To be as grounded as a kite,
dancing wild in the wind,
eyes on the sky,
but secure in my roots,
in my tether
to excited, nimble hands.

There are things I don't speak of
There are those that stay unsaid
That remain untugged threads
and swallowed sighs

There are things that grow inside
There are those that ferment to full strength
That remain encased
Unrepented

There are remnants I don't share
There are those I keep to myself
Lest they seep out
Lest they drown out all else

There are things that will drown me,
that will **** me dead,

but not yet.

Father is a verb.
- Let me explain:

Father's Day; and
Father Christmas
have tried to convince us,
but don't be fooled:
You can, may or will father,
depending on your mood.
For father is a verb.

It only works in the transitive;
you can't father alone,
only in relationship.
It doesn't resent hospital trips,
and offers wrap-around comfort
when a partnership splits.
It's touch-line volume
drowns out all rivals.
And belly laughs come standard
with jokes on recycle.

[insert joke here]

Yes, father is a verb.

It's something we each do,
despite the hour,
it drives right on through
the night when life’s gone sour.
It'll hammer ten finger nails
to get the job done.
It will dance, heedless of decorum
forgetting reputation.

It turns manliness
into awesome-men-ness,
It tempers strength
with a dose of gentleness, yes
father is a verb.

Be sure, whoever you are,
it works in the singular:
I can father;
You can father
    (I'm not talking *** here;
     that takes a partner.)
But also,
-  it works in the plural -
we can father;
and they can father,
because, you see, in this village
it's an joint activity:
we father (and we mother)
collaboratively.

It works best in the present tense,
happening now, not "LATER!".

It can be said in a gentle voice
or something - even - quieter;

sometimes active:
directive, protecting;
but often responsive:
just sitting, listening;
...holding, and, hugging;

it responds to need, you see,
but works best proactively,
works great
sacrificially.

For example,
though it cost him dearly,
God Fathers us
and through us daily.
And one day, suit pressed,
He'll proudly walk
with the bride of Christ.
And as Father of the bride,
He'll host the party and blow the price;
(- BIGGEST - bar-bill - EVER)
And we'll be sure to save at least one dance
for Father.

Oh yes, you heard,
Father is a verb.

Love is patient.
Love is .... slow.

Love doesn't hurry.
Love doesn't celebrate brevity,
it doesn't interupt,
it doesn't rush.
Love refrains from finishing
your sentence,
and never jumps
to the punchline.
And love loves
a long shared lunchtime.

Love is happy to hesitate.
Love slows the pace
for the slowest of us.
Love - always - waits,
always protects,
always - makes - space.

The greatest love is slow
patience.

I pulled down the love is blind
and shut out the outside light,
and in the dark I let my love lead me
by touch alone, and so alone
we filled the room with our light
and kept the healing between us burning
til first chill of night,
when we saw it was safe to lift the blind
and tap our way back out into the world
- still alight
with our love is blind.

She said, 'its okay -
it's not what we thought
So it's time to stop short,
to let go, step back
and take a different route.
It's time to play a new track,
one which gives more scope
for dancing without tripping
for singing with no mind to the heckling.
So step back,
let go and go your way
while I go mine.
It's okay,
its just that this time
we both ran out
of each other's time.'
And she went.

A pause
A choice of disconnection
A slow examination
of a proposed change in direction

An opening
An invitation
A deliberate fresh hearing
A much needed punctuation

A calming
A stilling
A waiting
A spacing

A surrender
A release
A long deep breath
And an unexpected
even deeper
God-given
Peace