Time ticking down,
Like the guttering of a dying flame, So close, Can nearly taste, Where you and me will soon be three, When our son we can finally meet. I can picture his little hands, His oh-so little feet, Eyes as big as plates, So filled with possibilities and innocence, A pitcher for you and me to fill, With kindness and glee. But it seems so far away, Still seems like a bit of a dream, That the hypothetical seems to still carry me, On a cloud, Gently floating, On an azure dream.
the sun comes at night
the son is a holy fount electric shakespeare
There is a magic dragon
That my father and I know It circles me then glides back to him No matter where we go. Inside this invisible little beast, Part of my dad does stay Immortalized, by magic art please never go away. Upon these words dragon's wings hang ontop the lonley wind, supported- gliding endlessly Through life's chaos its spinned. With every spin circling back, To the begninng, till each end.... Each time another battlecry - This Heavy heart's hardened. May I be rendered, in truths light When deception's shadow's tall, & may that dragon help me find A way back through it all.
Puff the magic dragon, lived by the sea... 🎶
Inspired by the famous nursery rhyme of the same title.
When, oh when
did I stop smelling your head? 3 months in and my life is already flashing in your eyes Oh, my little kin It will never be the same as it is right now, as it is right now Why ask why when I know you are the answer? You give me reason, so much joy and light Oh, sweet child You move me with every smile, with every smile Your daddy’s son You are the reason I fell in love Oh, you gentle soul Do you even know how you’ve rocked my world? With the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard, I’ve ever heard My little me, may you always know the joy you bring Oh, how I dreamed of you, I dreamed of you Goodnight to you, my little light Tomorrow you will light the world You will light the world.
What I have passed on to my son
is often unclear to me. I just know that I had the grace to ensure the package I passed on is not the one I received and that the extent to which it will be unpacked and utilised is not mine to determine. That choice was part of the package.
I have grown up chiuldren - my son reported progress with his bathroom fittings and passed on advice concerning my health today. Struck me how he's grown. #inmysixties
In one of the pictures, the teacher sent
your downcast face mirrored the day of the school trip Your mother said it is because of the cold you came down with In your little hands was a fluffy grey rabbit looking lifeless, perhaps afraid of the courage you had to hold another creature even though you do not yet understand the world Your sister, right beside you with her typical frown holds an identical rabbit representing the paradox of what the two of you are to each other When three and a half years ago I watched, with masked emotions both of you laying in separate transparent plastic capsules trying to make sense of the new world you had been brought into the lines and numbers on the screen the only signs that you will make it And here you are, in another picture this time the little fish pond reflects your smile and that of the other kids peering over the wall into its shallow depth each of their innocent faces an untold story of the anguish and joy of bringing another human being into the world.
You gave life to me
You brought me home So small and fragile, you make me strong I give you all my sleep and all my waking hours so you know I am yours as much as you are ours You show me the world in a never before seen light So pure and young, only knowing right I give you my body- now mind and spirit, too, and hope you find it as healing as I find you You are made of love, my sweet, gentle friend Born to me an angel, you give me strength I give you all my comfort I give you all I have left because all I have and all I am is yours
We close our eyes, and we retreat too a very special place- Away from worry, away from doubt- familiar teardrops trace. So, when I see you, sleeping – the phone right by your seat- I cannot help but lay parallel, with you- & forego frantic defeat. I cannot help but lay with you & Join your slumber deep, Knowing that one day when you leave this earth- that we can always meet in sleep. Love, Eric
to my 77 year old father, to whom I owe it all.
This cabin smells damp
Tucked away in the timber Backroaded Secluded Welcome to Deer Camp It was wintertime And we had to *** Into a tube in the wall PVC I’m at that awkward age Not lanky But frumpy and weird So hand me a rifle For the slaughter Of a creature I revered Man, what we do To make our fathers proud My secret was I hated guns And loved boys I really only went on this trip Because I heard that John Grilled some mean potatoes Accented with caramelized Onions and garlic The rumors were true The fire crackles Against a sky Of light blue I watched these men Bearded and loud Would I ever be like them? Did I want to be? My quiet heart Felt alien A freak I wasn’t a hunter Instead I gathered A harvest of me Thoughts and emotions Into a cauldron Of poetry But I kept that part Hidden Tucked away For another day The men in their Camouflage attire Yawn as the sun sets I try to fit Into the cabin We retire The lantern’s light Flickers across The walls of the room Sam’s Club candy For dessert Distant thunder Booms It was bedtime And a storm was rolling In the atmosphere and in My head full of fear Can someone please Get me out of here I cried from my cot “Please take me home” My dad glared What a disappointing Drive that was Have I ever not Let you down? I think As blankly ahead I stared We pull into the driveway Ignition turns off Headlamps extinguish He unlocks the door By the light of the moon I feel Relief and anguish Mom was annoyed This was supposed to be Her weekend alone Grieving the death Of her own mother She hugs me While wiping A tear from her Cheekbone Steel Magnolias And a box of Kleenex I ruined that You brought a fairy To deer camp What did you expect?
My dad takes me to the hospital on his bike.
It’s icy and he wears his sheepskin gauntlets and I’m grateful to shelter behind him secure in his familiar gruff intolerance. This is not the first time he’s taken TOIL for me and his frustration radiates through his layers but this two-of-us space is still delicious, still precious for its rare warmth. And he parks, and we dismount like John Wayne, and the wall of his leather back takes the lead as I stride into outpatients in his impatient wake, making demands for his boy from the nervous staff and taking relief from the update on my progress and for the scar that gives me some hope of distinctiveness and a source of stories for years to come. Stories with my dad.
I had stitches on my forehead from a fall off my bike. Mt mum didn't drive - so my dad had to take time off in lieu for my check ups, taking me on his motor bike.