You sit in your majestic tower
Of the tree house, your brown hair gleaming down
Your strength and integrity bound
So deeply within you
Never did I notice,
Apt to the silence of your manner,
How greatly you tried
Your effort denied
It’s funny the way one can live
So within their own space
That interacting is also receiving
When we were young
I was the one to run
To climb the trees
Steal all the Popsicles from the freezer
Soil my hands and stain my shirts with blackberries
To be the teaser
And you would change my shirt, save me from a beating
Accept my ferocity
And wipe the blood from me
You weren’t the one
To fight away the demons
You were the one
To keep them at bay
With silent protests for a better day
When we got old
Just a little.
When I hid my face
And you did
Age with grace
I noticed then
How ample you were
How you held yourself
With a profound rooting
To the earth
And stable you had been
And the regret washed through me of the times
I secretly was ashamed
Of the way you walked
And how dissonant I thought you were
And so at a party a group of us sat sipping wine
And mocking the time
Across the table I heard you laugh
And never did I notice your voice before
And I could see between the lines
Afterwards I laughed
At my new realization
What a burden I was
But what struck me was
That you held me
Just Like I was still a little girl
And I was making a fool of myself
You shushed me to sleep
A grown woman
And right before I closed my eyes
a final tear
How jealous you were
Of my experimental whirl
Eating life in
Like sauce on my fingertips
And I told you how jealous I had been
Of the way you wore long skirts
And wrapped your arms to your chest
Always knowing what you wanted
No need to want more
And like two old witches
Until the moon was gone
And the sunlight streamed through
Bubbling to the brim
With the new strength found within
Rejoicing we found
We are each in the air
implanted on the ground.
Old man in the park. Not one
to waste words. At play with pieces
of clay. All in harmony ~ with natures world.
Peaceful are his days ~ playing the
game, amidst a sunrise ~ twice revered
now reserved in the morning dew.
A marvel of life ~ a voyage of the
mind. A savior of our uncompromising
ways. Wise ~ he wrinkles, pones a
play. Gently in tune, as strings glide
in the palms of another ~ between two
trees, also palms, another sits ~ plays
a wooden hollow, vibe is so cool.
Knowing the essence of his will is
simplicity, a discipline of age ~ softly
in his send. Honestly ~ wise is the old
man. Groomed and cultured by his
own reflection. Graced by an
extravagant past. Astute, sensible, in
so many compelling ways.
Such is ~ the half shaven wise old man
at rest sharing dreams ~ promises ~
better fantasies ~ for he made a meal
of life. Hand woven thoughts, clever in
measure, precise is his glare. The
treasure ~ is his reason. Simple brown
cap, corduroy pants ~ a checkered
shirt, sitting, resting, a lover of life, his
ways no longer measured ~ but
In reflection, a gaze of the horizon, is
a metaphor of his life. Reminders of
yesterday’s ~ now pleasantries for us ~
now his heyday. Devious was the old
man ~ his adventures are fantasies to
another. As he grays before us, in the
calendars of day...
Colorful character, a lifetime tainted
by only the polish of his shoes. Tame
in his crevasse of dimples ~ quivering
at sight of his son. A grandfather ~
clever at any game. Parading ~
teaching ~ his grandson, the same
games he played. Numbers to boot ~
the sunlight's yellow brick rays ~ a
little mans stare at the big mans gaze.
Old man, trustworthy, captain of
philosophy ~ a fickle ~ a frozen sky of
crisp colored white hair, curls of gray.
Today's moniker ~ a father son’s
game. Metaphorically inclined, atop a
rocking chair ~ arms lapped, crossed
in the simplest of ways. Certain to a
spit shine ~ leather his shoes today.
Grandson beside plays, a book of
brush strokes, a choice of paints,
shades now shadows of gray.
Honestly and with all conviction ~ we
shell before his eyes. Endearing are
his traits. Earn his trust, in turn ~ he
reserves your spot ~ a voyage ~ over-
seas ~ with a monk of wisdom ~ a
canopy of rope ~ and a gentle smile...
Acknowledge him ~ reach out ~ he
extends ~ firm is the handshake...
Yes ~ passions ~ reflections to mirror,
gentle this giant of a man. A graceful
one. A token for a smile. A coin for
his presence ~ an embrace for today…
Here is a glass of water from my well.
It tastes of rock and root and earth and rain;
It is the best I have, my only spell,
And it is cold, and better than champagne.
Perhaps someone will pass this house one day
To drink, and be restored, and go his way,
Someone in dark confusion as I was
When I drank down cold water in a glass,
Drank a transparent health to keep me sane,
After the bitter mood had gone again.
Winter comes again,
and with it comes the snow.
Freezing in a living room
sits a broken man alone.
He stares at the television
looking for a reality
he once knew was there,
but soon faded into calamity.
A hole-filled blanket covers him
trying to fight away the cold,
but you can't fight what lives inside.
The bitter man grows old.
His eyes still fixed on a deceitful screen.
His mind non-existent for his thoughts aren't his own.
A man dead in life lies still on the couch
while he searches for reality. A reality gone.
I can't deal and
I can't believe
I didn't see the signs
I mean they were
You were feeling
Trust me I know
That feeling all too
But that's no excuse
I still love you
With most my heart
To be truthful
But not all
Not like it used to be
I'm not sure
What it was
And I truly am sorry
It seemed as if
I didn't care
But oh my God
The problems back
You don't understand
You never have
I'm not the bad guy
I'm just a kid
I'm learning how to live
You aren't concerned about that
You just wait ..
Feeding me false hope..
Until you find a flaw
Then those kind words
Now you scream
Now you yell
I'm just a kid
I'm imperfect like everyone else
Don't break my trust
..you already have..
I'm like a rodent
You're test rat, project "x"
I just want to be your daughter
I want advice on life
I want help being a teen
I need your support
But I have to remember
Not to listen the false hope
You'll take it back tomorrow
Like it was fog in the air
It'll always disappear
Can I please just leave
If only these walls could talk
They'd tell the tale
Of you and I
On the outside it looks beautiful
White trim, big porch
Oh but darling on the inside
These walls are stained with red secrets
It's unbearable to look at
All lie inside this house
..Not beautifully broken..
And now I stain my pillow
With the tears of my pain
..Because you've attacked again..
How do you know that the pilgrim track
Along the belting zodiac
Swept by the sun in his seeming rounds
Is traced by now to the Fishes’ bounds
And into the Ram, when weeks of cloud
Have wrapt the sky in a clammy shroud,
And never as yet a tinct of spring
Has shown in the Earth’s apparelling;
O vespering bird, how do you know,
How do you know?
How do you know, deep underground,
Hid in your bed from sight and sound,
Without a turn in temperature,
With weather life can scarce endure,
That light has won a fraction’s strength,
And day put on some moments’ length,
Whereof in merest rote will come,
Weeks hence, mild airs that do not numb;
O crocus root, how do you know,
How do you know?