A child is like a memory that promises to be
An intriguing little echo of our brief mortality

A fuzzy new reflection of what has been before
That captures all the essence of our lives, yet … so much more

For each will add a suffix to the mantle of descent
A familiar revelation of a personal ascent

‘Til soon they too encounter their own human frailty
And aspire to hold their mirror that reflects eternity

My father made me      Not be rude
                                         Bless my food
                                         Know what’s good

My father made me      Sit up straight
                                         Tow my weight
                                         Be a teammate

My father made me      Help my Mother
                                         Think of others
                                         Love my brothers

My father made me      Think like a man
                                         Do all I can
                                         Be what I am

My father … Made me

I put a man on the moon … I helped
I carried flame across the sky … without a net
I took Heaven’s obsolete virginity
And displayed the taking
On a billion TV screens

For I am God’s child
And what there is, is mine

Mine to take
Mine to hold
Mine to stand by and watch die

I can do no wrong
For I define right
And I deny liability
For the past

The future is mine to expect …
Regardless

From dead branches fall
Dead leaves, prey to windy thieves
We cannot forestall

The horse (a creature of blind passion) pawed
The earth beside the silent fallen form
A digger of graves more noble yet … more odd
Than ever I had chanced to see before

His raven mane flashed in the waning light
Which time to time broke through the pressing clouds
His nodding passion and his frothing cry
Failed in their valiant efforts to arouse

Some battle fought long since had caused the wound
That took the rider from the reins at last
And left the steed unmounted in a world
Unknown by journey or by battles past

Dark senses now compelled the ungripped beast
To travel far from sounds of master’s fray
And find some place of tranquil rest at last
Sweet reason’s constant battle’s lost this day

Unreined, unburdened, free to roam at will
The creature’s innate knowledge must prevail
To take the place of Master’s hard learned skill
And keep blind passion on an earthly trail

And I’ll forever follow down this trail
Where passion always leads the lost and least
For I have lost my Master’s voice today
And I am now this roaming, riderless beast

Draw strength, draw strength from those who died
Make peace with those who lived
For in our memories all survive
Their deeds, their times outlive

For peace they went, for peace they fought
Though some would not return
Yet with courageous deeds they taught
That freedom must be earned

Now we in peace and freedom dwell
This heaven they bequeath
To those who challenged death and fell
We dedicate our wreath

And though with passing years it seems
Their legacy might fail
Yet in our blood, and in our dreams
Their souls are marching still

Can we take a chance
On a brief romance
Can we bet
Our regret
Won’t exceed this dance?
Are we bold enough
To withhold enough
To embrace
In the face
Of this flame?

Do we dare attempt
Such a brash intent
Do we start
What our hearts
Beg our souls to tempt?
Can we really try
Caution to deny
If we do
Follow through
With this game?

I just can’t believe
We both feel this way
Such a vast relief
That we meet halfway
But I must admit
I am nervous yet
For the cost
May be lost
All the same

Time will pass until
We will both stand still
With our eyes
Realize
We’ve enjoyed the thrill
Of a brief affair
Nothing can compare
‘Til the chance
For a dance
Comes again

A writer is a tiger stalking
Purposefully through tangled plot
A poet is a kitten mocking
Feral instincts long forgot

In prose the words are carpets laid out
For the comfort of the fan
In poetry the words are weighed out
To educe a lyric plan

A story is a tale of reckoning
As the faithful reader’s caught
A poem reflects a wistful beckoning
To a purity of thought

In either case the subjects differ
Each one to the author’s schemes
Except with poems you must decipher
Exactly what … the poet means

I lay
In a field
On a hillside … soft
With grass

Oblivious

To the damp
The insects
Ultraviolet

I feel
A tug of wind
At my shirt
Caress my face

The instant warmth
Of a friendly sun
On exposed flesh

I believe
That somehow
This has all been orchestrated
Just for me

And I’m exactly where
I ought
To be

The fog lies off the shore
About a mile or two
I count the pebbles here
It’s all that I can do

I walk along the beach
The water calls to me
Somewhere beyond my reach
Upon the beckoning sea

I long to journey on
To where the seagulls fly
Far out beyond the fog
Where water meets the sky

Fresh waves lap at my feet
The doubt in me persists
My life is incomplete
My breath adds to the mist

I turn to face once more
The warm seductive sea
I linger on the shore
My heart, my heart flies free

An Angel took me
By surprise
With languid eyes
And winged away
Before … I asked

Reason argued ... But could not win
Fancy ventured ... But would not stray
Heart seized ... But did not grasp

Am I?
Or am I … only?

I dreamt that …

Life began a story
That ended in a dream

… Whose dream?