 
I turn the corner towards the clock. There is no yellow crime scene tape, just a couple of grade school kids and their parents who lecture the youngsters, “Behave, damn it. Or no ice cream for you!” Desperate for a glimpse, I crowd in front of them, murmur a prayer, and cross myself. There it is…just as I hoped.
 
Wow, I think, look at the Seine, look at the Basilica of the Sacré-Cœur in the distance. It is a perfect vision. Thrilling. Yet, I felt a little uneasy, a little confused, a little out of body.
 
“Sometimes I get tired of the view,” a metallic, French-accented voice said.
 
I look around. I am alone. 
 
“Hello,” I said, “Who’s there?” I am just jet-lagged and affected; I suppose.
 
“Sometimes I get tired of little kids touching my parts.”
 
What? There it is again. Maybe I am dehydrated and spaced out. I distract myself by staring at the ornate, elegant Roman numerals on the clock face and the intricate design of the clockwork. But I did hear someone speak. I did.
 
 “Sometimes I get annoyed if my clock does not get cleaned.
 
No one is going to believe me. I don’t believe me. I am glued to the spot. But, then…
 
“Move along, buddy. Your time’s up.”

Steve Gerkin

Steve Gerkin: "At 72, I applied to the MFA program at Lesley University, Cambridge, MA, and graduated in January 2022 with a degree in Creative Writing - Nonfiction. My writing life began after retiring from 36 years in dentistry (2010). To date, I have four books and over fifty published essays."

Author's note: These images, taken by Sam Joyner in the mid-80s, and four dozen others, were prompts in an Oklahoma Book Award 2025 winner, Echoes of Light: Images into Writing.